Dreams Change

    When I was a senior in high school, my anatomy teacher asked us to write about where we saw ourselves in ten years. At first, I wrote about my dream career as an actress. Then I wrote about another aspect of my future. I described how I would be married with three children. When my teacher returned our papers, he commented that my, answer surprised him. I was the only student to mention having a family. He said that he believed I would be a wonderful mother and make any man lucky to have me as a wife. A year later I was married and a mother at age 19. While my marriage did not last long, I began my journey into motherhood with my daughter. Over the course of five years, I have watched my daughter learn and grow. I also have grown over the years.I am not the same person that I was when I envisioned what my life would be like. Many have said that I gave up my dreams, that I failed to live up to my potential.
       Honestly, I believe that anyone who thinks I have failed is wrong. I did not give up on my dreams, but instead I found new dreams. Instead of going off to Hollywood to follow a dream of being a star, I found a dream worth living for. My dream is filled with games, love, hardships, and milestones. I get to watch two people begin their lives. I get to watch as they discover the little things in life that we miss because we are too busy. I get to see as their personalities develop and change as they grow. I get to be the person who guides them as they grow. I get to instill their morals, their ambitions, and their self value in them. That's a huge responsibility to take on, one that not everyone is cut out for. It's a hard journey, but in the end it is the most rewarding. I am a mother, and will be for the rest of my life. I wouldn't have it any other way.

Second opinion

I recently came a news story about  parents having their infant removed from their home. Normally you begin to wonder what horrible things the infant had been subjected to in the care of his parents. You would be thanking the authorities for saving him from something probably much worse. Yet in this case it seems the system may be corrupt. Shocking, a government system being corrupt.
  I know you're wondering why the baby was removed from his parents' care. Well he had been ill, so like any parent would they rushed him to a hospital. While there, a nurse administered antibiotics. Yet when they asked why she said she didn't know why. Later they were told by a doctor that he should not have been given the antibiotics. Then the doctors informed him he needed surgery. The parents were cautious at this point due to the lack of communication between the staff regarding their son. So against the doctors advice, they took their child to another hospital for a second opinion. They were reassured that surgery wasn't needed and a different course of treatment was decided. Shortly after, the police and cps showed up at their home to remove the child. Now they are fighting the system to have their child returned to them.
  Why am I writing about this? It terrifies me! When The Princess was about 8 months old, she had extreme diarreah. She had 8 bowel movements in a 2 hour period. I was a new mom and scared so we rushed her to the hospital. What did they tell me to do? They thought it was a bad reaction to the dairy in her formula. So they told me to give her nothing but pedialyte for a WEEK. Literally they wanted me to starve my child. I was horrified and in my gut I knew this was wrong. I informed them I disagreed and wanted a second opinion. They advised me to not seek a second opinion until after trying their suggestion. I refused. Instead I drive 45 minutes to the next hospital.
  The staff there was in shock by what the first hospital had suggested. The doctor asked a wound of questions, including if she had been on antibiotics recently. The other hospital had also asked this, but did not comment further. Turns out the antibiotics had wiped out the good bacteria in her digestive tract. Their suggested treatment? Ready to laugh? More dairy. That's right, the complete opposite of the other hospital. So she got to enjoy yogurt for the first time and her body returned to normal.
  So had I not gone for a second opinion, my child would have been starving. I would have been endangering my child and going against my instincts. Why should these parents, or any parents be punished for doing what is best for their child? The thought of this happening to someone else terrifies me that next time, it could happen to me. As parents we should not have to worry about this. As someone who was truly abused and endangered, I am angry that innocent parents are being scrutinized. My parents and many others who should be looked into by the authorities are flying under the radar. We need to wake up and change things before it gets worse.

Child abuse prevention month

I find it slightly ironic that both of my children were born in April. Why is that? April is child abuse prevention month, and I was abused as a child. I see my daughter turning five this month and it's stirring up a vast mix of emotions.
  I see her innocence and wonder how someone could ever consider destroying something so incredible. How can someone knowingly and intentionally hurt a child? I also feel robbed as well. I feel robbed of so much and I wonder if I could have been a completely different person if someone had just seen the warnings.
  Watching my children grow, innocent and  unharmed, I also feel my healing beginning. April is the bringer of spring. Spring is the rebirth after a harsh winter. Spring brings hope. Both of my beautiful blessings were born in spring, bringing me hope.

Depression Beckons

  I realize it has been over a month since I last posted. I wish I could say that it is due to being busy doing fascinating things, but sadly it was not a happy absence. Since I was a teenager, I have battled depression. There are long stretches of time where I do not feel any symptoms of it. Then out of nowhere it sneaks up on me and attacks fiercely. It seems that after Milk Monster was born, it began to slowly creep up on me again. This last month it broke free and began to drown my mind in it.
   I found myself snapping at The Princess even when she was not doing anything to cause even a slight annoyance. I would cry for no reason other than perhaps my mind turning on itself. I began to think perhaps my children would be better off without me. I focused on every little thing I did wrong rather than everything I did right for them. One day it got so bad that  I imagined running away from here and never turning back. Of course this would mean leaving my children, which I would never really do. So I called their dad to come watch them for a couple hours so that I could get away.
   When he arrived, I had no idea where to go to be alone. I simply knew that I needed to be alone. It was slightly warmer than it had been recently, so I pulled over to a park. I took a long stroll on the walk path and simply listened to everything around me. I listened to the birds above me, and the water in the creek next to me. I slowed my breathing and released all of my stress as I listened to nature. By the time I made it home two hours later, I felt more at piece. I had a long talk with my partner and admitted how I had been struggling with my anxiety and depression. Just admitting it to him helped me. I am still struggling, and perhaps always will. Now I know though that it is okay to reach out to ask for help. It is not selfish for me to need time away from my children in order to recharge. In fact it is better for my children that I take time for me, instead of ignoring my depression. My own mother suffered greatly with depression but did not seek out help. She ended up taking her anxiety and depression out on me. It is part of my issues with my own depression, and it caused a great rift between us. I do not wish for my depression to affect my children.

Chapped nipples & prudish doctors

 Funny title tonight, bet you're wondering where I have been this past month. I have been struggling to balance children, housework, and my wonderful job as a waitress. On top of my usual chaos, illnesses galore  have been running rampant through my home. The Princess has had a sinus infection, a cold, strep throat, and the stomach bug. Milk Monster had RSV plus a double ear infection, and today was diagnosed with thrush. Not too shabby compare to how it has been for other families I know, but still it wears you out. I myself have had the colds and stomach bugs along with them, so I know why they are so clingy to mommy. With my son having thrush, I have the joy of cracked nipples. Thrush has attacked them and man do they hurt! I mean, my nipples have not been this sore since Milk Monster was born and we were learning how to get the hang of breastfeeding. I wish I could say my partner had been spared the illnesses we have had lately, but sadly he has had worse than any of us.
  Which brings me to the second part of the title of tonight's blog. The other night we attempted a date night, only to have it end in disaster. The stomach attacked him with such fierceness, he ended up ripping a membrane in his esophagus. Milk Monster and I took him to the hospital nearby to make sure that was what had happened instead of something worse. So, Milk Monster was rolling through the emergency room in style in his comfy stroller complete with a stash of toys to entertain him. We followed nurses back to a room where my partner got to lay down on one of those comfy beds hospitals are just so famous for. After a short waiting period (I am being serious it wasn't very long which is surprising), the doctor, a female nurse who was about my age, and an older male nurse came into the room. At this point I was nursing Milk Monster who had become rather impatient. Upon seeing me nursing, uncovered, the female nurse rolled her eyes and scoffed at me. I ignored this and focused on what mattered, my partner. Then the doctor opened a cabinet door and tossed a towel at me and told me to use it to cover up. I cocked a smile and obliged, knowing exactly what would happen. Milk Monster grabbed the towel and flung it off of me without even breaking from the nipple for a moment. The female nurse looked over at me, and at the towel as if she were waiting for me to cover up. I ignored the towel and asked the doctor about my partner's symptoms in order to focus her attention on him. After a short conversation with the doctor, and a prescription later, the female nurse left with the doctor. The male nurse was sitting with the mobile computer wrapping things up, when he started to laugh. He started telling me how his wife breastfed their kids and that he couldn't understand why people were so against doing it in public. He told us how his son is over six feet tall and healthy as an ox, all of which he believes is due to his wife breastfeeding him for two years. He then told us how she is an activist for breastfeeding rights. My partner laughed, then pointed at me saying that I was too. Before he left the room, the male nurse picked up the towel and put it in the dirty linens bag. He laughed as he did so. I find it hysterical that in a hospital, nurses and doctors try to make a woman cover up something that honestly is the best medicine in the world. Best part? As I write this the Luvs commercial that shows a mom nursing in a restaraunt uncovered is playing.

Perfect Parent

    Your baby should be doing this by this age. You need to do it this way. Why on earth do you do that? Oh you shouldn't do that, it's not good for the baby. Those phrases are said to parents over and over on a daily basis. It can make it a little overwhelming at times for any parent, especially a new one. The pressure can make a parent feel like they have to be perfect and if they do one thing wrong they have messed up their child's life.
     With my daughter I strived to do everything the way I was supposed to according to society. I kept track of what other parents did and how their children acted. If I slipped up and did it differently, I mentally beat myself up. If she wasn't doing things the same time other kids her age were, I was worried that I was failing her as a mom. Then her father and I split up. I panicked inside at the thought that I couldn't do everything for her. I would literally have mental breakdowns because I felt like I was a horrible parent because I let her watch more tv than the doctor said I should.
      When my son was born, I began to do it to myself again. I began to worry that I wasn't giving my daughter enough attention or affection. Then she started to argue more and I would have to discipline her when her arguments turned into tantrums. I know this is typical for her age, especially when a new sibling is introduced. I voiced to my partner that I felt like I was letting her down, and that I felt like by working outside of the home I wasn't doing everything I could for my children. He snapped me out of it. He made me sit down and realize that I have two happy, healthy children that have everything they need. They are loved and each get time with me even with my hectic work schedule. I do things in a way that feel comfortable and right to my inner mommy. I do things that society looks down upon. I cosleep with my children, let them watch tv(not much though), and so much more. I am human though and I am allowed to make mistakes. There is no such thing as a perfect parent, but there are plenty of great parents.
       Why do we feel so pressured to be perfect? Maybe it's because we see countless articles about celebrity moms who get their pre-pregnancy bodies back in weeks. We see them buying organic everything for their kids, and we see how their kids are even living their lives. Our society has raised us to pick at each other and tear each other down by comparing each other's lives. We as moms should embrace each other and encourage each other as we raise the future leaders of this world. I read an article in a parenting magazine about how the Unite States compares to other countries regarding parenting skills. We worry a lot more than they do. We feel the need to be on a strict bedtime schedule, milestone schedule, and something must be wrong if we do not stick to them. We separate ourselves from our kids when it feels more natural to have them near us. Mothers are not looked up to like they used to be in society. We give birth(or adopt which is a tremendous step accomplishment as well in my opinion), nurture, teach, and guide little human beings as they grow. We multitask beyond belief in a single day, let alone a lifetime. We should celebrate our roles as mothers, rather than worry if we are doing it exactly as we should. Since coming to this realization that I can never be a perfect parent, my stress level has decreased greatly.

Mommy's Ink

 I have a tattoo...a very obvious one at that. When people meet me and my children they tend to notice the bold ink on my left wrist. Some simply shake their head while others roll their eyes. Those are the ones that usually see it as a fad among us young mothers. Then there are those who criticize me for desecrating my body with ink. I try to ignore them most of the time, because they do not know the truth. They do not need to know it either. If they knew the truth they may not like it, or they might feel sorry for me. I do not want pity, I never have liked pity. I want understanding though and often find myself lacking it. So I think I should write about the hidden meaning behind "Hope."
   To understand why I had "Hope" inked into the skin on my left wrist, you need to know about my childhood. My parents loved me, and it took me years to understand this. I went through psychological and physical abuse by both of parents from about the age of four until I moved out when I was seventeen. Most of the physical happened at the hands of my father. My mother used more psychological abuse than physical, and years later I know why. My mother went through some horrific events as a child and never received counseling. My parents were not always bad towards me, there are some wonderful memories of them. They just needed help and never received it. The most traumatic event occurred when I was about five years old. My father's brother came to stay with us for a visit that summer. In the middle of the night he molested me. My mother woke up, groggy due to her medicine. She was sick after my brother was born. She thought she saw my uncle coming out of my bedroom and adjusting his pants, but she was not sure. The next morning when my parents woke up, my uncle had already left. He had originally planned on being there for three more days. My mother tried talking to my father about what she thought she had seen, but he brushed it off. Nothing else was ever mentioned of it, even despite my drastic change in behavior. For the next twelve years I struggled with the anger, fear, hurt, depression, and hatred that no child can truly cope with on their own. I became very depressed as I got older. I was tormented in middle school by my peers and my home life was not the best. By the time I reached high school I had began to cut myself. My left wrist was my favorite place to cut. Part of me hoped that I would slip and cut too deep. I wrote poetry every day, pouring my emotions out onto the pages. I tried showing them to my mother, but she would simply say I was overreacting. I was alone, at least it felt that way, with dark thoughts I can not describe fully nearly eight years later. I began to rebel against my traditional Christian upbringing. I began to drink smoke, and have sex behind my parents' backs. My grades slipped from straight A's to nearly failing, but I didn't care anymore. I planned on killing myself one night, but my baby sister came into the room. I broke down crying and confessed everything to my friends the next morning. I was sent to a mental health facility where they addressed my cutting, but the underlying problems. I was about to be sent home when I told them that if I went back home I would either be back in two weeks, or they would be reading my obituary. I admit I had a flair for being dramatic. So my grandmother took me in. I was supposed to receive after care, but never did. So needless to say two months  later I was worse than ever before. One night I went into the bathroom and slowly swallowed my sleeping pills, anti-psychotics, anti-depressants, and my grandmother's pain medication. I then laid down in bed and sent a goodbye text to about fifteen friends. One friend became extremely concerned and called the sheriff department. I was rushed to the hospital where I had to drink charcoal to absorb the toxins. I was once again sent to mental health facility. This one was better than the first one and I was able to address my underlying issues.
   For the next seven years I would struggle with the depression caused by everything I went through as a child. My recovery was hindered by an abusive marriage. I am not healed, I do have moments where I break down. When my daughter turned three I decided I wanted to get a tattoo. I wanted something to remind myself to never give up hope. Despite all of the darkness in my life, there is so much beauty in it. Had my friend not cared enough to call the cops, I would not be here today. Two beautiful children would not exist. Had I not gone through the pain though, I would not be who I am. Instead of scars on my left wrist, I can now look down and see the reminder that here is always hope. Hope will always be there, even when it feels like all hope has vanished.