I was scared to write this post, so I figured it meant I needed to. I don't know if anyone has noticed, but I stopped sharing articles about breastfeeding and being a stay at home mom (SAHM).
I still think breastfeeding is wonderful and I still get teary eyed when I think about the fact that I had to quit a job I LOVED because my family needed me to. So, what changed? I realized I was creating controversy when I should've been creating comradery. Sometimes my intention was pure and kind, and some of the time I wanted to shout from the roof top (and my rooftop is Facebook) that I am a mom doing things "the right way" snark snark snark. If I'm doing things the right way, then that must mean that someone out there is doing things the wrong way--if breast is best, then formula must be NOT best.
I don't think there's any one out there in the big, bad world of social media and internet that is confused about the benefits of breastmilk, if there is, you must've been under a rock all this time. We all know, guys. We all know that #breastisbest. We don't need to be reminded. We don't need a "Breastfeeding Awareness Week". We don't need a hashtag. (I can feel all of the breastfeeding moms painting me a traitor and kicking me out of the groups and hating me, and it's ok.)
Do you wanna know why we don't need to be reminded? Because it hurts people's feelings. Not just a few people, not just the highly sensitive, not just someone I know or someone you know, but a big, fat group of people hate it when you or I post 30 articles back to back about our style of parenting or what you and I do with our kids and how it's the right way. Because it comes across like you're judging and deeming yourself better than them, and no one wants to feel like someone else is saying they're sucking at this mom thing--we tell ourselves that enough.
There's no Formula Feeding Awareness Week. That would be weird. Shouldn't it be weird that there's one for breastfeeding? Here, where we're lucky enough to always have food available for our baby (whether it's from your breast, from the formula you buy or the formula WIC aids you in purchasing), do we really need to talk so much about HOW and WHAT we feed our kids? If the way we're shoving our lactating boobs in other people's faces is making them feel put down or judged or guilty, is it necessary? Well, maybe it's necessary for you, and that's ok--no really, it is--, but it's not necessary for me anymore.
I must be a slow learner because I accidentally hosted a lot of debates between the breastfeeders and the formula feeders and between the SAHMs and the working moms before I got a clue. The groups that I'm not a part of told me OVER and OVER that they felt picked on, and rather than listen I told them they were wrong. "No, you're not offended, you're just sensitive. I'm just talking about me--you're making it about you."
They were right. I was SO making it
about them. I wasn't sharing the article about the benefits of
breastfeeding so that I would know them or so that other breastfeeders
would know them. I was sharing the article (at least on some level) so
the formula feeders would read it and come over to the RIGHT way of
feeding a child. "Oh, the mom passes immunity to some diseases through
her milk? Well, let me throw away this canister and start breastfeeding
STAT." Or so they would know how much better what I was doing was than
the "easy" route they were taking.
If someone in a group you're not in tells you that something you do is unkind or offensive you aren't allowed to disagree with them. You can choose to do it any way, sure, but you can't discount their feelings, you don't know, you're not allowed a vote.
So, you won't see me share any memes or articles about one particular style of parenting or feeding anymore because now I think about how it might make others feel. They told me over and over and over that it was hurtful and I ignored them. I hope no one ignores me when I tell them that something they do OVER and OVER is hurtful.
We're ALL just parents trying our very best, hoping and praying that it's enough. We don't need to be inundated with what we're doing that's not QUITE best. We already know. Everyone knows.
Vallette Family
Tuesday, August 11, 2015
Saturday, August 1, 2015
Perfect Kids?
I am almost finished reading a new parenting book, and I have alot of ideas and feelings about it. It's called "Parenting with Grace: The Catholic Parents' Guide to Raising Almost Perfect Kids". The woman who suggested it said that if I "was really a good Catholic I probably wouldn't need it". Well, I don't consider myself a "good Catholic" so I needed the book. I bought the book. I read the book. I hate the book. Well, kind of.
First of all, I hate the title-- "almost perfect kids" just irks me for some reason. All children are perfect in that they are a perfect gift from God, but they don't BECOME perfect because of your parenting (and they definitely don't become perfect because of MY parenting).
The book basically explains how to use attachment parenting (a phrase I didn't even know existed until after Elaina was born) in a way that will produce well behaved children that will "make other people jealous". I also hated that notion--making others jealous. I have zero desire to make others jealous of the way my children behave. I hope other people look at my children and breathe a little easier "oh, look! her kids do x too!" not "oh my, her kids are perfect, how do I do that? what's wrong with me/my kids". Jealousy is not something I hope to instill in my fellow mamas!
Attachment parenting (from what little I've come across-- I haven't specifically searched it and I don't wish to) means breastfeeding for as long as your child wants to, bed sharing, baby wearing and not spanking. I'm sure there's more to the story and maybe there's a checklist or something, I don't know!
I don't know if there's an opposite to attachment parenting. Like, if you don't "attachment parent" then you..... " detachment parent"? I have no idea, y'all. And I usually don't write about something without familiarizing myself with it first, but I just do not have any desire to fill my brain with this information.
This book also goes on to tell the reader that doing parenting this way is the way to raise children who are generous and virtous and who are less susceptible to peer pressure and who are less likely to be promiscuous and are less likely to do drugs. Basically, attachment parenting is the RIGHT way to raise children. You're supposed to let children self wean and let them stay in your room until they're ready to leave and not leave the child (even for a few hours, think: date night) until the child is ready to be separated--age 3.
Why is there a need for labels? I like to call our parenting style "Diana and Marvin's parenting style". That's it. I breastfeed. We room share with our babies (and occasionally bed share if that's the only way to sleep, but I sleep much better without sharing the bed), we ship our kiddos out into their own room at some point in the first year, I wean when I feel ready to be done breastfeeding, I leave them for a date night when I feel like my husband and I need a recharge--way before age 3! I don't hold myself to a checklist standard or a specific parenting style.
Marvin and I's main goal is to raise children who are self sufficient and kind. Kids who are loving and responsible. Kids who will make it to heaven one day.
I think it's important that you give your kids the best version of yourself, and I wouldn't be the best version of myself if I was breastfeeding a 3 year old who I never had a moment away from. That's just not good for me. Now, I'm not saying parenting is all about me--about what I want or how I feel, because of course it's not! But, I don't think parenting is all about my kids either! We are a family. A family that works together for the good of one another. A team. And that means sacrifice sometimes. Sometimes I sacrifice and sometimes they do! That's life!
Please understand that I'm not knocking AP. I'm not. If AP is the way you parent and it's good for you, and you're the best version of yourself, then keep on trucking, girl! I'm just saying it's not for everyone. And, I don't think ANY style of parenting is THE way to parent. There are different parents, different kids, different dynamics, differences! And different things work. And there is NO "one size fits all".
Now, I said I "sort of" hated the book. "Sort of" because it had some great, thought provoking points that I hope will make for a stronger Vallette Team. One of them was developing a family mission statement. A few sentences that outline what virtues the family should be striving to exhibit. How we should be acting individually and reminding and helping one another to act. The book helps you identify the virtues you need the most work on. We'll be working on patience (cough, cough Diana!), kindness, gentleness (give ya one guess), solidarity, responsibility and love.
The book was also a good reminder of our (and our children's) innate dignity. A good reminder that we need to exhibit the behavior and virtues we wish to pass on to our children. That we need to work on being good people--not just work on raising them. It also reminded me that we're here to help one another. That we're here to work for the good of our neighbor, and I always welcome a reminder to stop being so selfish--something I struggle with a lot.
Some of you know I recently had a conversion experience. (I write about that here.) Well, the conversion high has worn off and now I'm back down to Earth and I want to go deeper into my faith and become the person -specifically wife and mother- God wants me to be. I love to read. Reading and prayer were really what helped to cultivate my conversion experience, so this book was a great kick off in that it got my brain back into gear.
I've been asking around for good book suggestions. I want books that will be easy for my baby Catholic brain to read and so far I've gotten suggestions that are way too advanced for where I am right now. So, if you have a book that you read and really enjoyed, please send your suggestions my way!
Would I suggest reading the book? Yeah, I guess. If you're one of those people who is ok sifting through things that won't help. It's not a book I'd live or die by. If you're looking for a good parenting book, I suggest "How to Talk so Kids Will Listen and Listen so Kids Will Talk". That book has some great tools!
First of all, I hate the title-- "almost perfect kids" just irks me for some reason. All children are perfect in that they are a perfect gift from God, but they don't BECOME perfect because of your parenting (and they definitely don't become perfect because of MY parenting).
The book basically explains how to use attachment parenting (a phrase I didn't even know existed until after Elaina was born) in a way that will produce well behaved children that will "make other people jealous". I also hated that notion--making others jealous. I have zero desire to make others jealous of the way my children behave. I hope other people look at my children and breathe a little easier "oh, look! her kids do x too!" not "oh my, her kids are perfect, how do I do that? what's wrong with me/my kids". Jealousy is not something I hope to instill in my fellow mamas!
Attachment parenting (from what little I've come across-- I haven't specifically searched it and I don't wish to) means breastfeeding for as long as your child wants to, bed sharing, baby wearing and not spanking. I'm sure there's more to the story and maybe there's a checklist or something, I don't know!
I don't know if there's an opposite to attachment parenting. Like, if you don't "attachment parent" then you..... " detachment parent"? I have no idea, y'all. And I usually don't write about something without familiarizing myself with it first, but I just do not have any desire to fill my brain with this information.
This book also goes on to tell the reader that doing parenting this way is the way to raise children who are generous and virtous and who are less susceptible to peer pressure and who are less likely to be promiscuous and are less likely to do drugs. Basically, attachment parenting is the RIGHT way to raise children. You're supposed to let children self wean and let them stay in your room until they're ready to leave and not leave the child (even for a few hours, think: date night) until the child is ready to be separated--age 3.
Why is there a need for labels? I like to call our parenting style "Diana and Marvin's parenting style". That's it. I breastfeed. We room share with our babies (and occasionally bed share if that's the only way to sleep, but I sleep much better without sharing the bed), we ship our kiddos out into their own room at some point in the first year, I wean when I feel ready to be done breastfeeding, I leave them for a date night when I feel like my husband and I need a recharge--way before age 3! I don't hold myself to a checklist standard or a specific parenting style.
Marvin and I's main goal is to raise children who are self sufficient and kind. Kids who are loving and responsible. Kids who will make it to heaven one day.
I think it's important that you give your kids the best version of yourself, and I wouldn't be the best version of myself if I was breastfeeding a 3 year old who I never had a moment away from. That's just not good for me. Now, I'm not saying parenting is all about me--about what I want or how I feel, because of course it's not! But, I don't think parenting is all about my kids either! We are a family. A family that works together for the good of one another. A team. And that means sacrifice sometimes. Sometimes I sacrifice and sometimes they do! That's life!
Please understand that I'm not knocking AP. I'm not. If AP is the way you parent and it's good for you, and you're the best version of yourself, then keep on trucking, girl! I'm just saying it's not for everyone. And, I don't think ANY style of parenting is THE way to parent. There are different parents, different kids, different dynamics, differences! And different things work. And there is NO "one size fits all".
Now, I said I "sort of" hated the book. "Sort of" because it had some great, thought provoking points that I hope will make for a stronger Vallette Team. One of them was developing a family mission statement. A few sentences that outline what virtues the family should be striving to exhibit. How we should be acting individually and reminding and helping one another to act. The book helps you identify the virtues you need the most work on. We'll be working on patience (cough, cough Diana!), kindness, gentleness (give ya one guess), solidarity, responsibility and love.
The book was also a good reminder of our (and our children's) innate dignity. A good reminder that we need to exhibit the behavior and virtues we wish to pass on to our children. That we need to work on being good people--not just work on raising them. It also reminded me that we're here to help one another. That we're here to work for the good of our neighbor, and I always welcome a reminder to stop being so selfish--something I struggle with a lot.
Some of you know I recently had a conversion experience. (I write about that here.) Well, the conversion high has worn off and now I'm back down to Earth and I want to go deeper into my faith and become the person -specifically wife and mother- God wants me to be. I love to read. Reading and prayer were really what helped to cultivate my conversion experience, so this book was a great kick off in that it got my brain back into gear.
I've been asking around for good book suggestions. I want books that will be easy for my baby Catholic brain to read and so far I've gotten suggestions that are way too advanced for where I am right now. So, if you have a book that you read and really enjoyed, please send your suggestions my way!
Would I suggest reading the book? Yeah, I guess. If you're one of those people who is ok sifting through things that won't help. It's not a book I'd live or die by. If you're looking for a good parenting book, I suggest "How to Talk so Kids Will Listen and Listen so Kids Will Talk". That book has some great tools!
Sunday, July 12, 2015
Life as a Family of Five
Juliet is one entire month old today. I can't believe it. The most overused parenting phrase in the history of time is: it all goes by so quickly. It's popular for a reason. It's true. This morning I was sipping my (2nd) cup of coffee and thinking about how life has changed for us. How I've changed. Dane is running around the living room yelling. He doesn't have an inside voice--well, if he does, I haven't heard it. Elaina is sitting quietly on the couch watching Curious George. She takes a break from Curious George to check out TimeHop with me--one of her favorite things to do. Juliet lays on the couch in my lap awake, but calm and quiet. Marvin went back to sleep after waking up to make my coffee (men need more sleep than women, I'm convinced). I can't even believe what my life looks like now.
I've written a lot about all of the anxieties I experienced with Elaina and somewhat with Dane. I don't want to go in to all the ways that I was crazy. Go back and read if you must. Marvin and I spend a lot of time laughing now about those days. Constant anxiety all the time. Constant. I really struggled with motherhood. I really did. And, when I wasn't struggling with motherhood I was struggling with what OTHERS thought of my children--what they thought of me. What did they think of my parenting. What did they think of the way I spoke to my children. What did they think? Approval. I sought out alot of approval. If I heard enough that other people thought I was a good mom then I was ok. If Elaina was a perfectly behaved robot then I was ok. If I cared more than other moms then I was ok. I could never relax. It was exhausting.
Elaina made me a mom, but with Juliet I BECAME a mom. I am perfectly ok with how things go now. If I go to WalMart and Elaina is asking three million questions and Dane is screaming and Juliet is fussy, I'm ok. File it under a difficult trip to WalMart and keep moving along. There will be difficult trips and fabulous trips. Keep moving forward.
We went to dinner with Marvin's family this past week and Dane wanted to get out of his seat and run around the restaurant. He cried ALOT and LOUDLY because we wouldn't allow him to. Meanwhile, Juliet is (uncharacteristically) upset and cannot be calmed down. A few years ago I would've been brought to tears and left the restaurant in a hurry at the first cry. What did the onlookers think? Children should be seen and not heard and my kids were making SURE they were heard. How embarrassing. Now? No. Hey, onlookers! Do you hear Dane throwing a fit? Yeah, sometimes kids throw fits when they don't get what they want. Sorry. Hopefully you have kids so you understand. If you don't, oh well! Alrighty, gonna finish my salad now! Thanks!
Do you know what happened? I realized that my children are NOT a reflection of me. Wait, what? That sounds crazy, Diana! Of course your children are a reflection of you! Well, you're right. They are. Kind of. I spend alot of time with them. I make rules and raise them and do all of that mommy stuff I'm supposed to do. I make mistakes and yell and mess up, too. But, my children are their own people! They have good days and bad days. They are angels some times and holy terrors others. They get hangry or cranky from missed sleep. They aren't robots, they are people. And I cannot control another person. I can help them to navigate through life. I can instill morals and principles and rules and all that jazz, but at the end of the day I cannot MAKE them act any way. And, if they act like aliens in a restaurant I can give them consequences, but I cannot control them. And if they act like aliens, it's NOT a reflection of me because they are their OWN people. And if they act like aliens and some onlooker wants to judge me, they can, doesn't bother me. I know I'm doing the absolute best that I can. It's really alright. It's such a liberating feeling. It took me 5 years of motherhood to get here, but I'm here.
The Cry Room is the perfect example. We have been banished to the Cry Room at our parish because: Dane. Pretty much the same families sit in the Cry Room every Sunday. There's the father and son combo. They sit in the back with their Sonic bag and a videogame playing on Dad's phone. There's the family with girls. The girls color on the floor in the corner. And there's us. Dane screams loudly when we don't let him out of the row. He tries to rip the missal and takes off his shoes. He's loud. He's the loudest one in there. Marvin sometimes gets to hear the homily and sometimes I get to hear it. We never BOTH get to hear it. Because: Dane. Why am I telling you this? I've seen/heard others talking about OTHER parents in Church. "Did you see x, they were letting their little boy EAT, that's a bit much, MY kids don't eat in Church" (said with sanctimonious pride). That's a comment I would've made, too. You know what I realized? Maybe my kids don't eat in Church, but Dane screams in almost every situation and I CANNOT keep him quiet (trust me, I have tried). I bet there's someone out there who has watched my family go through life and think "Did you see Dane, they were just letting him SCREAM, that's a bit much, MY kids don't yell!".
As parents, we all deal with things. Some times OTHER parents have to deal with things we don't have to. I have a close friend who has 4 littles. All of her kids are born with this innate physical aspect to them. They are rough. They weren't taught to be rough. It's just them. They see a shove or a push between friends as an act of endearment. Five year ago Diana would've thought "why can't she calm her kids down, why can't she control them". That mother, my friend, is a good mom! She is! She's a good mom who has to deal with different challenges than I do. As parents we all deal with different challenges. Maybe another mom has a kid who never yells. She looks at my Dane and thinks "why can't she get him to be quiet". Trust me, lady, I've tried, no dice. We all have different parenting expectations, different kids and different things that come easily to us or are challenging. So, remember that the next time you look at a family and think "Why can't they just x". Maybe they don't want to. Maybe they've tried and their kids aren't robots. Maybe it's an off day. Sooooo many maybes. So many. Don't judge the mom next to you. Or go ahead and judge if you must, she probably doesn't care anyway--she has enough going on.
Anyway, the purpose of this blog post is just to say: Hi blog readers! We're a family of 5 and we're settling into that new milestone beautifully. I've calmed down. My kids are sometimes crazy. I love this life. I've settled into motherhood and I'm happy. I hope you're happy, too! And, I hope you'll take a second to remember we're all trying to stay afloat the next time you think "why can't they just..." when a family nearby is struggling with something that isn't a challenge for you.
I've written a lot about all of the anxieties I experienced with Elaina and somewhat with Dane. I don't want to go in to all the ways that I was crazy. Go back and read if you must. Marvin and I spend a lot of time laughing now about those days. Constant anxiety all the time. Constant. I really struggled with motherhood. I really did. And, when I wasn't struggling with motherhood I was struggling with what OTHERS thought of my children--what they thought of me. What did they think of my parenting. What did they think of the way I spoke to my children. What did they think? Approval. I sought out alot of approval. If I heard enough that other people thought I was a good mom then I was ok. If Elaina was a perfectly behaved robot then I was ok. If I cared more than other moms then I was ok. I could never relax. It was exhausting.
Elaina made me a mom, but with Juliet I BECAME a mom. I am perfectly ok with how things go now. If I go to WalMart and Elaina is asking three million questions and Dane is screaming and Juliet is fussy, I'm ok. File it under a difficult trip to WalMart and keep moving along. There will be difficult trips and fabulous trips. Keep moving forward.
We went to dinner with Marvin's family this past week and Dane wanted to get out of his seat and run around the restaurant. He cried ALOT and LOUDLY because we wouldn't allow him to. Meanwhile, Juliet is (uncharacteristically) upset and cannot be calmed down. A few years ago I would've been brought to tears and left the restaurant in a hurry at the first cry. What did the onlookers think? Children should be seen and not heard and my kids were making SURE they were heard. How embarrassing. Now? No. Hey, onlookers! Do you hear Dane throwing a fit? Yeah, sometimes kids throw fits when they don't get what they want. Sorry. Hopefully you have kids so you understand. If you don't, oh well! Alrighty, gonna finish my salad now! Thanks!
Do you know what happened? I realized that my children are NOT a reflection of me. Wait, what? That sounds crazy, Diana! Of course your children are a reflection of you! Well, you're right. They are. Kind of. I spend alot of time with them. I make rules and raise them and do all of that mommy stuff I'm supposed to do. I make mistakes and yell and mess up, too. But, my children are their own people! They have good days and bad days. They are angels some times and holy terrors others. They get hangry or cranky from missed sleep. They aren't robots, they are people. And I cannot control another person. I can help them to navigate through life. I can instill morals and principles and rules and all that jazz, but at the end of the day I cannot MAKE them act any way. And, if they act like aliens in a restaurant I can give them consequences, but I cannot control them. And if they act like aliens, it's NOT a reflection of me because they are their OWN people. And if they act like aliens and some onlooker wants to judge me, they can, doesn't bother me. I know I'm doing the absolute best that I can. It's really alright. It's such a liberating feeling. It took me 5 years of motherhood to get here, but I'm here.
The Cry Room is the perfect example. We have been banished to the Cry Room at our parish because: Dane. Pretty much the same families sit in the Cry Room every Sunday. There's the father and son combo. They sit in the back with their Sonic bag and a videogame playing on Dad's phone. There's the family with girls. The girls color on the floor in the corner. And there's us. Dane screams loudly when we don't let him out of the row. He tries to rip the missal and takes off his shoes. He's loud. He's the loudest one in there. Marvin sometimes gets to hear the homily and sometimes I get to hear it. We never BOTH get to hear it. Because: Dane. Why am I telling you this? I've seen/heard others talking about OTHER parents in Church. "Did you see x, they were letting their little boy EAT, that's a bit much, MY kids don't eat in Church" (said with sanctimonious pride). That's a comment I would've made, too. You know what I realized? Maybe my kids don't eat in Church, but Dane screams in almost every situation and I CANNOT keep him quiet (trust me, I have tried). I bet there's someone out there who has watched my family go through life and think "Did you see Dane, they were just letting him SCREAM, that's a bit much, MY kids don't yell!".
As parents, we all deal with things. Some times OTHER parents have to deal with things we don't have to. I have a close friend who has 4 littles. All of her kids are born with this innate physical aspect to them. They are rough. They weren't taught to be rough. It's just them. They see a shove or a push between friends as an act of endearment. Five year ago Diana would've thought "why can't she calm her kids down, why can't she control them". That mother, my friend, is a good mom! She is! She's a good mom who has to deal with different challenges than I do. As parents we all deal with different challenges. Maybe another mom has a kid who never yells. She looks at my Dane and thinks "why can't she get him to be quiet". Trust me, lady, I've tried, no dice. We all have different parenting expectations, different kids and different things that come easily to us or are challenging. So, remember that the next time you look at a family and think "Why can't they just x". Maybe they don't want to. Maybe they've tried and their kids aren't robots. Maybe it's an off day. Sooooo many maybes. So many. Don't judge the mom next to you. Or go ahead and judge if you must, she probably doesn't care anyway--she has enough going on.
Anyway, the purpose of this blog post is just to say: Hi blog readers! We're a family of 5 and we're settling into that new milestone beautifully. I've calmed down. My kids are sometimes crazy. I love this life. I've settled into motherhood and I'm happy. I hope you're happy, too! And, I hope you'll take a second to remember we're all trying to stay afloat the next time you think "why can't they just..." when a family nearby is struggling with something that isn't a challenge for you.
Saturday, June 20, 2015
Juliet's Birth Story
Here's the story of Juliet's birth! I still can't believe she is here and we are a family of 5. We are about one week in and thus far it's been the easiest transition for our family, but check back with me when she does more than just sleep and eat all day and night.
The end of pregnancy was full of the "I'll be pregnant forever" despair. It was tough. I was terrified that I'd have to be induced. Elaina and Dane were born two weeks early, and Juliet came just 3 days before her due date. The days were long!
As usual, I lost my mucus plug (I hate that word) about a week before she was born and started having contractions around that time as well. I got so excited thinking the end was near, but she had different plans!
Juliet was born on Friday, June 12th at 11:13 AM and this is how it went down:
It's Friday morning, about 5AM and I hear a strange noise coming from the kids' room. Dane is whining and making a coughing noise that I immediately recognize as gagging. Crap. We had a mall playdate the day before so I'm sure he caught some little stomach bug from one of the kids there. I roll out of bed, go to his room and get him and go to the living room. He and I lay on the couch and he falls back asleep immediately with his head on my chest. About 5 minutes after I lay on the couch, I have a strong contraction. Hmph. That was weird. That felt really, really strong for early labor. About 10 minutes pass and I have another. And another. Crap. This feels like the real deal, and it hurts more than I remember early labor hurting. I need to poop (not push, legitimately poop).
Dane and I are on the couch and everyone but me is asleep. Marvin has this terrible (and incredibly annoying) habit of waking up before work with only enough time to run around like a chicken with his head cut off. I decide to text him from the couch.
He immediately wakes up and comes into the living room. I tell him that Dane threw up and I had 3 pretty painful contractions and I think I might be in labor. He asks if I need anything and if he should call in to work. I tell him I want coffee and that he should go to work and I'll text him if/when he needs to come back home. Dane and Elaina are still asleep. Marvin makes my coffee and I make cinnamon rolls. I have a few more contractions that I have to lean over for (so that my belly hangs--for some reason that helps the pain). The contractions are still coming and they are still hurting more than I remember "just 2 cm" contractions hurting. It is 6:30 and it's time for Marvin to go to work. At this point I've had to squat and breath through the contractions. Marvin has seen me do this. I am starting to wonder if he should go to work after all.
"Maybe you shouldn't go to work?" I say. He chuckles, "Ok, let's not be dramatic, I'll go to work and you call me or text me later." Ummmmm. Ok. Marvin goes to work. I need to poop. I go to the bathroom and sitting on the toilet hurts SO FREAKING BAD. Pressure. I cannot poop because I cannot sit on the toilet long enough to relax. I wipe. I see blood. Ok, I'm in labor. I text Marvin to come home. He doesn't respond. Elaina and Dane wake up. Dane throws up again. Elaina doesn't care that I'm in labor and wants cereal. I need to poop so bad. This is gonna suck. I'm gonna poop all over Dr. Brown later. I text my mom to let her know what's going on. She's on her way. Marvin gets home and says he got to work and juuuuust as he was about to clock in he got my text.
**The first text was while he was in bed. The next few were after he left for work.**
Ok. I'm in labor. It's about 7AM. My mom is over and she's having coffee and toast. Marvin changes into "labor" clothes. The kids watch cartoons. Dane is back to his normal, weird self.
**Two things- 1) I apologize for all the cursing, but a baby was about to be born! 2) Apparently we thought if we said "calmly" a few times it would magically make us calm? Just in case you're wondering, it didn't work**
We start packing bags and getting everything ready. I clean the house and load the dishwasher. I say after every contraction "I just wanna poop. This is terrible." The contractions hurt but people talking is not annoying me yet. I tell Elaina that today is the day we are going to meet the baby. She lights up like a Christmas tree. I feel a little frazzled. I would feel so much better if I could just POOP! Marvin and I time the contractions as we clean up. I yell "ok" when one starts and "ok" again when it ends. Marvin misses a few contractions and he asks me if I can say something other than "ok" to signify a contraction since "ok" is a common word and he can't tell if I'm just talking or trying to get his attention. I yell at him that I'M in labor and I get to decide what to say and he is crazy if he thinks I'm gonna say something else and he better just pay better attention. Labor hormones. I catch my mom and Marvin whispering to each other after my outburst and I'm sure they're talking about how crazy I am. My mom and the kids leave to go to her house (where they'll be staying while we're in the hospital). They leave at about 8AM. We hang out and finish cleaning and Marvin puts on a movie for him to watch while I rock on my birth ball. Marvin is perhaps the calmest man on the Earth at this point. In fact, it would be nice if he would get just a teensy bit more nervous, but #thirdkidprobs
The contractions are starting to really hurt. They are about 3 minutes apart lasting about a minute. Other people talking during the contractions is still not annoying, but I cannot talk at this point through them. At 9AM I start to wonder if we should go to the hospital. Not because I feel like the end is near, but because I don't want to keep worrying about when the right time to go is. I want to travel now and not have to travel when things get tougher. I tell Marvin that I think we should go to the hospital "it's too early" he says. Oh, really, Marv? "Marvin, I don't care if it's too early. I don't want to stress about when the right time is later. I just want to get there and not move." He responds with: "Alright, it's too early, but I guess we can go." Is this dude serious?
We load up in the car and call the hospital and reserve labor room 1 (which has the birth tub). We get to the hospital and Marvin parks (far as hell from the entrance--once again: zero nerves). I get out and walk to the entrance. I have to squat just outside the door and breath. It's 9:15 AM and people are looking at me like I'm crazy. I walk in after the contraction is done and tell the lady at the desk: "Hi, my name is Diana Vallette, we pre-registered and I am in labor." She has zero urgency. She tells me to fill out a paper and wait a moment. Marvin fills it out and I walk around the ER breathing and squatting when contractions hit. People are continuing to look at me like I'm crazy. About 10 minutes pass and we are sent upstairs to Labor & Delivery. We walk to the elevators and juuuuuust as the doors open to the 2nd floor I have a contraction (just like Dane's birth!) and the elevator beeps over and over and I force myself to walk out of the elevator during the contraction.
We walk into Labor Room 1 and it's empty. Where is the nurse? I have about 5 contractions and I'm so effing hot. I am squatting and breathing and need to pee and poop. I just want to poop. It would mean the world to me if I could poop. The room is still empty except for Marvin and I. I tell him to go get the nurse. It's about 9:30AM. He comes back and tells me she said she's coming. Why is no one taking this seriously? She finally comes in and Marvin hands her my birth plan. She looks it over and tells me to pee in a cup and that she wants me to get on the monitor to see if I'm in labor and how far apart the contractions are. L-O-L. She wants to see if I'm in labor. Das funnny! A contraction hits and I squat through it and the nurse watches me breath. The contraction is over and I pop up to a standing position and resume my conversation with her. She says "Well, do you want to get on the monitor first or do you want me to check you?". I tell her I have no preference, whatever she wants, but make sure to say "this is my third kid" in an effort to drive the point home that I AM definitely in labor. I don't need her to "see" if this is it cause this is SO it. She checks me and I'm at 6 cms. Her attitude immediately changes. She knows I'm for real. She tells me she understands I don't want to be on the monitor the whole time, but she'd like to get me on it for a few minutes. I tell her I'll do 20 minutes. She is satisfied with that. She tells me at 9:50 I can unplug myself. She leaves.
I watch the baby's heartrate through contractions and it's going up. Awesome. 9:50 arrives and I unplug myself. Marvin asks if I want the tub filled. I tell him I don't want to get in the tub, but could he fill it in case I want to later? He fills it and says "oh my God, gross!" and turns off the water and starts draining it. I ask him what happened and he says the water is yellow (probably from not being used in a while). The draining noise is loud and distracting and I hate it. Marvin apparently knows me very well because he stops the draining without my saying anything. Apparently a nurse comes in and sees the dirty water chilling in the tub and calls for housekeeping. While I'm in the middle of a HARD contraction a woman enters the room and YELLS "Housekeeping" four times in a row before I yell at her "STOPPPPPP TALKING!" she runs out. I tell Marvin I want to get in the shower. By the time he walks to the bathroom to turn on the shower I change my mind. I don't want to do anything or go anywhere. This hurts and nothing is helping. Marvin tells me how great I'm doing between each contraction and I wonder why he feels the need to lie to me--it hurts!
Eventually Marvin and I develop a contraction routine where I sit on my birth ball and lay my head on the bed in between contractions as he cools me off and rubs my back softly to help me relax. When a contraction hits I jump up off the ball and he helps me hold my belly and sway and squat. The contractions hurt and I'm having to vocalize through them. After a few contractions where I vocalize I say "man, I didn't have to vocalize so early last time!". I have a few more contractions and I feel like I am sucking at handling them. In between the contractions I have internal back and forth conversations with myself about how I'm dreading the next contraction, no don't dread it if you fight against it it'll hurt worse, man this break is long the next contraction is gonna suck, I'm tired, I'm so hot, I wish I could poop, is this almost over etc. etc. etc.
I start to feel some slight pressure. Damnit I wish I had gotten to poop because now I don't know if it's the real urge to push or not and I'm probably going to poop all over the damn table.
I tell the nurse that I'm feeling some slight pressure. She asks if I want to be checked. I say yes. Marvin asks me if I'm sure I want to be checked. I say yes. The nurse checks me. I'm an 8. I have a few more contractions and Dr. Brown walks in.
Diana: Hey, you're early! What are you doing here?
Dr. Brown:You said you felt pressure!
Diana: A little bit, but only during contractions, but we checked and I'm an 8.
Dr. Brown: Yeah, but less than an hour ago you were a 6.
Diana: You have time! Go see some more patients and we'll call you when it's time
Dr. Brown: Are you sure? I can make it back in 1 minute. Tell the nurse when you're ready and she'll call me right away, ok?
Dr. Brown leaves. There is alot of commotion going on around me. They are getting the room ready for delivery. There's a table with alot more instruments than I imagine I'll need to get this baby born! I start feeling the definite need to push. I have a few more contractions. I tell the nurse it's time to push and to call Brown. She checks me and I'm a 9. I don't care what the hell the number is. It's time. She says we can try pushing past it. Yup, that's exactly what we're going to do. Brown arrives and gets suited up. The nurses are putting covers over their shoes. I have about 3 contractions in the bed while they all get ready and I push slightly through those contractions because the pushing feels good. Everyone is ready now.
Dr. Brown asks if he can check me and I say "no, not right now, I'll let you know" and after a minute or so I tell him he can check. His finger goes in about one knuckle deep and he says "okkkkk, yeah, let's push this baby out on this next contraction" We wait around for another contraction and Brown tells me the baby has almost zero molding on its head. "Aww good" I say. He makes a face like I'm not understanding "the baby's head is REALLY round, did you have an episiotomy with your others?" Ohhhh. He means that the baby's head isn't molded so it may not come out so easily. I tell him that I didn't have an episiotomy with either of my other labors nor did I tear and I don't want one this time, I'd rather just tear naturally if I'm going to tear. I tell Dr. Brown that I've been needing to poop since before labor began and I'll probably poop on the table and I'm sorry. "It's all good" he says. Maybe for you, dude! You're not the one pooping in front of every one. A contraction comes. I close my eyes and push with everything I have. Oh my God it hurts so much worse than I remember. So much pressure. Everyone in the room is cheering me on and I hear Marvin say "I see the head" (hearing him say that every time pumps me up so much! I wanna see!). The contraction is over and Brown says next contraction the baby is out. I tell Brown we don't know the sex and he says "neither do I" and I tell him Marvin will announce the sex. A contraction comes and I push and push and push and the head is out. I feel zero relief. Brown tells me to push and push so the shoulders can come out. The shoulders feel stuck to me, but I push and they pop out and I feel relief. Marvin announces "It's a girl!" I open my eyes and she's laying in between my legs and her hair is dark and she looks so tiny and I can't believe I did it.
I ask Dr. Brown if I tore, he says no. I ask Marvin if I pooped, he says no. I can't believe it. I feel the placenta slipping out and I push it out. SO MUCH relief. I feel empty. Ahhhhh I can breath!
I ask Dr. Brown to see the placenta because I've never seen one in real life. It's so much smaller than I imagine. Juliet (she was not named until this moment, she was almost Maria or Marie or one of 5 other names we kept going back and forth on) nurses like a champ looking up at me. I ask the nurse how much she thinks she weighs because she's so tiny! The nurse says "hmmm, she's little, about 6 lbs I guess!" Juliet is weighed about an hour later and she weighs 7lbs 5 oz. Everyone is surprised because she looked so itty bitty.
(Marvin goes to find the lady I yelled at to "stop talking" and apologizes for me.)
We got to the hospital at 9AM I had her at 11AM. Two hours. If Marvin would've been in charge, we would've had a baby at home!
Juliet's birth felt alot harder to me than Dane's. It was fast and furious. 6 hours from first contraction to her birth. I had some moments of self doubt. Not "I want the epidural" self doubt because I'm sure I wouldn't have had time to get it and I definitely wouldn't have been able to stay still while they administered it, but more "man, this really hurts, how am I gonna keep doing this?" I'm so glad contractions have breaks in between!
It was an awesome surprise not knowing the gender (even though I 'knew' she was a girl).
It's crazy to me that just 9 days ago I was sure I'd be pregnant forever and now I don't even remember what it felt like to be pregnant. I keep telling Marvin how lucky I feel to have 3 healthy kids. We are blessed and we know it!
The end of pregnancy was full of the "I'll be pregnant forever" despair. It was tough. I was terrified that I'd have to be induced. Elaina and Dane were born two weeks early, and Juliet came just 3 days before her due date. The days were long!
As usual, I lost my mucus plug (I hate that word) about a week before she was born and started having contractions around that time as well. I got so excited thinking the end was near, but she had different plans!
Juliet was born on Friday, June 12th at 11:13 AM and this is how it went down:
It's Friday morning, about 5AM and I hear a strange noise coming from the kids' room. Dane is whining and making a coughing noise that I immediately recognize as gagging. Crap. We had a mall playdate the day before so I'm sure he caught some little stomach bug from one of the kids there. I roll out of bed, go to his room and get him and go to the living room. He and I lay on the couch and he falls back asleep immediately with his head on my chest. About 5 minutes after I lay on the couch, I have a strong contraction. Hmph. That was weird. That felt really, really strong for early labor. About 10 minutes pass and I have another. And another. Crap. This feels like the real deal, and it hurts more than I remember early labor hurting. I need to poop (not push, legitimately poop).
Dane and I are on the couch and everyone but me is asleep. Marvin has this terrible (and incredibly annoying) habit of waking up before work with only enough time to run around like a chicken with his head cut off. I decide to text him from the couch.
He immediately wakes up and comes into the living room. I tell him that Dane threw up and I had 3 pretty painful contractions and I think I might be in labor. He asks if I need anything and if he should call in to work. I tell him I want coffee and that he should go to work and I'll text him if/when he needs to come back home. Dane and Elaina are still asleep. Marvin makes my coffee and I make cinnamon rolls. I have a few more contractions that I have to lean over for (so that my belly hangs--for some reason that helps the pain). The contractions are still coming and they are still hurting more than I remember "just 2 cm" contractions hurting. It is 6:30 and it's time for Marvin to go to work. At this point I've had to squat and breath through the contractions. Marvin has seen me do this. I am starting to wonder if he should go to work after all.
"Maybe you shouldn't go to work?" I say. He chuckles, "Ok, let's not be dramatic, I'll go to work and you call me or text me later." Ummmmm. Ok. Marvin goes to work. I need to poop. I go to the bathroom and sitting on the toilet hurts SO FREAKING BAD. Pressure. I cannot poop because I cannot sit on the toilet long enough to relax. I wipe. I see blood. Ok, I'm in labor. I text Marvin to come home. He doesn't respond. Elaina and Dane wake up. Dane throws up again. Elaina doesn't care that I'm in labor and wants cereal. I need to poop so bad. This is gonna suck. I'm gonna poop all over Dr. Brown later. I text my mom to let her know what's going on. She's on her way. Marvin gets home and says he got to work and juuuuust as he was about to clock in he got my text.
**The first text was while he was in bed. The next few were after he left for work.**
Ok. I'm in labor. It's about 7AM. My mom is over and she's having coffee and toast. Marvin changes into "labor" clothes. The kids watch cartoons. Dane is back to his normal, weird self.
We start packing bags and getting everything ready. I clean the house and load the dishwasher. I say after every contraction "I just wanna poop. This is terrible." The contractions hurt but people talking is not annoying me yet. I tell Elaina that today is the day we are going to meet the baby. She lights up like a Christmas tree. I feel a little frazzled. I would feel so much better if I could just POOP! Marvin and I time the contractions as we clean up. I yell "ok" when one starts and "ok" again when it ends. Marvin misses a few contractions and he asks me if I can say something other than "ok" to signify a contraction since "ok" is a common word and he can't tell if I'm just talking or trying to get his attention. I yell at him that I'M in labor and I get to decide what to say and he is crazy if he thinks I'm gonna say something else and he better just pay better attention. Labor hormones. I catch my mom and Marvin whispering to each other after my outburst and I'm sure they're talking about how crazy I am. My mom and the kids leave to go to her house (where they'll be staying while we're in the hospital). They leave at about 8AM. We hang out and finish cleaning and Marvin puts on a movie for him to watch while I rock on my birth ball. Marvin is perhaps the calmest man on the Earth at this point. In fact, it would be nice if he would get just a teensy bit more nervous, but #thirdkidprobs
The contractions are starting to really hurt. They are about 3 minutes apart lasting about a minute. Other people talking during the contractions is still not annoying, but I cannot talk at this point through them. At 9AM I start to wonder if we should go to the hospital. Not because I feel like the end is near, but because I don't want to keep worrying about when the right time to go is. I want to travel now and not have to travel when things get tougher. I tell Marvin that I think we should go to the hospital "it's too early" he says. Oh, really, Marv? "Marvin, I don't care if it's too early. I don't want to stress about when the right time is later. I just want to get there and not move." He responds with: "Alright, it's too early, but I guess we can go." Is this dude serious?
We load up in the car and call the hospital and reserve labor room 1 (which has the birth tub). We get to the hospital and Marvin parks (far as hell from the entrance--once again: zero nerves). I get out and walk to the entrance. I have to squat just outside the door and breath. It's 9:15 AM and people are looking at me like I'm crazy. I walk in after the contraction is done and tell the lady at the desk: "Hi, my name is Diana Vallette, we pre-registered and I am in labor." She has zero urgency. She tells me to fill out a paper and wait a moment. Marvin fills it out and I walk around the ER breathing and squatting when contractions hit. People are continuing to look at me like I'm crazy. About 10 minutes pass and we are sent upstairs to Labor & Delivery. We walk to the elevators and juuuuuust as the doors open to the 2nd floor I have a contraction (just like Dane's birth!) and the elevator beeps over and over and I force myself to walk out of the elevator during the contraction.
We walk into Labor Room 1 and it's empty. Where is the nurse? I have about 5 contractions and I'm so effing hot. I am squatting and breathing and need to pee and poop. I just want to poop. It would mean the world to me if I could poop. The room is still empty except for Marvin and I. I tell him to go get the nurse. It's about 9:30AM. He comes back and tells me she said she's coming. Why is no one taking this seriously? She finally comes in and Marvin hands her my birth plan. She looks it over and tells me to pee in a cup and that she wants me to get on the monitor to see if I'm in labor and how far apart the contractions are. L-O-L. She wants to see if I'm in labor. Das funnny! A contraction hits and I squat through it and the nurse watches me breath. The contraction is over and I pop up to a standing position and resume my conversation with her. She says "Well, do you want to get on the monitor first or do you want me to check you?". I tell her I have no preference, whatever she wants, but make sure to say "this is my third kid" in an effort to drive the point home that I AM definitely in labor. I don't need her to "see" if this is it cause this is SO it. She checks me and I'm at 6 cms. Her attitude immediately changes. She knows I'm for real. She tells me she understands I don't want to be on the monitor the whole time, but she'd like to get me on it for a few minutes. I tell her I'll do 20 minutes. She is satisfied with that. She tells me at 9:50 I can unplug myself. She leaves.
I watch the baby's heartrate through contractions and it's going up. Awesome. 9:50 arrives and I unplug myself. Marvin asks if I want the tub filled. I tell him I don't want to get in the tub, but could he fill it in case I want to later? He fills it and says "oh my God, gross!" and turns off the water and starts draining it. I ask him what happened and he says the water is yellow (probably from not being used in a while). The draining noise is loud and distracting and I hate it. Marvin apparently knows me very well because he stops the draining without my saying anything. Apparently a nurse comes in and sees the dirty water chilling in the tub and calls for housekeeping. While I'm in the middle of a HARD contraction a woman enters the room and YELLS "Housekeeping" four times in a row before I yell at her "STOPPPPPP TALKING!" she runs out. I tell Marvin I want to get in the shower. By the time he walks to the bathroom to turn on the shower I change my mind. I don't want to do anything or go anywhere. This hurts and nothing is helping. Marvin tells me how great I'm doing between each contraction and I wonder why he feels the need to lie to me--it hurts!
Eventually Marvin and I develop a contraction routine where I sit on my birth ball and lay my head on the bed in between contractions as he cools me off and rubs my back softly to help me relax. When a contraction hits I jump up off the ball and he helps me hold my belly and sway and squat. The contractions hurt and I'm having to vocalize through them. After a few contractions where I vocalize I say "man, I didn't have to vocalize so early last time!". I have a few more contractions and I feel like I am sucking at handling them. In between the contractions I have internal back and forth conversations with myself about how I'm dreading the next contraction, no don't dread it if you fight against it it'll hurt worse, man this break is long the next contraction is gonna suck, I'm tired, I'm so hot, I wish I could poop, is this almost over etc. etc. etc.
I start to feel some slight pressure. Damnit I wish I had gotten to poop because now I don't know if it's the real urge to push or not and I'm probably going to poop all over the damn table.
I tell the nurse that I'm feeling some slight pressure. She asks if I want to be checked. I say yes. Marvin asks me if I'm sure I want to be checked. I say yes. The nurse checks me. I'm an 8. I have a few more contractions and Dr. Brown walks in.
Diana: Hey, you're early! What are you doing here?
Dr. Brown:You said you felt pressure!
Diana: A little bit, but only during contractions, but we checked and I'm an 8.
Dr. Brown: Yeah, but less than an hour ago you were a 6.
Diana: You have time! Go see some more patients and we'll call you when it's time
Dr. Brown: Are you sure? I can make it back in 1 minute. Tell the nurse when you're ready and she'll call me right away, ok?
Dr. Brown leaves. There is alot of commotion going on around me. They are getting the room ready for delivery. There's a table with alot more instruments than I imagine I'll need to get this baby born! I start feeling the definite need to push. I have a few more contractions. I tell the nurse it's time to push and to call Brown. She checks me and I'm a 9. I don't care what the hell the number is. It's time. She says we can try pushing past it. Yup, that's exactly what we're going to do. Brown arrives and gets suited up. The nurses are putting covers over their shoes. I have about 3 contractions in the bed while they all get ready and I push slightly through those contractions because the pushing feels good. Everyone is ready now.
Dr. Brown asks if he can check me and I say "no, not right now, I'll let you know" and after a minute or so I tell him he can check. His finger goes in about one knuckle deep and he says "okkkkk, yeah, let's push this baby out on this next contraction" We wait around for another contraction and Brown tells me the baby has almost zero molding on its head. "Aww good" I say. He makes a face like I'm not understanding "the baby's head is REALLY round, did you have an episiotomy with your others?" Ohhhh. He means that the baby's head isn't molded so it may not come out so easily. I tell him that I didn't have an episiotomy with either of my other labors nor did I tear and I don't want one this time, I'd rather just tear naturally if I'm going to tear. I tell Dr. Brown that I've been needing to poop since before labor began and I'll probably poop on the table and I'm sorry. "It's all good" he says. Maybe for you, dude! You're not the one pooping in front of every one. A contraction comes. I close my eyes and push with everything I have. Oh my God it hurts so much worse than I remember. So much pressure. Everyone in the room is cheering me on and I hear Marvin say "I see the head" (hearing him say that every time pumps me up so much! I wanna see!). The contraction is over and Brown says next contraction the baby is out. I tell Brown we don't know the sex and he says "neither do I" and I tell him Marvin will announce the sex. A contraction comes and I push and push and push and the head is out. I feel zero relief. Brown tells me to push and push so the shoulders can come out. The shoulders feel stuck to me, but I push and they pop out and I feel relief. Marvin announces "It's a girl!" I open my eyes and she's laying in between my legs and her hair is dark and she looks so tiny and I can't believe I did it.
I ask Dr. Brown if I tore, he says no. I ask Marvin if I pooped, he says no. I can't believe it. I feel the placenta slipping out and I push it out. SO MUCH relief. I feel empty. Ahhhhh I can breath!
I ask Dr. Brown to see the placenta because I've never seen one in real life. It's so much smaller than I imagine. Juliet (she was not named until this moment, she was almost Maria or Marie or one of 5 other names we kept going back and forth on) nurses like a champ looking up at me. I ask the nurse how much she thinks she weighs because she's so tiny! The nurse says "hmmm, she's little, about 6 lbs I guess!" Juliet is weighed about an hour later and she weighs 7lbs 5 oz. Everyone is surprised because she looked so itty bitty.
(Marvin goes to find the lady I yelled at to "stop talking" and apologizes for me.)
We got to the hospital at 9AM I had her at 11AM. Two hours. If Marvin would've been in charge, we would've had a baby at home!
Juliet's birth felt alot harder to me than Dane's. It was fast and furious. 6 hours from first contraction to her birth. I had some moments of self doubt. Not "I want the epidural" self doubt because I'm sure I wouldn't have had time to get it and I definitely wouldn't have been able to stay still while they administered it, but more "man, this really hurts, how am I gonna keep doing this?" I'm so glad contractions have breaks in between!
It was an awesome surprise not knowing the gender (even though I 'knew' she was a girl).
It's crazy to me that just 9 days ago I was sure I'd be pregnant forever and now I don't even remember what it felt like to be pregnant. I keep telling Marvin how lucky I feel to have 3 healthy kids. We are blessed and we know it!
Thursday, January 1, 2015
Wrapping up 2014
I haven't written a new blog post in quite a while, but that's mostly because I've been as sick as a dog. Like, so sick that I was starting to get depressed. I couldn't see the end. I'm out of it now, and it's glooooorious! I forgot how awesome it felt to feel normal!
People say "every pregnancy is different" and you kind of roll your eyes and expect more of the same (especially if this is your third go round), but this time has been SO different. I won't be surprised if the rest of my pregnancy throws me for a loop as well. I have a feeling this baby is a little trouble maker.
Anyway, I'm sure I've written about the "phase" phenomena in other blog posts, but I'll go ahead and bring it up just in case you missed it. I've found that motherhood goes in phases. You go through "super hard, cry your eyes out, failing at life" phases and then you go through "this is cake, let's have a million kids, I am woman hear me roar" phases. I think a while back I wrote a blog post about how 2 kids was cake. I was going through a particularly awesome phase. They played nicely. I was happy. They were reasonable. It was wonderful. And then came this whirlwind of a pregnancy. And then things weren't easy. Everything was hard. Everything made me throw up. It's hard to see the rainbow when the rain is pouring all around you.
It was a nice little epiphany when Marvin and I discovered the phase thing a while back. It helps because when we're going through a particularly hard time with the kids or finances or life and one of us is having a hard time seeing the positive the other one is there to remind you "it's just a phase".
2014 was a nice year. They've all been particularly nice since 2009 when I met the man I was going to marry. He makes life better and happier and easier. I go through moments where I am amazed that he is really THIS great and I am really THIS lucky.
We kept a "Most Memorable Moments of 2014" jar and filled it with scribbled little pieces of paper containing our favorite memories. I found myself reading them and thinking "Wait, that was this year? It feels like FOREVER ago". I thought it would be nice to share a few of my favorites (the quotes are funny things Elaina said):
January 16th: "I like to punch people." & "I fell like a mermaid." (after flopping out of her chair)
February 3rd: Mom gets offered a job
February 5th: While out in public a sweet stranger took the time to compliment me on my patience and tell me that I was a good mom. (It brought tears to my eyes.)
February 8th: "I wish I was a coffee pot."
February 18th: 9 month old Dane slept through the night for the FIRST TIME EVER!
April 19th: The best dad I've ever met spent a sweaty, mosquito afternoon putting together his daughter's swingset
April 29th: Dane finally drinks out of SOMETHING that isn't his mother
May 8th: Dane's last time nursing. YAYYYYY!
May 9th: "We gotta buy a new baby cause Dane keeps YELLING!"
May 31st: Elaina catches a nasty stomach bug and we're forced to cancel Dane's 1st birthday
June 2nd: Elaina teaches Dane to say "no" and "ball" in 10 seconds (after Mom tries for MONTHS to no avail)
July 13th: Dane starts taking steps and Elaina is BEYOND excited!
August: Mom gets a second job!
Oct 4th: Mom and Dad find out baby #3 is on the way (and manage to keep it secret for 3 weeks)
Nov 7th: "Hello baby, I understand you're in Mom's belly?"
Nov 16th: Marvin develops the van wave
Nov 16th: What if the baby is a boy? "It's NOT! She told me!"
In 2015 Marvin and I will witness our godchild's baptism (still can't believe someone picked ME! what an honor), Marvin and I will celebrate 4 years of marriage, I'll get to party (pregnant woman style) for one of my oldest friend's bachelorette party, one of my favorite couples will get married, we'll welcome another sweet soul into our family and my very first baby will turn FIVE (crazy). Wishing you and yours a Happy New Year!
Monday, November 17, 2014
I Don't Give A Crap
I have no idea what caused it. None. It's not something I felt like I needed to change. It's not something that I was working on. It just came out of nowhere. What happened, you ask? I 100% do not care about other women's parenting decisions. No, really, I don't.
Let me back up.
Some of you know me well and some of you barely know me and maybe some of you were linked to this blog through a friend of a friend and you don't know me at all. For the ones who don't know me, let me back up. I have two children and we're expecting our third. With my first I was a basket case. I wasn't a basket case because I thought I was better than anyone. I wasn't a fake basket case because I thought it's what I SHOULD do. I was a legitimate basket case because that's the type of mother my first child created (through no fault of her own).
I had severe anxiety. Severe. I worried about everything. Everything. I cried alot. I locked myself in my house and rarely left and shut out important people. I hurt feelings. I did not care about anything in the entire world other than keeping this little, helpless being alive and happy. It felt like a big, overwhelming, impossible job. It felt like I was one less-than-perfect decision from ruining her life. I felt less than. I doubted myself. I had so much going on with ME that I couldn't see past it. It was exhausting. I didn't understand how other women were handling motherhood with such ease. They weren't faking it. They just legitimately didn't freak out like I did. I saw them and their "carelessness" as inferior. I judged. I judged SO HARD. I yelled from this blog and Facebook and from any platform I could find about how my way was right. I made comments to my husband "the baby is only THREE WEEKS OLD and they let her spend the night for a date night, can you IMAGINE???".
When I had Dane, I chilled a little more. A little. Not much. I wasn't AS vocal about my judgments. I voiced them in safe places. I only dogged the formula feeding moms from the safety of the Facebook breastfeeding group. Ha. I was passive aggressive. My anxiety was still higher than what 'most' mothers probably experience, but I cried less. I freaked out less. I couldn't lock myself in my house and "just keep the baby alive" with Dane because I had Elaina and she needed me too. I couldn't keep everyone out. I had to go on with life. Maybe not as normally as other (better adjusted) moms did, but it was definitely an improvement from my postpartum experience with Elaina.
I guess my anxiety and TREMENDOUS self doubt and the inadequacy that I felt manifested as straight up judgy bitchiness. My way was the right way because I was psycho and I cared too much and no one cared as much as me so I was the best mom. I had to play that game because I was SO unsure of myself and filled with so much panic that I couldn't take a look inward. I was sure, deep inside, that I was messing it all up or, at the very least, on the verge of messing it all up. I projected. I projected all of my messedupness (new word) onto others.
I don't know how it came to be, like I said above, but I legitimately don't care anymore. Truly. I know that a lot of people CLAIM they don't care about the choices other mothers make, but they really do. I was there. "Oh, I really don't care if you work or stay home." But deep inside, the BETTER choice was staying home. "I don't care if people breastfeed or not." But, then I would get batty when I heard someone didn't even TRY. Women who formula feed say they don't judge breastfeeding moms, but they make comments in passing about the toddler who is (gasp) STILL nursing. Women who stay home say they don't care if working moms work, but then they make comments about how someone else is raising their kid. Women who work say they don't care if women stay home, but then they make comments about how much TIME they would have if they were able to stay home and how "easy" it is. No. We're all judging. All of us. All of us because we have to prove that what we're doing is hard. That what we're doing is legitimate. Do you know why? Because we doubt ourselves. Because we feel guilt.
We feel guilt and doubt and so we have to spend our time loudly (or passive aggressively) or without even noticing remarking about how what WE are doing is right or hardest or best. Who cares. Really. Who cares. The answer used to be: Diana! Not anymore. If you decided to work or stay home: cool. They are both HARD. Life is hard. Life is hard when you're a mom because you a responsible for another being. It's not a competition. If you decide to breastfeed or formula feed: cool. They both come with challenges and self doubt. They are both hard because you're a mom and you are responsible for another human.
I knew there was a significant shift when someone (and I've heard this several times) told me (upon learning that I plan to nurse #3) that breastfeeding is disgusting. It did not bother me. I didn't feel personally attacked. I didn't feel "sorry for them that they missed that bonding experience". I just laughed and we moved on to a different topic and that was it. Some people think it's gross, and that's ok. Some people do it. Some people try it and it works or try it and it doesn't and some people don't even try at all. That's all ok. A working mom recently told me that if she was a stay at home mom she would be able to take her time grocery shopping and shop in peace (rather than rushing through it to go retrieve their child from the sitter). I just laughed inside. I didn't get my panties in a knot. I didn't shut her down and explain to her what grocery shopping looks like for me because I didn't feel the need to prove myself. I know (now) that my job has value, and I don't need to paint a big ole ugly picture of what it looks like in order to get props.
We all have different experiences. We all make different choices. If you think it's nice (or in ANYWAY helpful) to post a meme about how "it's called a chestclip why is it on the belly blah blah blah" then you're mistaken. It's not nice. It's not helpful. It's not a good look. Do I judge you? No. I was there. If you think it's you job in this world to prove to a mother (who already knows the risks) that she shouldn't put the carseat on top of the shopping cart, it's not. You know why? Because you don't care about her child more than she does. You don't. You have your own children to make decisions for. If you think when someone posts an article about how awesome breastfeeding is that they're calling you out as a sucky mom because you formula feed, they're not. You feel self induced guilt about it and are projecting. Do I blaim you? No! Or you know what? Maybe they are! Maybe they are posting an article about how magical breastfeeding is because they are so unsure of themselves in almost every other facet of mothering that they cram breastfeeding down the throats of others. It's just their insecurity talking. Don't we all have insecurities? No one is thinking about you as much as you are. No one.
I've reached the point where I do not care. Zero care. I legitimately do not judge the mom who makes different decisions than me. And, I'm not just saying it. I mean it. If you didn't even try to breastfeed or if you are breastfeeding a 3 year old or if you don't have to work, but choose to, or if you think breastfeeding is disgusting and should only be done in private. Cool. It's all cool. I can only be the mom that I am. You can't fake parenting because your kids will break you down. I am the person that I am.
The only thing that hurts my feelings (and I'm working on it) is when I see women categorizing other mothers. The crazy moms vs the normal moms. The crazy moms care just the right amount, but they annoy all of Facebook and the world with their oversharing and the normal moms are chill and don't annoy anyone and they post juuuuust the right amount of kid things, but they don't care enough. Excuse my French, but it's all bullshit. Trust me when I tell you that we are already beating ourselves up enough (even if we put on the front that we think we are the perfect parent) and we don't need others adding to our junk. We just don't.
Anytime you see someone post an annoyingly judgy article or meme or status just read it like this: "I doubt almost everything I do, so, I'm going to beat this one thing (that I feel like I actually do well) to death." It might help you not to get mad, annoyed or feel judged.
So, if you, as a mother, ever felt judged by me you were probably right. I was sitting on my high horse making comments about how much better I was than you. It's terrible and embarrassing, but it's true. Please know that it came from a place of immense self doubt. Immense. And, I'm sorry.
I guess now I've recognized and accepted that I'm not a perfect mother. I will never be the perfect mother. I am and can only be the mother that I am, and that's enough for me. And, others can only be the mothers that they are, and that's enough for them.
Let me back up.
Some of you know me well and some of you barely know me and maybe some of you were linked to this blog through a friend of a friend and you don't know me at all. For the ones who don't know me, let me back up. I have two children and we're expecting our third. With my first I was a basket case. I wasn't a basket case because I thought I was better than anyone. I wasn't a fake basket case because I thought it's what I SHOULD do. I was a legitimate basket case because that's the type of mother my first child created (through no fault of her own).
I had severe anxiety. Severe. I worried about everything. Everything. I cried alot. I locked myself in my house and rarely left and shut out important people. I hurt feelings. I did not care about anything in the entire world other than keeping this little, helpless being alive and happy. It felt like a big, overwhelming, impossible job. It felt like I was one less-than-perfect decision from ruining her life. I felt less than. I doubted myself. I had so much going on with ME that I couldn't see past it. It was exhausting. I didn't understand how other women were handling motherhood with such ease. They weren't faking it. They just legitimately didn't freak out like I did. I saw them and their "carelessness" as inferior. I judged. I judged SO HARD. I yelled from this blog and Facebook and from any platform I could find about how my way was right. I made comments to my husband "the baby is only THREE WEEKS OLD and they let her spend the night for a date night, can you IMAGINE???".
When I had Dane, I chilled a little more. A little. Not much. I wasn't AS vocal about my judgments. I voiced them in safe places. I only dogged the formula feeding moms from the safety of the Facebook breastfeeding group. Ha. I was passive aggressive. My anxiety was still higher than what 'most' mothers probably experience, but I cried less. I freaked out less. I couldn't lock myself in my house and "just keep the baby alive" with Dane because I had Elaina and she needed me too. I couldn't keep everyone out. I had to go on with life. Maybe not as normally as other (better adjusted) moms did, but it was definitely an improvement from my postpartum experience with Elaina.
I guess my anxiety and TREMENDOUS self doubt and the inadequacy that I felt manifested as straight up judgy bitchiness. My way was the right way because I was psycho and I cared too much and no one cared as much as me so I was the best mom. I had to play that game because I was SO unsure of myself and filled with so much panic that I couldn't take a look inward. I was sure, deep inside, that I was messing it all up or, at the very least, on the verge of messing it all up. I projected. I projected all of my messedupness (new word) onto others.
I don't know how it came to be, like I said above, but I legitimately don't care anymore. Truly. I know that a lot of people CLAIM they don't care about the choices other mothers make, but they really do. I was there. "Oh, I really don't care if you work or stay home." But deep inside, the BETTER choice was staying home. "I don't care if people breastfeed or not." But, then I would get batty when I heard someone didn't even TRY. Women who formula feed say they don't judge breastfeeding moms, but they make comments in passing about the toddler who is (gasp) STILL nursing. Women who stay home say they don't care if working moms work, but then they make comments about how someone else is raising their kid. Women who work say they don't care if women stay home, but then they make comments about how much TIME they would have if they were able to stay home and how "easy" it is. No. We're all judging. All of us. All of us because we have to prove that what we're doing is hard. That what we're doing is legitimate. Do you know why? Because we doubt ourselves. Because we feel guilt.
We feel guilt and doubt and so we have to spend our time loudly (or passive aggressively) or without even noticing remarking about how what WE are doing is right or hardest or best. Who cares. Really. Who cares. The answer used to be: Diana! Not anymore. If you decided to work or stay home: cool. They are both HARD. Life is hard. Life is hard when you're a mom because you a responsible for another being. It's not a competition. If you decide to breastfeed or formula feed: cool. They both come with challenges and self doubt. They are both hard because you're a mom and you are responsible for another human.
I knew there was a significant shift when someone (and I've heard this several times) told me (upon learning that I plan to nurse #3) that breastfeeding is disgusting. It did not bother me. I didn't feel personally attacked. I didn't feel "sorry for them that they missed that bonding experience". I just laughed and we moved on to a different topic and that was it. Some people think it's gross, and that's ok. Some people do it. Some people try it and it works or try it and it doesn't and some people don't even try at all. That's all ok. A working mom recently told me that if she was a stay at home mom she would be able to take her time grocery shopping and shop in peace (rather than rushing through it to go retrieve their child from the sitter). I just laughed inside. I didn't get my panties in a knot. I didn't shut her down and explain to her what grocery shopping looks like for me because I didn't feel the need to prove myself. I know (now) that my job has value, and I don't need to paint a big ole ugly picture of what it looks like in order to get props.
We all have different experiences. We all make different choices. If you think it's nice (or in ANYWAY helpful) to post a meme about how "it's called a chestclip why is it on the belly blah blah blah" then you're mistaken. It's not nice. It's not helpful. It's not a good look. Do I judge you? No. I was there. If you think it's you job in this world to prove to a mother (who already knows the risks) that she shouldn't put the carseat on top of the shopping cart, it's not. You know why? Because you don't care about her child more than she does. You don't. You have your own children to make decisions for. If you think when someone posts an article about how awesome breastfeeding is that they're calling you out as a sucky mom because you formula feed, they're not. You feel self induced guilt about it and are projecting. Do I blaim you? No! Or you know what? Maybe they are! Maybe they are posting an article about how magical breastfeeding is because they are so unsure of themselves in almost every other facet of mothering that they cram breastfeeding down the throats of others. It's just their insecurity talking. Don't we all have insecurities? No one is thinking about you as much as you are. No one.
I've reached the point where I do not care. Zero care. I legitimately do not judge the mom who makes different decisions than me. And, I'm not just saying it. I mean it. If you didn't even try to breastfeed or if you are breastfeeding a 3 year old or if you don't have to work, but choose to, or if you think breastfeeding is disgusting and should only be done in private. Cool. It's all cool. I can only be the mom that I am. You can't fake parenting because your kids will break you down. I am the person that I am.
The only thing that hurts my feelings (and I'm working on it) is when I see women categorizing other mothers. The crazy moms vs the normal moms. The crazy moms care just the right amount, but they annoy all of Facebook and the world with their oversharing and the normal moms are chill and don't annoy anyone and they post juuuuust the right amount of kid things, but they don't care enough. Excuse my French, but it's all bullshit. Trust me when I tell you that we are already beating ourselves up enough (even if we put on the front that we think we are the perfect parent) and we don't need others adding to our junk. We just don't.
Anytime you see someone post an annoyingly judgy article or meme or status just read it like this: "I doubt almost everything I do, so, I'm going to beat this one thing (that I feel like I actually do well) to death." It might help you not to get mad, annoyed or feel judged.
So, if you, as a mother, ever felt judged by me you were probably right. I was sitting on my high horse making comments about how much better I was than you. It's terrible and embarrassing, but it's true. Please know that it came from a place of immense self doubt. Immense. And, I'm sorry.
I guess now I've recognized and accepted that I'm not a perfect mother. I will never be the perfect mother. I am and can only be the mother that I am, and that's enough for me. And, others can only be the mothers that they are, and that's enough for them.
Friday, September 12, 2014
Maybe
When I began to really understand what was happening at mass, I didn't understand why people all around me weren't crying with joy. Why people aren't silent and reverent the entire time. Why the air in the church isn't thick and important. Why did it seem, on the outside, like nothing important was happening? I don't know this answer. If I had to guess I'd say maybe some people don't know what's happening. Maybe others are having an off day. Maybe some have gotten complacent. And, maybe, most importantly, I am not the judge of what other people have going on in their heart and soul in mass. Maybe on the inside they are busting with love and joy and worship and on the outside they are trying to keep their 2 year old from disturbing the entire congregation.
There came a time on my journey that I could not deny Christ's real, true presence in the Eucharist. I literally felt something deep in my gut any time I was around the Blessed Sacrament in adoration. I initially thought that the tug I felt in my stomach was because of my realization that Christ was in the room with me. I knew that I was in front of Jesus and so maybe my brain made my stomach feel butterflies. I didn't know the reason. But I did know that when you come to know that Christ is really, truly present in the Eucharist, you no longer find mass boring. It's impossible. I also found myself longing to spend time with Him in prayer, adoration and mass.
One day, I was driving to Lake Charles to meet my mom, and I decided to stop at OLQH to pop in and say a quick prayer in front of the Blessed Sacrament. I have been to OLQH before for mass, but I had no idea where the chapel was. I was lugging Dane walking around the church trying to find the chapel, and all of a sudden --out of nowhere-- I got that feeling deep in my gut, and I knew He must be close. I turned the corner and there was the door! That was such an awesome realization. I don't always feel that feeling and maybe one day I won't feel it at all, and that'll be ok because Christ is really present in the Eucharist no matter how I do or don't feel about it. With or without my gut feeling.
I went to a Woman's Group meeting recently that takes place in a room at a church in Sulphur. I try to go to this meeting monthly. The meeting is at 7PM, and that's pretty late in my house with my kids. I didn't want to go, so I knew that meant that I needed to. (Funny how that works, eh?) I fed my family, took a shower, put on a t-shirt and headed to the church for the meeting with wet hair, not a lick of makeup and sweatpants. Oh well. I figured it was better that I go looking a mess than not go at all.
Generally when I go to these meetings I know about 2 or 3 of the 20 people there. This time, none of my friends were at the meeting. I walked in and sat down. I smiled at the two ladies whom I've seen every morning for several weeks when the kids and I would attend daily mass. They didn't smile back. I sat down in the circle alone. My mind started judging. "Wow, that's really nice. This meeting is supposed to be about sisterhood, and the women I go to mass with can't even return a smile." And then I caught myself. I don't know their hearts. Maybe they were daydreaming when I smiled and said hi. Maybe they don't recognize me with wet hair and no makeup. Who knows.
Remember when I told y'all about that awesome experience I had in confession when the priest went on and on about how terrible my sins were? Well, it was awesome. No, really, it was. Anyway, one of the things he talked to me about was how terrible gossip and judging is. He said (in my own, incomparable words) that when you gossip about someone you are taking away their right to a good reputation. Whether the thing you are discussing is true or not does not matter. You are claiming to know their heart and their intentions and since you cannot possibly know either (because you aren't God) you shouldn't speak about others in that way. I remember hearing something about how when you judge others you don't have the opportunity to love them.
Anyway, so there I am sitting all alone in the circle and judging the other women who aren't saying hi or trying to make me feel welcomed all the while (and here's the kicker) sitting there not saying hi to anyone or trying to make anyone else who might be alone feel welcomed. The beam in my eye was SO BIG that I was having a hard time seeing.
A woman gave a small talk about how, in her day, there was a reverence for the Blessed Sacrament that we are missing today. She talked about how important modesty was and she shared a little of her personal story. It was such a great talk. I really benefited from alot of it, and, yet, some of it made me uncomfortable, which always makes me look within myself and wonder why. She mentioned that she thought it was incredibly disrespectful seeing someone in yoga pants in adoration and how terrible it is to see people in mass in shorts or who had just come from ball games or in halter tops and short skirts. She mentioned how loud the noise is in mass. My heart sank and my pride was starting to rear it's ugly, ugly head.
I've been the person driving by the church and feeling an undeniable pull to stop in for a few minutes and spend some time with Him in the Blessed Sacrament. The problem was, it's summer and I have two kids who I have to lug around and chase after and, so, sometimes I wear shorts so I don't sweat to death. Would I wear shorts to mass on Sunday? No. But, I figure if the Holy Spirit is leading me somewhere I didn't plan to be, who am I to say "but, umm, I have shorts on and people might think that's irreverent". Because, THAT would be the reason I don't stop. Not because Christ would be offended. I mean, I don't know if He would be offended or not. I know that God is omnipotent and so he sees me when I'm walking around Wal-Mart in shorts. I know that, out of respect, I wouldn't get dressed to spend time with Him and put on a swimsuit. But, when I have no plans of heading to church and something pulls me to Him and I'm wearing shorts-- the ONLY reason I wouldn't go is because of others. Because of what others might think. Because of what my sister or brother in Christ might think. That's terrible. Really. That's my pride. That's my wanting to be well thought of.
I don't know the answer. I don't know what's right and what's wrong. I don't know if I should pass up the Church because of the shorts or if I should go in despite them. I truly don't know.
I just know that you and I DON'T know. We don't. We can't. We don't know if the woman in yoga pants in adoration has been taking care of her sick kids all day and her mom offered to watch the kids for 5 minutes while she runs to the church. Maybe she's spent all week wiping up snot and she doesn't have any church appropriate clothes clean. Maybe the woman in a halter top in mass recently came back to the Church and she doesn't know that what she is wearing is disrespectful. Maybe the woman wearing too tight clothing just had a baby and has no time or money to run to the store to find something that will fit her. Maybe the family that looks like they're wearing ball game clothes IS wearing ball game clothes because they had a game and today is the ONLY day they can attend mass. Maybe. Maybe. Maybe. Maybe the guy wearing shorts doesn't care that it's disrespectful. Maybe. Maybe the woman wearing a short skirt likes getting attention from guys and she's using church as her own personal dating show. Maybe. Maybe. That's the point: maybe. We don't know. You and I don't know. We can only do our best. We can only love and set a good example. We can only lovingly correct those with whom we have a relationship. Because, trust me, nothing will get the woman in the halter top going like a perfect stranger commenting on how inappropriately she is dressed.
It's not our job. It's just not. I am wrong about alot. And maybe I'm wrong about this, and if I am, I hope someone corrects me. Maybe my secular "to each his own" attitude is creeping into my spirituality. I don't know. I know that I want to learn. I want to serve Christ in the best way I can. And, if that means that you need to tell me I'm doing things wrong, then do it! I welcome it! But, not everyone is there, y'all. We don't know where people are on their journey. We don't know. We can't.
I've been in morning mass with Elaina sitting quietly next to me and Dane yelling randomly and squirming. We're all in a small, cramped chapel. I sweat. I try to get him to sit still and to be quiet, but he's 15 months old and he doesn't understand. I've sat there, in prayer, while Father is blessing the bread with tears streaming down my face because I'm torn: I want, so badly that I cannot verbalize it, to be there and yet I worry that I'm selfishly disturbing my neighbor. I've had sweet older ladies make a point to come to me after mass and express how wonderful it is that I bring my kids to mass. I've had someone tell me how great of a job I'm doing and how they know it isn't easy. I've had Fr. Guilbeau tell me (after my apologizing for the noise) not to worry that it just means new life in the Church and that it's awesome. I've had older gentlemen comment on how Dane will be a choir member with that loud, beautiful "singing" voice. And, yet, I wonder. I wonder how many people sitting in the front are rolling their eyes wishing that woman who is sitting there clueless letting her kids "do whatever they want" would shut up her kids. I wonder.
You don't know someone's heart. You can't. Pray for them. Pray for yourself. Love.
There came a time on my journey that I could not deny Christ's real, true presence in the Eucharist. I literally felt something deep in my gut any time I was around the Blessed Sacrament in adoration. I initially thought that the tug I felt in my stomach was because of my realization that Christ was in the room with me. I knew that I was in front of Jesus and so maybe my brain made my stomach feel butterflies. I didn't know the reason. But I did know that when you come to know that Christ is really, truly present in the Eucharist, you no longer find mass boring. It's impossible. I also found myself longing to spend time with Him in prayer, adoration and mass.
One day, I was driving to Lake Charles to meet my mom, and I decided to stop at OLQH to pop in and say a quick prayer in front of the Blessed Sacrament. I have been to OLQH before for mass, but I had no idea where the chapel was. I was lugging Dane walking around the church trying to find the chapel, and all of a sudden --out of nowhere-- I got that feeling deep in my gut, and I knew He must be close. I turned the corner and there was the door! That was such an awesome realization. I don't always feel that feeling and maybe one day I won't feel it at all, and that'll be ok because Christ is really present in the Eucharist no matter how I do or don't feel about it. With or without my gut feeling.
I went to a Woman's Group meeting recently that takes place in a room at a church in Sulphur. I try to go to this meeting monthly. The meeting is at 7PM, and that's pretty late in my house with my kids. I didn't want to go, so I knew that meant that I needed to. (Funny how that works, eh?) I fed my family, took a shower, put on a t-shirt and headed to the church for the meeting with wet hair, not a lick of makeup and sweatpants. Oh well. I figured it was better that I go looking a mess than not go at all.
Generally when I go to these meetings I know about 2 or 3 of the 20 people there. This time, none of my friends were at the meeting. I walked in and sat down. I smiled at the two ladies whom I've seen every morning for several weeks when the kids and I would attend daily mass. They didn't smile back. I sat down in the circle alone. My mind started judging. "Wow, that's really nice. This meeting is supposed to be about sisterhood, and the women I go to mass with can't even return a smile." And then I caught myself. I don't know their hearts. Maybe they were daydreaming when I smiled and said hi. Maybe they don't recognize me with wet hair and no makeup. Who knows.
Remember when I told y'all about that awesome experience I had in confession when the priest went on and on about how terrible my sins were? Well, it was awesome. No, really, it was. Anyway, one of the things he talked to me about was how terrible gossip and judging is. He said (in my own, incomparable words) that when you gossip about someone you are taking away their right to a good reputation. Whether the thing you are discussing is true or not does not matter. You are claiming to know their heart and their intentions and since you cannot possibly know either (because you aren't God) you shouldn't speak about others in that way. I remember hearing something about how when you judge others you don't have the opportunity to love them.
Anyway, so there I am sitting all alone in the circle and judging the other women who aren't saying hi or trying to make me feel welcomed all the while (and here's the kicker) sitting there not saying hi to anyone or trying to make anyone else who might be alone feel welcomed. The beam in my eye was SO BIG that I was having a hard time seeing.
A woman gave a small talk about how, in her day, there was a reverence for the Blessed Sacrament that we are missing today. She talked about how important modesty was and she shared a little of her personal story. It was such a great talk. I really benefited from alot of it, and, yet, some of it made me uncomfortable, which always makes me look within myself and wonder why. She mentioned that she thought it was incredibly disrespectful seeing someone in yoga pants in adoration and how terrible it is to see people in mass in shorts or who had just come from ball games or in halter tops and short skirts. She mentioned how loud the noise is in mass. My heart sank and my pride was starting to rear it's ugly, ugly head.
I've been the person driving by the church and feeling an undeniable pull to stop in for a few minutes and spend some time with Him in the Blessed Sacrament. The problem was, it's summer and I have two kids who I have to lug around and chase after and, so, sometimes I wear shorts so I don't sweat to death. Would I wear shorts to mass on Sunday? No. But, I figure if the Holy Spirit is leading me somewhere I didn't plan to be, who am I to say "but, umm, I have shorts on and people might think that's irreverent". Because, THAT would be the reason I don't stop. Not because Christ would be offended. I mean, I don't know if He would be offended or not. I know that God is omnipotent and so he sees me when I'm walking around Wal-Mart in shorts. I know that, out of respect, I wouldn't get dressed to spend time with Him and put on a swimsuit. But, when I have no plans of heading to church and something pulls me to Him and I'm wearing shorts-- the ONLY reason I wouldn't go is because of others. Because of what others might think. Because of what my sister or brother in Christ might think. That's terrible. Really. That's my pride. That's my wanting to be well thought of.
I don't know the answer. I don't know what's right and what's wrong. I don't know if I should pass up the Church because of the shorts or if I should go in despite them. I truly don't know.
I just know that you and I DON'T know. We don't. We can't. We don't know if the woman in yoga pants in adoration has been taking care of her sick kids all day and her mom offered to watch the kids for 5 minutes while she runs to the church. Maybe she's spent all week wiping up snot and she doesn't have any church appropriate clothes clean. Maybe the woman in a halter top in mass recently came back to the Church and she doesn't know that what she is wearing is disrespectful. Maybe the woman wearing too tight clothing just had a baby and has no time or money to run to the store to find something that will fit her. Maybe the family that looks like they're wearing ball game clothes IS wearing ball game clothes because they had a game and today is the ONLY day they can attend mass. Maybe. Maybe. Maybe. Maybe the guy wearing shorts doesn't care that it's disrespectful. Maybe. Maybe the woman wearing a short skirt likes getting attention from guys and she's using church as her own personal dating show. Maybe. Maybe. That's the point: maybe. We don't know. You and I don't know. We can only do our best. We can only love and set a good example. We can only lovingly correct those with whom we have a relationship. Because, trust me, nothing will get the woman in the halter top going like a perfect stranger commenting on how inappropriately she is dressed.
It's not our job. It's just not. I am wrong about alot. And maybe I'm wrong about this, and if I am, I hope someone corrects me. Maybe my secular "to each his own" attitude is creeping into my spirituality. I don't know. I know that I want to learn. I want to serve Christ in the best way I can. And, if that means that you need to tell me I'm doing things wrong, then do it! I welcome it! But, not everyone is there, y'all. We don't know where people are on their journey. We don't know. We can't.
I've been in morning mass with Elaina sitting quietly next to me and Dane yelling randomly and squirming. We're all in a small, cramped chapel. I sweat. I try to get him to sit still and to be quiet, but he's 15 months old and he doesn't understand. I've sat there, in prayer, while Father is blessing the bread with tears streaming down my face because I'm torn: I want, so badly that I cannot verbalize it, to be there and yet I worry that I'm selfishly disturbing my neighbor. I've had sweet older ladies make a point to come to me after mass and express how wonderful it is that I bring my kids to mass. I've had someone tell me how great of a job I'm doing and how they know it isn't easy. I've had Fr. Guilbeau tell me (after my apologizing for the noise) not to worry that it just means new life in the Church and that it's awesome. I've had older gentlemen comment on how Dane will be a choir member with that loud, beautiful "singing" voice. And, yet, I wonder. I wonder how many people sitting in the front are rolling their eyes wishing that woman who is sitting there clueless letting her kids "do whatever they want" would shut up her kids. I wonder.
You don't know someone's heart. You can't. Pray for them. Pray for yourself. Love.
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