8 Years Ago Today

It's Motherhood Monday. Today Jen Kehl of My Skewed View joins us with what I think is a perfect post for the week of Thanksgiving. We don't all become mothers in the same way, but the love we feel sure is the same...unconditional and never ending. We are forever thankful for that love.
Jen Kehl is a mom, writer, homeschooler, maven of music, self-proclaimed sensory processing disorder expert, food allergy pro, photographer, controller of chaos, John Cusack aficionado and all around interesting person who refuses to put herself into any one category (because that's boring).  Jen Kehl shares what is important to her in the blog My Skewed View, Tweets about pyromania and other antics on Twitter and for things about antics that are more than 140 characters look for her on Facebook. She also shares her love for music at Raised On The Radio.

Blistering heat. Like nothing. Not like back when I lived in the armpit desert that was Mesa, Arizona. This is oppressive, heavy, impossible to move. This is Plano, Texas.
Unpacking a car full of too much. Too many diapers, too many onesies, too much baby stuff. But how could I know?
In two days our baby boy will be born. In two days plus two more we will have to bring him to this hotel room, with all of this stuff, live here for two weeks. With no one to help. No one.
A combination of nerves and more nerves have made me the skinniest I’ve ever been. I will be the envy of all new moms when I get home. They will say, “Wow! He’s only 3 weeks old? You look amazing!” If only you knew. The innocent things people say.

8 years ago today. 8 years ago – my boy – my gift from God: My gift, through the most amazing woman ever, came into this world.
We were all so scared, we were all there for each other. We were scared.
Who knew where things would go? How could we know we would all be one big family?
He didn’t want to make his arrival on August 9, 2005, but he had no choice. And so one emergency cesarean later and my beautiful boy was in this world.
I didn’t come to motherhood like so many. I came through phone calls, letters, visits. I came through the glass window, watching, heart racing, scared. But my heart was exploding. Exploding with love for a baby boy I had dreamt about, a baby boy God promised me, a baby boy on the other side of that glass. I wanted to hold him and comfort him. I needed to remind myself he wouldn’t remember the prick on the heel the cold of the scale. I watched, I waited, they gave me the look and he was mine.
We met in a hospital room, you were so teeny tiny and despite reading every book on the planet about babies and parenting for the last 10 months to simulate pregnancy, I was not prepared.
Once they handed you to me, I never put you down. Only when they made us go home at night. I worried for you so much that I couldn’t sleep or eat. Had I given birth to you I wouldn’t have slept at all I am sure. As soon as we were allowed back in, I went to the nursery where we had matching bracelets. And you were in my arms again.
I loved you so much. I thought my heart would explode. I was a bundle of raw nerves and love. I held you in my arms every minute. The nurse often offered to take you to the nursery for your nap. I refused. I loved you too much. I was afraid it was too good to be true. I wanted you to know I would never leave you.
Now you are 8. You are 8 today and you made a wish on your impromptu birthday cupcake that your mommy and poppy would always love you. You don’t know what to do when I cry tears of joy, so I didn’t do it today.
I hugged you and I told you your mommy and poppy would always love you, we would love you forever. In classic Isaiah fashion, you told me you saw a movie called Love and Death where the parents stopped loving their boy.
Not EVER I said. Not ever.

Happy Birthday Baby Boy….

This Is Motherhood

This week NotSoSuperMom is joining us with her take on Motherhood, She was the mother of two and was surprised to find out she would be the mother of three. In her own words her blog is "a not so prolific blog about whatever I feel like, regarding my not-so-super and totally self-deprecating parenting." She's pretty super if you ask me, and I'm sure you will agree. You can follow her on Facebook and Twitter and of course read more on her blog Confessions of a (Not-So) Super Mom.

This is Motherhood.

 

The other night I was getting The Geel into her pajamas when she grabbed a comb and insisted on combing my hair.  I sat obediently on the floor and watched her concentrated expression as she tried to "tame my tresses," which are so short she basically just kept shoving the comb into my hair, twisting it around and yanking it straight up.  I just stared at her face and a million thoughts ran through my head:  how I hadn't really wanted her, how I had to teach myself to stop thinking about what should have been, how I tell her constantly "I love you" in what began as an effort to convince myself that I really felt it MORE THAN I felt like we made a huge mistake, how I can't imagine my life without her even though that was not the case for a long time, how she is SO sweet and loving and clever and embodies joy.  Every.  Day.  I found myself crying.

I cried that cry that comes over you when you feel the unbridled and overwhelming love of parenthood.  I cried that there were days that I denied myself that feeling for her and I cried that I can finally; honestly say that I no longer think about the life we would be living without her.  Somewhere along the line, I have discovered that there is no "we" or "us" without her.

Now, I don't mean to cheapen this moment, because it was (for me) somewhat profound.  I had spent a lot of days thinking about the things we would be doing if The Geel wasn't here; and to be still for a moment, watching her just be and realizing that I couldn't remember the last time I'd had those thoughts, was a pretty big moment for me.  But the reason the title of this post came to mind was what happened in the next moment.

I wiped my eyes, took the comb from her and pulled her to me to hug and squeeze this beautiful little creature that had just unwittingly overwhelmed me.  And then I was unwittingly overwhelmed by something entirely different:  the stench emanating from her rear.  While it was obvious what the issue was, it occurred to me that while I was basking in this motherly glow, crying simultaneously with small regret and great joy, that my gorgeous, wonderful, joyous baby girl was simultaneously combing my hair and dropping a deuce.  I found myself laughing.

For The Geel, it was just another moment in her day filled with snacks and sippy cups, whining and tears, toys and baby dolls, giggles and silliness, and many, many hugs and kisses.  Nothing profound or momentous for her--just something to do, something to explore.  A comb.  Mommy's hair.  Another dirty diaper along the way.  Babyhood.

And so this is motherhood:  Overwhelmed by something profound, then the moment passes.  Overwhelmed by something so much more pedestrian but requiring no less attention--and as that moment passed I was simply thankful that I had stopped to let her comb my hair before I had changed her diaper and put on her pajamas.

What I Signed Up For

Welcome to Motherhood Monday. Today Trish Turner of Superlittletales shares her story about the realities of raising a child on the Autism Spectrum. Trish is one of two very proud and devoted mom's to a big one and two littles.
Laughs will be shared, perhaps some tears will be shed but no matter the situation, their capes fly high. You can find her on Facebook, Twitter and follow their journey at Superlittletales~Telling super tales of amazing littles.

What I Signed Up For

Nobody really knows what they're getting themselves into when they start a family. Sure they may have an idea about the late night feedings, the booboos, the first day of school jitters, dating worries, etc.
The truth about it all, is that until you've been up at 2am, 3am, 4am, and 5am only to start your day at 6am, there is no concept of what 'late night feedings' can mean. That only comes when you're right smack in the middle of the nightmare. The same goes for any other parenting challenge.

Our family was not immune to hopes and dreams.

Dream
-The plan was for me to stay home with the kids until they were 3 and slowly I would gain hours at home, alone... ALONE!
Reality
-I may never be allowed hours in my home alone... EVER!
Sending our son to preschool is a dream of the past. When he went, our already chaotic lives became completely unmanageable and worse yet, it broke our little boys spirit. We'll try again but for now we're concentrating on improving his motor function and anxiety in the safety and comfort of our home.

Dream
-Sip coffee and write while the children play nicely with one another, or while napping.
Reality
-The coffee I love so much, that brews in one minute, will always go cold and be forced to suffer multiple zapping’s in the microwave.
-Writing will happen while standing at the kitchen counter, making dinner, listening to the 2 year old say "gimme back dolly" and the 4 year old say, "you can't catch me".
Momma TT to the rescue in 3... 2... 1...
-Naps? Ha! Mr. Munchkin gave up on those years ago. In fact, sleep does not come easily for him at any point. We're holding out hope that for the little one. She still naps a couple times a week.

Dream
-Sitting on a park bench feeling care-free, discussing life with other mommy's while the youngsters play with friends.
Reality
-Standing frantically along the sidelines of the play structure critiquing his every move, analyzing his facial cues and body language to decipher if intervention will be necessary. Picking up broken conversations with mothers while on play dates. Always on alert. The park is not a care-free zone for us.

Dream
-The only visit to hospitals or doctors would be for well-child checkups or stitches
Reality
-Occupational therapy, speech therapy, sensory play group, developmental evaluations... and on and on and on. Most of our week is spent getting treatment for something or another in the hopes that our son will eventually be able to regulate himself.

Our daily life with a child on the Autism Spectrum is unpredictable. This journey has brought us sadness, anger and frustration. Those feelings all get replaced with double the amount of joy, acceptance and patience. In accepting the unique individual that we have been blessed with and the challenges he faces, we are now open to create new dreams for the future. We are learning to accept his growth at his pace.

Sure I didn't sign up for this... nobody does.

Who would say, "I hope that my child has a hard time learning to walk, or talk, or interact with peers"? Nobody would want that for their child but if development wasn't happening on a typical scale, whatever needs to be done, gets done.
As parents we signed up to do anything necessary. We put all we have into providing for our children- physically, emotionally and spiritually.

We try to predict outcomes.
We falter and learn.
We adjust and try again.

I want to believe with everything in me that our son will learn to regulate his sensory needs. That his development will eventually match those of his age. That all the interventions lining his path will be enough to help him achieve physical, emotional, and educational success. That he will be able to avoid seclusion by his peers. That he won't become the target of bullies who will try to dim the brilliant light that burns in him.

As parents, we thought we knew what we signed up for but the guesswork is inconceivable. No matter what hopes or dreams or wild fantasies we have for our children, our love helps them achieve success. We love them the same, or differently, or more, or whatever way they need to be loved at any particular minute because that is what we are to them... love and acceptance.

 

 

 

Motherhood Mondays~ Letter to My Nursling

Welcome to Motherhood Monday on Outsmarted Mommy. Today Sara of Sober Sara is allowing us to share in her personal account of  her and her son's journey through breastfeeding.  Sara loves babies, cats and The Avengers (not necessarily in that order). She works at home as a personal assistant to her 3 year old son while keeping house and home for her military husband. In her opinion, "Twitter sucks," and she blogs at Sober Sara.

In December 2012, I weaned my son after 27 months of breastfeeding. This is the letter I wrote to commemorate our nursing relationship.

My sweet boy,

You are such a joy to me. We may be nearing the end of our nursing relationship, but that just means we get to embark on a new adventure together! I have such precious memories of the past two years…

When I was pregnant, I knew I would nurse you. I wanted you to have the protection my milk would give you, as well as experience the bonding. I had no idea how much I would enjoy nursing.

The first time we nursed was surreal. I couldn’t believe that just 30 minutes after birth, you were ready to nurse. But you latched on right away, like a champ. I felt so empowered. Even though my baby was outside of the womb, my body could still provide him nourishment.

Our nursing relationship was all roses – thorns and everything!  We both were learning a new skill, so we hit a few bumps along the way. There were times I was afraid to feed because it hurt. Then I felt bad because I knew you needed to eat and how could I not want to feed you! But we got past that. There were times when it seemed like I couldn’t sustain your cluster feeding. Not knowing that this was normal, I thought I was failing and not giving you what you needed. Luckily your Daddy was there to reassure me that I could do it.

From then on, we tackled new challenges. Nursing in public? Started out by hiding in the car, but graduated to nursing in the Abbey Gardens, Newmarket Racecourse, London tube, restaurants, stores, airplanes and as part of the Big Latch On – twice! You’re an American citizen, but you’ve only nursed in Europe – England, Italy and Greece.

Teething? Definitely not my favorite time. You only bit Mommy a few times, but man did it hurt! The last time you bit me, I cried out in pain. You looked at me with the saddest, most apologetic eyes and then started crying, like you felt bad for hurting Mommy! I comforted you (which made me chuckle, since YOU had just bit ME) and you never bit me again.

You made such cute expressions as you nursed! Often you would furrow your brow and look very serious, as though you were concentrating on something very important. You’d get so excited at nursing time, bobbing and lunging and then latching quickly. Sometimes,  you’d treat me to smiles! And when you were older, sometimes you’d laugh while latched (especially if Mommy was tickling you). You and I shared some wonderful belly laughs if you did something funny while nursing.

As you grew more aware of the world, you became quite the wiggler! Your curiosity made it hard for you to focus on feeding. You perfected the art of ‘gymnurstics’ early on. I nursed with a hand on my nose or mouth, a foot on my shoulder, a tush in my face.  My favorite was when you would reach up and play with my hair. Your Grandma told me how your Daddy used to play with her hair while he nursed. Just another way you are so like your Daddy!

When you were about 4 months, I went back to work. I pumped at work until you were 12 months and able to take whole milk, so you never had to have formula. There were times I was scared and didn’t think I’d have enough pumped milk, but with extra pump sessions, lots of bowls of oatmeal, Mother’s Milk tea and the support and advice of several helpful moms, I was able to provide for you. When you were 6 months you started at the base daycare. I was able to nurse you on my lunch break! I loved connecting with you during the workday this way – such a relief from the stress of work.

Nursing you was a great comfort to me. When your Daddy left for Operation Odyssey Dawn on my birthday, nursing you made me feel less sad about him leaving. Our kitty Lola died while Daddy was in Korea. I missed her so much, but nursing you made me feel a little better. There were times when I felt unhappy during the workday and I’d go nurse you at daycare, which always made me feel better.

One of my favorite memories is when you started to ask to nurse. At first, you would sign for it by patting my chest. Later, you would pat my chest and say “Neesh! Neesh!” in a very excited voice. ‘Neesh’ gave way to “Nursh” as you gained better verbal skills. Now, at the end of our nursing relationship, you tell me “I wanna nursh little bit” or “I wanna nursh other side.” The other night, you patted my chest and asked me, “What’s in derr?” When I told you milk was in there, you very confidently told me, “No, no milk in derr. Milk in cup.” The next night, you told me “warm nurse” was in there.

I have very mixed feelings as we near the end of nursing. I’m ready to move on to the next stage of our mommy-son relationship, but you don’t seem so ready to stop nursing. It breaks my heart when you ask me to nurse and I say no. Please understand that I love you more than anything, but I want to find other ways to show you love. I’m afraid if I nurse much longer, I may start to have unpleasant feelings and I don’t want that to happen.

I’m so blessed to have you, sweet baby. Thank you for sharing this special relationship with me. I love you.

The Moms Club

Welcome to another installment of the Motherhood Mondays series. This week Kathy Glow of Kissing the Frog joins us. She is a beautiful writer and I know you are going to love her as much as I do.
Kathy is the mom of four lively boys and one angel in heaven. When she is not busy wiping boy stuff off walls, she blogs on kissing the frog about what life is really like after all your dreams come true, including infertility, depression, and the loss of a child to cancer. Her writing has been featured on Huffington Post Parents and Mamalode.
You can follow Kathy on Twitter and Facebook and of course read her journey at Kissing the Frog.

 

The Moms Club

When I became a mom, there were so many “clubs” I was eager to join: the stay-at-home-moms, the Gymboree class moms, the school volunteer moms, the moms-who-lunch.

Being one of the cancer moms was never on my radar.

After all, who expects to hear, “Bad news, it’s a tumor,” from the ER doctor after you’ve taken your five-year-old son to the hospital via ambulance because he’s had a seizure.

Not me. Never.

But I did, and it changed the way I see mom clubs forever. There are still so many ways we moms find to exclude each other these days. Yes, there still are Mommy Wars going on.

But when you’ve held your child as he takes his last breath, none of what moms squabble about seems to matter.

My husband told me once a long time ago when I was talking smack about another mom that “it’s all in what you know.” And I’ve come to find that as true.

When your biggest problem is that your child keeps losing his shoes, you’re going to complain about it.

When your biggest problem is that you’ve lost your child, shoes aren’t really a big deal anymore.

When Joey had cancer, some of my mom friends would complain about certain things to me. And then they would stop suddenly in wide-eyed horror and say, “Oh, but it’s nothing compared to what you’re going through.”

No, generally, it wasn’t. But not everyone loses a child (thank God!). As mothers, we all have our own burdens to bear which are difficult for us in our unique circumstances. None of us can say what is hard for another mother to handle until we have a walked a mile in her running shoes (or wedges or cute fall riding boots).

I have many blessings in my life as a mother. I’ve been able to be a stay-at-home mom and take my kids to Gymboree classes and shop and lunch with my friends. Many moms don’t get that. Instead, they look at me and say, “I could never handle what you have been through.”

I remember once, when my twins were little, I saw a mom with triplets who were about five years older than my sons. I looked at her in amazement and said, “Wow, I don’t know how you do it! I don’t think I could.”

She looked from me to each of my twins to Hubby and back to me and said simply, “Yes, you could, because you are doing it. It’s really no different than what I’m doing.”

And I realized, yes, I was doing it. I am doing it each and every day. We all are. We are all doing our best with the situations we have chosen and been handed.

So when other moms say to me, “I don’t think I could do what you’re doing,” I look at them and say, “Yes, you could.”

Because really, we’re all in the same club, after all: the moms-who-love-their-kids club. And we’re all doing a great job with what we’ve been given.

My Breast Is NOT Best

This is the second installment of the Motherhood Mondays series here on Outsmarted Mommy. Today's post is brought to you by the awesome Jenn of Something Clever 2.0.

Jenn Rose is a staff writer at In The Powder Room, and stay-at-home mother to one boy in Massachusetts. When she's not writing or parenting, she's watching way too much TV and drinking a little too much wine (not chardonnay). She hopes to become a zombie when she dies.

Connect with Jenn on her blog Something Clever 2.0, on Facebook, and on Twitter.

 

My Breast is NOT Best.

Sorry, Gisele, breast feeding is still not mandatory in the U.S., although so very many people like you wish it was. I'm going to tell you all something that might make you mad. And if it does, you can suck it...

I fed my son formula. And I am not ashamed.

I made the decision to formula feed all on my own. I was not given a free gift bag at the hospital. In fact, the only pressure I received at the hospital was pro breast feeding. Here's my story.

I never planned on breast feeding. To me, it always seemed kind of weird. Wait! Before you scroll down to the comments and vomit a bunch of all-caps on me, hear me out. I don't care if you breast feed. That is your boob, and your kid. If it works for the two of you, I'm happy for you both. But I felt weird doing it. With my boob. Okay?

I had a c-section. After my son was extracted, we were briefly introduced, and then he was spirited away to the nursery for his grooming and distemper shot, or whatever it is that they do in there. My husband went with him. Meanwhile, I was getting reassembled.

They put me back into the labor room (which I guess turned into the recovery room at that point), and the boys showed up a few minutes later. A nurse handed the baby to me without a word, and walked out. My husband sat down in a chair next to my bed. We stared at the baby, then at each other...

Neither of us really had any baby experience. It was only about 9 months prior that we'd even held our first baby. I asked my husband, "What should I do with him?" He didn't know. I wondered if he was hungry. He'd just been through quite an ordeal.

Have you ever done something that was purely instinctual? Like turning away from a skid instead of into it, or maybe punching a bear? Maybe not. Anyway, I got this weird feeling that maybe I should breast feed him. Like the cro-magnon inside me was telling me, "Baby no eat berry. Give boob." I don't know. So I said to my husband, "Maybe I should breast feed him..."

He was surprised. He knew my plan had always been to formula feed. An aside- yes, I said "he knew my plan," rather than "our plan was." Because although the boy was ours, my cans are mine. He never questioned my choice on that, or on the c-section (yes, it was elective). I hope you all have partners like that. Back to the story. So he knew I was planning to use formula, and he was confused, but supportive. I think he said something to the effect of, "Really? Uh, okay, if you want to."

A nurse came in a few minutes later, and I asked her, "Is he hungry? Should I feed him?" She said "Sure," and in one quick motion, opened my johnny, grabbed his head and my tit, and stuck them together like a couple of Legos. Or, more accurately, like a Lego and a Mega Blok, since they didn't seem quite right together. It felt weird and wrong. Again, I'm not saying that breast feeding in general is weird and wrong, it was just weird and wrong for me. But I thought I might get used to it, so I tried.

I decided that I'd try giving him both breast milk and formula, alternating them at every other feeding. A couple of hours later, when I asked that same nurse for some formula, she gave me guff.
"You're breast feeding."
"I tried breast feeding. I'd like to alternate between that and formula."
"You can't do that."
"I'm pretty sure I can."
"He'll get confused. He won't nurse."
"Then he'll drink formula."

This nurse was a real piece of work, and fought us tooth and nail on everything while we were there. Eventually, my husband had to take her out in the hallway and lambaste her. That was awesome.

The rest of the staff was fine with my plan (this includes actual doctors). I alternated every other feeding in the hospital for three days, and for the next two at home. It started to hurt more and more. Men (or squeamish women) may not want to read the next couple of sentences... My nipples started to crack and bleed. And scab. It was disgusting and ridiculously painful. And then I had to worry about my baby swallowing blood, or a scab.

I used ointments and such, and relied on the formula more often until I was somewhat healed. And then came the straw that broke the camel's back. This part is even grosser than the stuff about scabs... One night, I was half asleep, breast feeding and watching TV, and for a split second- and I mean like one eighth of a second- it felt... Good. Not like some beautiful, magical, bonding type of good. Like, inappropriate good. Ewwwww! Please don't think I'm a creep. It was an involuntary reaction and it was awful. I pulled him off of me right away, and it was formula from there on out.

I do expect to get some flack for this. People are going to comment with 101 reasons why I was "wrong" to give him formula. In anticipation of some of the most common arguments, here are my responses:

"It helps the mother bond with the baby."

That's complete and utter bullshit. Do you think I didn't hold him while I fed him his bottle? Do you think a robot raised him while I was out drinking every night? We're plenty bonded. Just like he bonded with his father, who was, sadly, born without breasts.

"Breastfed babies are less likely to develop diabetes, asthma, SIDS, or allergies."

He's perfectly healthy. Also, he's never had an ear infection, his immune system is the best I've ever seen, and his pediatrician flat-out told us at his one year checkup, "He's an ectomorph, like his parents. You won't ever need to worry about him being overweight."

"Formula-fed babies have lower I.Q.s."

He is very smart. Smarter than a lot of adults I know, in fact.

"It helps you lose the baby weight faster."

I'm not giving any numbers, because I don't want you to hate me, but I did not need any help in that department.

"It's easier and less time consuming than formula. And it's free!"

This argument was made up by someone who has no breasts or children. It was not easier for me at all (maybe for some people it is, but not me). It took about the same amount of time (mixing water and powder is not difficult, and did you know you don't have to heat it up?). And yes, your breasts are free, but then there are the ointments, bras, pads, pillows, pumps, coolers, shawls... I'm not doing the math, but even if formula feeding was more expensive, it was a price we were happy to pay.

I know, I know, there's some magic ingredient in breast milk that makes it superior. That's great. But it's not the end-all, be-all. Sooner or later, a kid will eat other foods. They will live on planet Earth, wearing things, touching things, breathing, and not every circumstance in their life will be of optimum value. Maybe they eat cheeseburgers from McDonald's, maybe there's smog in your city. I don't know. But they'll survive.

I'm not trying to convince anyone not to breast feed. I'm trying to convince everyone to do what's right for you and your kid, and not to feel bad about your choice. I read a quote when I was pregnant that I wanted to share with you. Unfortunately can't remember the exact wording, or where I read it, because I had pregnant-brain at the time. But it goes something like this:

It is better to offer a bottle lovingly, than to offer a breast begrudgingly. 

I wholeheartedly agree with that. I hope you do, too. And if you don't, guess what? I don't care. They're not yours.

The Story of Two

The Story of One: The details are clear. It wasn’t yesterday but the details are so very clear. It’s not something you ever forget. Nine long months went by of me eating what I thought was good for you, talking to you, fighting nausea, and extreme exhaustion. Nine months of me dreaming about what your face would look like.  Nine months of me wondering if you were a boy or a girl. Nine months of me wondering a whole lot of things.

Before those nine months ever came true there were years of me knowing I wanted you.  It may sound silly but for years before you were ever even a real idea I knew I wanted you.  A list of wrong guys, broken hearts, and chasing other dreams later I met your father.  I knew by our second date that one day we would welcome you into our lives. I knew.  I knew by the way he looked at me. I knew by the way he made me laugh and made me feel that this was it. I had always heard these crazy stories about people just knowing.  You see not everyone in life will accept you for who you are and make you feel special. When you find that it’s amazing. It’s rare. It’s worth sticking around for. Your father made me feel special. He made me feel loved. He made me feel like I was home.

And so I was…home that is. There was a wedding. It was awesome. We were surrounded by our loved ones and we danced and laughed and danced some more.  It was a perfect way to begin the story. We met, we fell in love and we married. It was a dream come true.

We had a couple years of working on the house, playing around and doing our thing. One day we looked at each other and knew someone was missing from the puzzle we were putting together.  It wasn’t without loss and some heartache that we finally came to the realization that we were in fact expecting you.  We were expecting this person we had yet to know anything about but we knew we were excited.  I spent many days talking to you, feeling your movements and praying you would be okay. You were perfect. From the moment your fingers grasped mine you were perfect, from the moment your eyes met mine you were mine. I will never forget the day I uttered the words: “Hi there.  It’s okay, I’m your mommy and I have been waiting for you.”  I would say it was love at first sight but that would be a lie. It was love from the moment I knew you existed.

 

A couple of years later I knew I wanted a sibling for you and so did your dad. We were ready. You had made our lives so much better and we were ready for more, but like my grandmother always used to say the best laid plans…well they don’t always work out. Your father needed open heart surgery. It wasn’t something we were prepared for but we got through it. We came out the other side of what looked like an impossible mountain and we were stronger because of it.

 

The Story of Two: We found out you would be joining our family with utter excitement 7 months after your father's surgery. Just like I had done with your brother; I talked to you every night. I wondered if you were a girl or a boy and I prayed everything would turn out okay. It did. You did. The night you were born I cried with excitement. I stared at you for hours. You were perfect. You were ours and we were yet again blessed.

 

 

 

I love you both with all my heart.

~Mommy

 

I am a mother.

I am not perfect.

I make mistakes.

I did not breastfeed longer than 4 weeks.

 

I wished for sleep.

I forget things.

 

I want time to slow down.

 

I want to fast forward to bed time.

I yell sometimes. (More often than I should)

I gave up my career.

I sometimes wish I were anywhere BUT here.

I realize HERE is the only place I want to be.

I love my family.

I’m not sure I can balance it all.

I do not have the answers to all the questions.

I suck at laundry.

I am looking for more patience. (No really where are you hiding?)

I'm not sure I have a clue what I am doing.

I sometimes need a break.

I am trying to make my husband a priority.

I am realizing non-kid dates are pretty awesome.

I am doing the best I can.

I love my family.

I love this life.

 

This has been an introduction to Motherhood Mondays here on Outsmarted Mommy. Every week you will know that you are not alone in this battle we call motherhood.  Every week another amazing writer will be featured with a different story about motherhood. I promise stories that will move you, make you laugh, make you cry, make you think and make you realize you are not alone. You may not always agree with their stance but I ask you to: Respect it because we may have differences but in the end we are all mothers.  We may not have arrived here in the same way but we are here and while we are here it would sure be great to hold each other up, laugh once in a while, cry every now and then and just know that together we can conquer so much more than we can alone. No one tells a story quite like a mother.