Remember when you used to say stuff like, "I will never..." fill in the blank here. The phrase, in and of itself, is pure comedy. Because all of us, at sometime, were in someplace, with someone, doing something, that we swore we would never do.
Unless you're a total SQUARE. But I'm thinking if you're reading this right now, you're more of a groovy shape, like a circle or an octagon.
When we judge others, and feel the right to say things like, "Look at that crazy man / woman / man dressed as a woman!! Well, I would never..." we lose sight of ourselves. We lose sight of our OWN flaws, and our OWN imperfections, and are really striving to feel greater than thou. So let's check ourselves, shall we?
I, myself, have said things like the following:
I'll never...have more than 4 kids cause that's just plain crazy talk. Yeah, FIVE kids, and one vasectomy later...
I'll never...be the floozy who tries to sneak past the bouncer at Boswell's to save a measly 5 dollar cover charge. I mean, who does that?! Whaaat? WHAAAT?! It was cold, and I really had to pee, and...
I'll never...let my kids play out front without shoes, or a jacket, or unsupervised. When in reality, at this point, I lock the door to keep them OUT, even if for some reason, the five year old ends up in just her panties. Which has happened by the way...
I'll never...nurse in public. Who wants to see droopy, leaky, nasty boobies? I'll tell you who wants those saggy pieces of skin ...my screaming, hungry, inconsolable baby. Hey man, these are working boobies, not trophy boobies, so if it grosses you out, guess what? I seriously don't care.
If I could throw my boob over the back seat and nurse while driving, I'd do it in a heartbeat. If I could pump while waiting to check out at Safeway, I totally would. I could totally offer organic creamer at the Starbucks kiosk, and probably make some extra cash for my goods. Imagine the possibilities...
I'll never forget when a close girlfriend of mine, who is thin, with a naturally fast metabolism (yes, people like this actually DO exist), shared something with me not long ago. She said, "Michelle, why do people think it's okay to say to me, 'You are so skinny. Look at you...you must weigh hardly anything.' They mean it as a compliment, but I'm sensitive about my weight. I certainly can't go up to them, and say, 'Gee, your ass looks huge. Do you EVER stop eating?'"
Things that make you go hmmm....
When I had lost about 80 pounds, and was just a few more away from goal, a new woman joined our Weight Watchers group. And I could just tell, as she gave me the once over, that she was thinking, "What in the HELL is SHE doing here? She has nothing to worry about."
I mean, this woman didn't know me from Adam. She had no idea that I had 3 small kids that I forced into a jogger at gunpoint everyday, so I could get a walk in. She had no inkling of how I had struggled with my weight from the time I was 8 years old. She didn't know that I had suffered from Bulimia on and off for years.
How could she? She was too busy judging me.
But see, here's what you and I already know. Her judgement had nothing to do with ME. But rather, was really about her own insecurities and lack of self esteem. And maybe even a fear of failure. So recognizing this, I try to be mindful before going postal. I try to stay calm. I try to give folks the benefit of the doubt, so to speak.
But boy, it's really hard to do that some days. So why don't we make a pact right now, okay? When we are feeling judged by another human being, let's send them a little bit of sunshine. Right up their ass, is usually the most effective spot.
By the way, I would love to hear how you once said, you would NEVER, only to find out that down the road, you did...
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
Thursday, November 18, 2010
Transition: Part II
I'm in official nursing position on the couch, with baby Charlotte in the football hold, and a tumbler of wine riding shot gun in my free hand, when my precious 5 year old approaches.
As she peers down at my exposed midsection, her eyes glaze over, looking somewhat horrified. "Mama?" she asks, as she sticks her little hand into my doughy post mama tummy, and watches it disappear entirely, "Yes, baby?" I ask, taking a swig of grape juice. "Your belly looks biiiig."
Yesiree...the post mama body is not for wimps, let me tell you. C'mon ladies, you know how this goes. You just pushed out a human being who weighs anywhere from 5 to 12 pounds, which is nowhere NEAR the 25-100 you gained growing him or her. When you're pregnant, folks love to say, "Ohhh...it's all baby weight." Well, I'll tell you what. That's not what my ass is saying right now.
I love how when I'm on a run, my body moves fluidly...it's like a well rehearsed dance, really. Arms, legs, shoulders back, head held high, music pumping; my body working in synchronicity.
Post baby, it's a whole nother story. Case in point, I'm wogging the Glen this past week, and I swear, my body betrayed me. First of all, there was nothing fluid about my movements whatsoever. It was like each step I took, left me getting slapped in the face by my ginormous lactating breasts, as my ass smacked the back of my neck from behind.
Who's body is this? I asked myself, as I wogged. It felt like aftershocks from an Earthquake. That is the closest way I can describe how it felt moving with 25 extra lbs I gotta lose. It left me thinking that on my next wog, maybe I should wear 5 sports bras...or maybe a corset make of duct tape. But hey, at least I'm out there, is what you're saying right? Riiiight. I want YOU to join me in YOUR corset of duct tape.
Please don't get me wrong. I'm not beating myself up. For me, this experience makes me fully appreciate my body and what it can DO...from going on a run, to the most spectacular event of all...creating life. I have to say, it's a pretty cool ride.
For those of you that were kind of enough to read my last blog, and shower me with words of kindness, support, and unconditional love, you will be relieved to discover that I haven't cried in 3 whole days. Yes, Ms.Charlotte and I are learning each other's ways. It's taking a bit of time, but we're both trying to be patient...she, more so than I right now.
Just when I thought I had it all figured out... God has sent me one perfect little angel to continue to teach and humble me. And the Biggies, well, they're transitioning, too. For the most part, the girls have really stepped up to help out. But each of them have their own way. Abby, Bella, and Emma enjoy feeding and cuddling with lil Charlotte. Cosette likes to call 911 when she's feeling the need for attention.
It's all good here in Walsh Land. Moment by moment. Day by day. We all do this dance of life together. And I thank you for joining us.
As she peers down at my exposed midsection, her eyes glaze over, looking somewhat horrified. "Mama?" she asks, as she sticks her little hand into my doughy post mama tummy, and watches it disappear entirely, "Yes, baby?" I ask, taking a swig of grape juice. "Your belly looks biiiig."
Yesiree...the post mama body is not for wimps, let me tell you. C'mon ladies, you know how this goes. You just pushed out a human being who weighs anywhere from 5 to 12 pounds, which is nowhere NEAR the 25-100 you gained growing him or her. When you're pregnant, folks love to say, "Ohhh...it's all baby weight." Well, I'll tell you what. That's not what my ass is saying right now.
I love how when I'm on a run, my body moves fluidly...it's like a well rehearsed dance, really. Arms, legs, shoulders back, head held high, music pumping; my body working in synchronicity.
Post baby, it's a whole nother story. Case in point, I'm wogging the Glen this past week, and I swear, my body betrayed me. First of all, there was nothing fluid about my movements whatsoever. It was like each step I took, left me getting slapped in the face by my ginormous lactating breasts, as my ass smacked the back of my neck from behind.
Who's body is this? I asked myself, as I wogged. It felt like aftershocks from an Earthquake. That is the closest way I can describe how it felt moving with 25 extra lbs I gotta lose. It left me thinking that on my next wog, maybe I should wear 5 sports bras...or maybe a corset make of duct tape. But hey, at least I'm out there, is what you're saying right? Riiiight. I want YOU to join me in YOUR corset of duct tape.
Please don't get me wrong. I'm not beating myself up. For me, this experience makes me fully appreciate my body and what it can DO...from going on a run, to the most spectacular event of all...creating life. I have to say, it's a pretty cool ride.
For those of you that were kind of enough to read my last blog, and shower me with words of kindness, support, and unconditional love, you will be relieved to discover that I haven't cried in 3 whole days. Yes, Ms.Charlotte and I are learning each other's ways. It's taking a bit of time, but we're both trying to be patient...she, more so than I right now.
Just when I thought I had it all figured out... God has sent me one perfect little angel to continue to teach and humble me. And the Biggies, well, they're transitioning, too. For the most part, the girls have really stepped up to help out. But each of them have their own way. Abby, Bella, and Emma enjoy feeding and cuddling with lil Charlotte. Cosette likes to call 911 when she's feeling the need for attention.
It's all good here in Walsh Land. Moment by moment. Day by day. We all do this dance of life together. And I thank you for joining us.
Thursday, November 11, 2010
Transition
Chances are if you're reading my blog right now, you know me pretty well. So you probably already know that I have been crying a lot lately. In fact, at Parent/Teacher Conferences yesterday, I warned each of the teachers before we started, that I may break down sobbing uncontrollably at any point, through no fault of their own. It wasn't them. It was me.
Call it hormones. Call it Post-Partum Craziness. Call it whatever you fancy. But this sweet lil Charlotte undoubtedly has thrown her Mama for quite a loop.
You see, we've been having issues with nursing, she and I. And it pretty much started from the moment she entered the world. She would get on my breast, then pop off, for no apparent reason. Hmmm...I thought to myself, that's weird. All the other girls hopped on and ate voraciously...like text book style, you know? I even asked to consult with a Lactation Consultant before I was released from the hospital, who assured me, "She's fine. Make sure you get your entire aeriola in her mouth." Was she referring to the aeriola, that after feeding four previous babies, was the size of a Thanksgiving turkey platter? Ohhhkay.
Well, as it turns out, the more babies you have nursed, the more "tissue" you have for lil tiny peanut to put into her mouth to get a good latch. It's like the difference between having a beer bong that flows freely, and one that has holes in it. See my point, now do ya?
My first real breakdown happened out in public...at Booksin...as the girls entertained themselves on the playground. Charlotte was hungry, and so the Booby Cafe opened. My other girls nursed anytime, anywhere, under any circumstances. Therein lies the beauty of breast-feeding. But what happened next left me feeling totally helpless.
I tried unsuccessfully, to get Charlotte to nurse for over an hour. I kept thinking, "Baby girl, I have what you need right here. Warm, ready to go. GET ON!" But no. She was on, then off, on, then off. For over an HOUR. She's crying. I'm crying. My lil peanut was refusing my breast. Rejecting my milk. NOT eating, as we both grew more frantic and frustrated.
It didn't help matters that the Nugget wasn't gaining weight. I was told to pump first, so that when I offered her both breasts, she would have the Hindmilk...the milk with all the fat. And then supplement with breast milk afterwards, from the bottle. Yeah...that's all good in THEORY.
She would be due to eat, and there I was on the F'ing pump. Only to offer my breast, and still be rejected. And guess what? I still had to finish pumping and feed her a bottle. Not to mention, WASH all the shit associated with the pump. 1 1/2 hours later, same Circus act...errrrrr.
I began to totally emphasize with other Mama's who doubted their breast-feeding abilities. I mean, I had had success in the past, and I was doubting MY ability, not to mention, my sanity.
Emotionally, I was spent. I began feeling guilty for not being a good Mama to my biggies. So much self-imposed pressure to be the same mom that I was before giving birth, without giving myself permission to let some things go. I wanted to still be that mom who held it all together with a hot breakfast before they left for school, with snacks packed into the backpack, as I kissed them good-bye in the morning.
When in reality, I was held prisoner in my Lazy Boy chair, attempting to nurse, failing, pumping, and feeling totally and utterly exhausted and frustrated.
You see, I'm grieving a loss here. I love nursing. I love the bonding that takes place between my baby and me. I love knowing that God created us both perfectly, and that I can feed my lil babe at the breast. I love how my baby can eat with wild abandon, milk collecting in the corners of her mouth, and look up at me, while her tiny hand gently holds onto my breast, with total unconditional love.
Is she healthy? Yes. Does she take the bottle? Yes. Is she still getting my milk? Yes.
But I'm feeling sad right now. I'm working through it. My hope is that we'll be able to figure this dance out so that Ms. Charlotte will be able to nurse more effectively. I have a Lactation consultant coming to my house tomorrow. But right now, this is where we are. Living not day by day. But rather, moment by moment.
I don't feel like a great mommy right now. I just feel a bit lost. So if you see me, and it looks like I have been crying, I have been. Just give me a hug. Because I could really use it.
Call it hormones. Call it Post-Partum Craziness. Call it whatever you fancy. But this sweet lil Charlotte undoubtedly has thrown her Mama for quite a loop.
You see, we've been having issues with nursing, she and I. And it pretty much started from the moment she entered the world. She would get on my breast, then pop off, for no apparent reason. Hmmm...I thought to myself, that's weird. All the other girls hopped on and ate voraciously...like text book style, you know? I even asked to consult with a Lactation Consultant before I was released from the hospital, who assured me, "She's fine. Make sure you get your entire aeriola in her mouth." Was she referring to the aeriola, that after feeding four previous babies, was the size of a Thanksgiving turkey platter? Ohhhkay.
Well, as it turns out, the more babies you have nursed, the more "tissue" you have for lil tiny peanut to put into her mouth to get a good latch. It's like the difference between having a beer bong that flows freely, and one that has holes in it. See my point, now do ya?
My first real breakdown happened out in public...at Booksin...as the girls entertained themselves on the playground. Charlotte was hungry, and so the Booby Cafe opened. My other girls nursed anytime, anywhere, under any circumstances. Therein lies the beauty of breast-feeding. But what happened next left me feeling totally helpless.
I tried unsuccessfully, to get Charlotte to nurse for over an hour. I kept thinking, "Baby girl, I have what you need right here. Warm, ready to go. GET ON!" But no. She was on, then off, on, then off. For over an HOUR. She's crying. I'm crying. My lil peanut was refusing my breast. Rejecting my milk. NOT eating, as we both grew more frantic and frustrated.
It didn't help matters that the Nugget wasn't gaining weight. I was told to pump first, so that when I offered her both breasts, she would have the Hindmilk...the milk with all the fat. And then supplement with breast milk afterwards, from the bottle. Yeah...that's all good in THEORY.
She would be due to eat, and there I was on the F'ing pump. Only to offer my breast, and still be rejected. And guess what? I still had to finish pumping and feed her a bottle. Not to mention, WASH all the shit associated with the pump. 1 1/2 hours later, same Circus act...errrrrr.
I began to totally emphasize with other Mama's who doubted their breast-feeding abilities. I mean, I had had success in the past, and I was doubting MY ability, not to mention, my sanity.
Emotionally, I was spent. I began feeling guilty for not being a good Mama to my biggies. So much self-imposed pressure to be the same mom that I was before giving birth, without giving myself permission to let some things go. I wanted to still be that mom who held it all together with a hot breakfast before they left for school, with snacks packed into the backpack, as I kissed them good-bye in the morning.
When in reality, I was held prisoner in my Lazy Boy chair, attempting to nurse, failing, pumping, and feeling totally and utterly exhausted and frustrated.
You see, I'm grieving a loss here. I love nursing. I love the bonding that takes place between my baby and me. I love knowing that God created us both perfectly, and that I can feed my lil babe at the breast. I love how my baby can eat with wild abandon, milk collecting in the corners of her mouth, and look up at me, while her tiny hand gently holds onto my breast, with total unconditional love.
Is she healthy? Yes. Does she take the bottle? Yes. Is she still getting my milk? Yes.
But I'm feeling sad right now. I'm working through it. My hope is that we'll be able to figure this dance out so that Ms. Charlotte will be able to nurse more effectively. I have a Lactation consultant coming to my house tomorrow. But right now, this is where we are. Living not day by day. But rather, moment by moment.
I don't feel like a great mommy right now. I just feel a bit lost. So if you see me, and it looks like I have been crying, I have been. Just give me a hug. Because I could really use it.
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