flashbacks

When I was posting before, I found this among the many drafts I had started while I was on leave and it made me LOL. Those first weeks are so hard... it doesn't matter what you do, no one prepares you for it. And now, with just 3 more months of surviving by the skin of my teeth parenting under my belt, I feel like this person is not me anymore:

Blogging is something that people with extra time do.

I have all these things to say and I don't have time to say them.
Lets start with the big stuff. I had Logan. Labor was hell. I have no desire to document my experience with labor because there's not a chance in hell that, in 50 years, if someone asks me what my Labor with Logan was like, I won't have a flashback and be able to relive it. I'll be the first to admit, I've led a relatively cushy life thus far, but that was my Vietnam. Almost 20 hours of labor and an excruciating, frustrating, draining 4.5 hours of pushing and then there he was. A vernix covered, blue tinted baby. I was too tired to react... I went into auto pilot. I knew that I was supposed to do skin to skin so I did. The lactaction consultant came in and showed me how to breast feed so I did. I was so tired. So physically and mentally exhausted.  I'm not sure I'll ever forgive myself for not taking the damn c section when it was offered to me. I don't even remember the exact moment that I felt whatever it is mothers are supposed to feel for their newborns, but by the third day in the hospital when Terrance tried to dress him in his adorable going home outfit and Logan started crying, I pushed Terrance aside. Causing the baby discomfort wasn't worth the adorable button down shirt and tie that he was meant to go home in. Causing him anything but comfort wasn't an option. So he went home in an oversized, boring blue sleeper.

Little Logan. Oh dear, little Logan. One day, when you grow up and forget about your mom and everything she's done for you, I'm going to tell you stories about your first 2 months on earth. Parenthood is hard. At this point, victory is making it through the day with my sanity intact. Not cracking all day is a good day. I love Logan more than I every thought I could love anything. I try and read to him and I can't make it through a book because I'm so overcome with emotion. But Holy Christ. He does not make it easy. He cries. A lot. About everything and nothing at all. He cries in the morning. In the afternoon and at night. He won't sleep longer than 2 hours. The other night we made it to 2 hours and 10 minutes and I had to go check on him because i was sure he had stopped breathing. He spits up a lot. He spits up huge amounts of food. If it's breast milk, it was damn hard work getting...

I must have gotten distracted. The baby must have woken up or gotten hungry or I must have drifted off.

I still have trouble with the thought of going through labor again. The board I follow online is filled with women who are getting pregnant again or desperately want to. I can't imagine anything more terrifying. I was more uncomfortable during my pregnancy than most people knew and I still have lingering pain. I sometimes wonder if the fact that I can't forget how hard it was for me is because I have a constant reminder. Overall, though, the joy of parenthood has been something that I can't put in words. In fact, the word joy seems woefully inadequate. Logan and I have shared some rough moments here and there, but he's quite easy to love. Plus, he slept 7 hours straight last night, making him more lovable still.

perspective

Perspective. [per-spek-tiv] a :  the interrelation in which a subject or its parts are mentally viewed  perspective>;also :  point of view

My last post was decidedly depressing. I had (and continue to have) been having a particularly rough time at work, and the stress of my life as a single mom came crashing down in one melodramatic blog entry. It was a catharsis, a way to get my feelings out into the world so that they stopped weighing me down so much. In reality, sometimes life is hard. Not just my life. But life, in general. My father used to tell me that only things are guaranteed in life: death and taxes. The rest of it is basically a crap shoot. You play the hand you are dealt and hope for the best. I probably wouldn’t win the World Series of Poker with my current hand, I could have it worse.  So while I think I’m entitled to my feelings, I fully admit that the extent of my despair may have been impacted by my tendency for hyperbole and, perhaps, some lingering postpartum hormones.  A very dear friend who I have known for a very long time has had a stretch of bad breaks that makes my life look easy. When she called and told me about her most recent issue, a couple of things happened. I cried a little, I googled a lot and I gained some perspective. Sometimes your life just isn’t in sync with where you think it should be and you just have to say bye, bye, bye to the sadness, and self pity and accept the life you have.   And while life hasn’t exactly Gone the way I thought it would, it’s time to stop letting that tear up my heart.  I need to find a way to be at peace with where I am. Only I can do that, I shouldn’t rely on other people for my happiness. It’s not going to be Terrance that fixes me, It’s gonna be me.

So I’m moving on. I can’t say for sure that the thoughts of regret an inadequacy won’t creep back into my head, but I’m going to try my best to push them aside and focus on the good things, strive to change what I don’t like, and be more content with where I am in the moment. This, for now, is either at work or at home, being held hostage by Logan. He has been having some eating issues at day care, so he is extremely hungry when he comes home, which means I get to feed him until he goes to bed. He’s also going through a sleep regression that some babies (and their bleary eyed mothers) go through around 4 months.  We’re partying like we’re 8 weeks old again. 

From what I can tell, it’s pretty normal. Everything I seem to think is a problem is “normal”, which is nice, but the internet is filled with women who make you feel like if your child isn't able to get themselves out of bed and make themselves breakfast by 6 months, you’re a complete failure and your child should be in therapy. Mine isn't even rolling over on a consistent basis. I try and not let the thoughts that there's something wrong with him creep into my head. He seems like a perfectly happy, healthy little boy. As long as he doesn't think there's something wrong, I'll go with it. 

Terrance has been home for 2 whole weeks straight now. It's weird. We've had visitors basically the whole time, but not having the burden of everything with Logan and the dogs and the house fall on my shoulders has been nice. I'm sleeping more. :) I would say that I am a more pleasant person to be around, but I don't know that I'm brave enough to ask anyone else if they agree...

I posted a picture recently on Instagram and facebook. It’s of me, standing in front of some sunflowers at a community garden I work with. It’s what the kids these days are calling a “selfie”.  At first I didn’t want to post it. I didn't like it. In all honesty, I just wanted to show how tall the sunflowers have gotten this year. When I looked at it, I saw my hair out of place, the discoloration of my teeth (except for that pesky one that stays white while the others stain from the gallons of coffee a new born forces you to consume), my crooked smile and nose that no one ever seems to notice but me. I saw a collection of my imperfections. But I posted it anyway, because 7 foot sunflowers are cool. And people liked it. About 30 people to be exact. I’m sure half of them like the sunflowers, and that’s cool. They’re likeable, happy flowers.  But after people liked and commented on it, I look at the picture again. It’s a perfectly lovely picture. I look happy and the flowers are nice. The colors are good. Sometimes, you have to gain a little perspective to see what the big picture really looks like. In a lot of ways, that picture is a metaphor for my life. I have spent a lot of time focusing in on and examining the imperfections of my life.

Every once in a while, it’s good to look at the picture as a whole.

Maybe it’s not so bad, after all.