A Hundred Excuses

I haven’t posted in a month.  I have a hundred excuses why.  Some are more valid than others, but none of them are the full truth.

Excuse 1: I had family come in for a visit.  They drove from Ontario to visit with us and, as the designated stay-at-home-for-right-now mom, I was more than happy to escort them about the city, showing off the place I love.

Excuse 2: Holidays.  Between thanksgiving and Halloween, a lot has been going on.  G had her first movie experience, we have carved multiple pumpkins.  We have baked and eaten that baking.  I have gained back all of the weight that I had lost… you know what they say: Thanksgiving is the beginning of the end for every weak-willed dieter.

Excuse 3: I am a bridesmaid in a wedding and the bachelorette party was in Canmore last weekend.  A LOT of my focus had to go into that.

Excuse 4: L is in a BAD sleep regression.  G had them when she was a baby, but not like this.  I am getting absolutely no more than 90 minutes of sleep at night and only a few small breaks during the day.  I love him to little bits but I may leave him in a box on the side of the road with a “Free Baby” sign pretty soon.

 

Ok so not 100 excuses, but four.  Again, all of them real reasons why I have been lax in my blog posting duties, but none of them cover all of it.  The real reason was one that I hadn’t been able to recognize until I was at my book club last Thursday.  My book club, which has only had two meetings so far, is made up of women that I’ve never met, all of whom are small business owners or entrepreneurs.  They are incredible.  Beautiful inside and out, these women work their tails off to live their dream and to make their visions reality.  I was overwhelmed, surrounded by them, by how strong and utterly RELENTLESS they are.  Our book for October was “Thrive” by Arianna Huffington and while we all agreed that it was sort of “meh” overall, it had a few interesting points that became deep conversations for us.  One of the key points was hit on the head by one of the other women: we are constantly told to question our own abilities and value.  We have these deep desires and wants in our lives… oftentimes involving dreams we want to pursue.  But we stop ourselves.  We stop because we think of finances.  We think of responsibilities.  We think, most of all, “who am I to do this?”

And that line is what struck me.  “Who am I to do this?”  She was speaking of her own experiences, and yet it was like she was giving voice to the fear that hides in the back of my head: Who am I to think that I am worth hearing?  Who am I to think I can speak to this or that?  Who am I to think anyone wants to hear what I have to say?

For all of the many concrete reasons I had given myself for putting off posting, this was the one that they hid: my deep insecurity that no one should care what I have to say; that it is arrogant for me to think that what I have to say is worth being heard at all.

I recently read a piece by Joan Didion that talks about self-respect and the struggle to find it.  She likened it to a “well-lit back alley” where all of our self-knowledge waits to essentially mug us with the truths behind our masks and self-image and reputation:  here lurk the truths you can hide from everyone but yourself.  I think I LIVE in that back alley.  I am never unaware of my failings, big and small.  I still think about the time I called a kid a bad name in grade 4 and that one time I didn’t stand up for my mom when I should have.  I’m aware of the frustration I feel when I’m with my daughter – the short-tempered cruelties that shame me deeply.  I can’t pretend with myself to be any kind of parenting sage because I know too well the truth of myself, and to write any kind of piece that says otherwise is to be inauthentic.

It’s a funny duality that I have found in motherhood: I jealously remember the times in my life when I was truly seen, now that I am permanently relegated to the background of my children’s lives.  I once was the sun, with everything orbiting around my life, but now I am just one of those planets, orbiting G and L while they shine.  I guard the precious memories of my life BEFORE when I was Danielle and not just mom.  When I had interests and independence.  But the irony is that I think my greatest fear is to be truly seen now.  To be seen in my inglorious moments, my frustrated ones, my shameful ones. It’s one thing to embrace the messiness of parenthood – there is a deeply funny side to the trivial failings of our day-to-day lives: the spilled milk, the spit up accidents, the blow-outs.  There is a black humour to the first time your kid repeats the word “fuck” or accidentally does something inappropriate with total, pure innocence.  But it’s a different beast to look at our real failings as parents and as people.  Those are moments we do not want to be seen… and they are moments that I feel I have had more of since I became a mom.

And yet, I believe there is value in it.  I think that there are those moments where seeing someone else be vulnerable allows us a greater connection to both ourselves and one another.  I believe that we are closer when we see each other as human.  Especially in a time where social media makes it difficult to separate someone’s PROFILE from her LIFE.

So I’m back.  I have to believe that there is a value to what I want to say.  Perhaps it will be uncomfortable – for me, for people who read it – but perhaps there is value in that.  If I want to raise a daughter who sees value in her own thoughts and voice, I have to find that value in my own.

Fingers crossed.

 

xo

Mediocre Mom

Remembering What’s Important

I had started on a post about good/bad baby products for today, but honestly I can’t get through it.  I am having a “down” day, which is code for a day where my depression and anxiety is causing me to struggle with personing.  I have had struggles with depression and anxiety since I was pretty young, and some periods have been worse than others.  Being a mom has, unfortunately, triggered a lot of my mental health issues because of the constant feeling of not-enoughness that pervades a mom’s day to day living.

Yesterday was a bad day.  I looked around my kitchen and couldn’t make myself do dishes.  Which, of course, triggered feelings of failure because I was being “lazy” and couldn’t do what I feel is an expected bare minimum for me when I’m home all day.  I was a miserable ball of grump when I went to a pilates class and found out that it wasn’t pilates but *GASP* *HORROR* a barre class instead (“I didn’t come here expecting to do SQUATS for heaven’s sake” she says to the clearly offended instructor) making me feel like a huge bitch.  I went to school to help with auditions where I knew I would be letting everyone down because I wouldn’t be able to help with the show the way I would have before I had kids.  I was late getting home and didn’t have dinner ready.  I was short tempered with my daughter.  I was irritated with my son (Good Lord don’t you eventually reach a point of exhaustion where you just pass out?  When the hell does that happen for a newborn??  He could seriously keep national secrets safe in the face of sleep-deprivation torture).  I ate poorly because I had no energy and then hated myself for undermining my hard work to eat well for my health and milk supply.  I grumped at my poor mother on the phone.  I felt like a failure across the board.  The voice in my head repeated it to me: all the ways that I had failed all of the people around me.  I wasn’t giving enough to my kids, to my husband, to my family, to my job… and yet I felt like I had nothing else I could give… so clearly, I’m just not ENOUGH.

Yeah.  It was a bad day.  Depression, added in to the relentless erosion of parenthood, can be a beast.

In particular, it was my daughter I felt that I was failing.  I looked at her and someone else had put her hair in a ponytail (some well-meaning daycare working) and she had on dirty clothes with her runny nose and her perpetual daycare cold and I was crushed by the feeling that I was letting her down as a parent.  And even with that knowledge, I couldn’t stay patient with her when we were eating dinner (I spent seven damn minutes grilling this steak and you “no want meat”?!).

I was in tears by bedtime.  Not because of her – she is amazing – but because of me.  She’s TWO, dammit.  She wants to play hide n seek instead of putting on her pajamas; she doesn’t understand that I can’t help open the blue playdough when both of my hands are full, and she can’t help it that she can repeat the same sentence – “mommy help with boo paydough? mommy help with boo paydough? – a thousand times without realizing that she’s going to break me.  I came in to her room for the bedtime routine secure in my knowledge that I am a BAD MOM.

And then

We are lying in her bed, reading her story (“David’s Father” by Robert Munsch right now) and I’m lying next to her, with my head propped up on my hand while daddy reads and she yells out the parts that she knows.  All of a sudden, in one of those purely spontaneous moments that only kids seem capable of, she reaches a chubby little arm out and puts it around my neck.  She pulls my head down onto her tiny chest – I can hear her heartbeat like a butterfly through her fleece puppy pajamas – and she puts her sweet little lips on top of my head and says, entirely unprovoked, “I happy mommy.”

She’s happy.

She’s HAPPY.

 

I am not enough. I never will be.  I will never be enough to deserve the love that my daughter has for me… I will never deserve the way she looks to me when she needs reassurance… the trust she feels looking at me.  That’s a form of grace, you guys.  Undeserved, needed, precious beyond belief.  It makes my not-enoughness enough.

xo

Mediocre Mom

Post-Partum Self Care

Ok let’s start off by making one thing very clear: Self-care is NOT SELFISH.

Self-care is something that most of us used to do without thinking: we would feel overwhelmed at work; we’d go for a massage.  We were fighting with our partners; we’d take a bubble bath.  We felt unhappy with our bodies; we went to the gym (or, in my case, THOUGHT about going to the gym).  If we were sick, we would stay in bed, eat chicken noodle soup and watch bad television (here’s lookin at you, Chopped… who am I kidding, Chopped isn’t bad televisions, it’s the BEST television and if you don’t agree, we can’t be friends).  We were involved in self-care so regularly, that we often didn’t even realize that’s what we were doing.  For me, pre-baby, reading was key.  Whatever negative feelings I had, reading helped me care for myself.  It allowed me to get out of my busy head, escape for a while into a different world, and come back to reality restored.  I’m an introvert who holds a job that makes me act like an extrovert from 7:30-4:30 every day, and self-care was CRITICAL for me to stay human(ish) for my family, my husband, and my SELF.

Any you know what?  I was NEVER ashamed of taking that time.  I NEVER felt guilty that I needed to take an hour with a face mask on, in a tub, with my thick tome of sci-fi/fantasy escapism.  I knew that it was important, even though I never really stopped to think about it AS important… I just knew instinctively that I NEEDED that time in order to function fully in the other arenas of my life.

But then I was a mom, and everything changed.

If you’re a mom, you know what I mean when I say that all of the self-care you used to do without thinking suddenly seems almost prohibitively difficult to fit into your new life.  The first time I tried to take a bath after I had G, it took me 40 minutes to get into the tub.  I set up a swing (huge, hard to maneuver, and heavy, this thing required a fucking EXTENSION CORD to get it close enough to the bath for me to take one!) and then I nursed, and then I got all of my stuff together (towels, epsom salts, nothing fancy), then I put her in the swing and got one foot in the tub before I heard ppppffffftttttbbbbblurb.  Huge.  Blowout.  Poopmaggedon.  It was in her hair, for crying out loud.  So out of the tub I went.  Changed her, nursed her again (snacking babies will drive you nuts), changed the cover in the swing, and finally got into the bath.  Literally 5 minutes before she started crying.  I ignored her, muttering under my breath questions about why my own child hates me.  She cried harder.  I reluctantly looked over.  She has a spreading wet stain coming up the front of her onesie.  Fuck. ME.

Listen, no one is saying self-care after baby is easy.  I would argue, in fact, that the very reality of how difficult it is for us to take that time makes it even more important that we INSIST on getting it.  Some of the self-care you used to do might not be possible anymore, if we are being honest.  If you are the kind of weird, sad little person who cleans their house as a form of self-care, you may not be able to do a full-day, whole-house clean anymore.  You may need to follow the 15 minute rule: put baby down for FIFTEEN minutes and do ONE small task in that time (dishes, counter tops, etc)… anything that you can FINISH in that time so that you feel that sense of accomplishment.

For me, reading is a challenge now.  I used to disappear for hours.  I’m the kind of reader that actually does not hear you when you talk to me while I’m reading.  I don’t even know you’re there.  I can’t read like that anymore.  Even after the kids are asleep, I have to choose between the kinds of self-care that are most beneficial for me, and, frankly, sleep will win every time.  Like, every time.

So here are some of my recommendations for self-care.

  1. Post-partum self-care HAS to start with you caring for a body that has been hit by a metaphoric train.  A 5-10lb, balled-fist waving, rooting, screaming, pooping train that Juggernauted its way out of your body by means of your most delicate parts… or straight out through your abdomen.  Your body NEEDS you to care for it.  If you had an episiotomy, or tore, you HAVE to take care of that.  Take your sits baths (or full baths, if you’re allowed), use your peri-bottle, sit on your donut.  Don’t lift stuff, if you can avoid it.  Go for physio.  Yup, they have physio for THAT.  I won’t get into the awful post-partum situation that developed down there for me, but know that, if you’re an Edmonton mom, CURA physiotherapy can seriously FIX you.  If you had a C-Section, STAY IN BED whenever you can.  Don’t lift things.  Take care of your stitches, and pay attention to the signs of infection.  Listen to your body and know that this is one of the most traumatic experiences your body will go through.  If you had been hit by a literal train, no one would expect you to have cooked dinner two days later.  No one would shame you for not picking up your toddler.  You only get ONE of these bodies.  Care for it.
  2. And while we’re on the topic of your body: fitness.  Ok.  I hate working out.  No, like HATE it.  I liked sport (note the lack of the plural) in school, but since then nothing has really piqued my interest.  I would not survive a horror film.  I’d look that mask-wearing, knife-wielding mad man in the face and be like, welp, guess I’m dying on this couch, then.  BUT taking care of your body becomes even more important post-partum, because of those happy little endorphins that you get from doing it… and endrophins make you happy and HAPPY PEOPLE DON’T KILL THEIR HUSBANDS (5 friend-points if you know this reference).  You don’t have to do anything crazy.  Just… go for a walk.  Take the baby.  Put in earphones and listen to your broadway musicals, or your gangster rap, and stroll.  Taking baby outside like this serves the added bonus of establishing his/her circadian rhythms, which helps with night sleep.  Don’t push your body too hard too fast.  Just because the dr clears you for working out doesn’t mean you need to start doing crazy high intensity workouts.  Do what your body CAN do.  Do it so that you feel good, not so that you’re punishing yourself to try to lose the weight.  A lot of people will tell you that you’ll lose the weight because of breastfeeding, but for me (and for other women I know) my body held onto fat while I was breastfeeding to fuel baby’s growth, so I didn’t start to really lose weight until I stopped breastfeeding.
  3. Speak positively to yourself and about yourself.  No conditions or write up here.  If you don’t already do this, START NOW.  Your children hear what you say about yourself.  Be kind.
  4. Get a hobby- especially one that is creative.  If you don’t have one yet, start one!  I found a fun list of easy-to-start hobbies and am working my way through them.  I started with calligraphy!  It’s a good one because if L wakes up while I’m doing it, I can put it to the side, take care of him, and then pick it back up.  Some hobbies don’t allow for this, so it’s important to take it into consideration.  This was especially important for me, because I did not really have hobbies before I had kids, because my LIFE was my job.  Suddenly, I’m off work for a year with a new human and I realized that I had nothing that filled my time except for her, and I often felt like I was failing in that arena, so I felt like I was failing across the board.  Try new things, friends.  Find something fun and stupid that you can do while you’re off.  Maybe you’ll find something you love.
  5. Eat.  Seriously, don’t forget to.  I won’t even say you should be eating super healthy, just stop forgetting to eat.  Get some breakfast in you.  I bought protein pancake mix that I can throw water into and cook in a couple minutes.  That and a coffee gets my day started on the right foot.
  6. Join a mom’s group.  I definitely already wrote about this.
  7. Take a bath or shower every day, if you can.  I like baths because I can have L next to the tub in his swing, or on the ground, and I dont have to get him completely asleep before I take it.  I have heard rumours of water-slings that you could use in the shower, but I’m terrified of slipping and killing us both.
  8. Find a way to stimulate yourself intellectually.  Babbling all day, or reading the same basic books, will drive you slowly crazy.  Mom-brain is real.  I have swiss cheese brain!  Sleep deprivation + hormones = my cell phone in the fridge.  I love podcasts (which I had never gotten into before L) and I find ones that I learn from.  It’s incredibly important to FEED yourself in all ways.  I am super into American politics and global events, so I listen to a lot of podcasts on that.  And seriously, if you haven’t listened to S-Town yet, you’re wrong and missing out.
  9. Do something that makes you feel pretty.  Buy a dress (or jeans or whatever).  Do your hair.  Paint your nails with that 30 second nail polish.  Look in the mirror, give yourself a big smile, and tell yourself how gor-ge-ous you are.
  10. When you’re ready, go on a date with your partner.  Even just to your own backyard.  I know that it’s hard.  I know that, in a lot of ways, it’s scary.  Do it anyway.  Trust me that you will not miss the extra hour of sleep the next day (and if you do, take a nap when baby falls asleep, if you can).  You NEED to stay connected to your partner.  Ask gramma to watch baby, or put him/her down for the night and take a monitor, or watch Netflix in bed with your headphones while baby is in the bassinet, or go for a walk together with baby snuggled into the stroller.  Hold hands like teenagers.  Kiss.  Talk about your days.  Talk about anything that isn’t the baby.  Talk about the baby.  Check in with each other.  Reaffirm your love, because even though it looks wildly different now, it’s still there and you have to protect it and shelter it and nurse it and care for it, or you’ll wake up from your baby-daze to find yourself living as roommates or strangers.  My husband and I walk to Starbucks with the kids on Sunday mornings and talk about our lives and plans, and we watch stupid TV together at night, even when we’re tired (we are committed Big Brother fans, so that’s our mindless date), and we PLAN for dates.  Right now, it’s hard, but we have already planned to go out in a few weeks for dinner and my first glass of wine (OMG I’VE NEVER BEEN SO EXCITED ABOUT ANYTHING EVER).  I have a hard time pumping, but I have amassed several ounces over the past couple of weeks so that we can make this happen.  Do it.  Trust me, it’s worth it.

xo

Mediocre Mom