I Give Up

There are days where I just give up. I’m not what everyone wants me to be. I’m not what I expected of myself. Becoming a mom changed my life so drastically, so quickly, so devastatingly that I’m still, now merely adjusting to the ever-changing pattern that is my new life.

I watch other parents enjoying their children. Talking about their routines and how their kid sleeps through the night at 5 months. I look at my kid, food splattered, fussy, squirming. They see the bags under my eyes. They see the trouble I have catching my breath. Behind these tired eyes is a brain that has not stopped calculating things since it was awoken from its bare minimum level of sleep.  It’s risk analyzing, compromising, and falling short.

There are so many different things to measure up to today. My baby eats foods I didn’t mash myself, non-organic veggies and formula. That makes me a bad mom, right? My kid has “screen time” and I don’t always “engage” with her. That makes me a bad mom, right? I lose my temper when she’s been screaming for 30 minutes and I can't figure out why. That makes me a bad mom, right? I never cook anymore, my laundry is in baskets and not folded and put away, my house is a minefield of toys and random baby things. That makes me a lazy mom, right? I choose some days to nap with my child (who only gave me 4 hours of sleep the night before) instead of cleaning my house or doing the dishes. That makes me a lazy mom, right?

I watch my non-children friends go to bars, events and they still invite me. I almost always back out unless it’s kid friendly. Why? We don’t have any family near by. We have no form of “free” babysitting. Whatever event you’re inviting me to it may only be $20 to attend but you need to tack on $50-$60 for babysitting.  This addition pretty much prices me out of being able to go to your event. Plus add on the guilt of leaving my child and add on that I’m still somewhat breastfeeding (what I can produce) so I won’t drink. 

Social media is a joke. It’s not Mother’s Day unless you post about it. It’s not your anniversary unless you announce it. I see people doing cleanses, special diets and posting recipes. Half the time I’m eating some reheated crap over the kitchen sink while my child throws food at me and you want me to switch to Paleo? You think I should try this diet that requires I spend money I don’t have on products or only organic foods or only meat free from hormones? I don’t have time to boil veggies and mash them down into palatable food for my child but you think I have time to make a smoothie for myself ? Or meal prep? Or cook and eat only free range chicken on a bed of organic roasted vegetables? Those that do have diets that they actually stick to I applaud you. Right now if I get any food in my gullet I see it as a win. 

My other mom friends are battling their own routine issues or are working moms equally exhausted at the end of the day or are stay at home moms doing outings while I’m at work and unavailable once I’m free. Some moms seem so much more settled in life than me. They have careers and make decent money while I’m still struggling in the dirt rubbing my two pennies together.  Their children seem to make sense and are almost rational human beings. They have a bedtime routine that works. They don’t have the panic behind their eyes that I do.

There is this insane amount of pressure and new mom guilt. An over abundance of  “do this not that.” A weird amount of comparing one mom to another. This mom is already working out and running marathons. Maybe you should get off the couch. This mom still cooks dinner every night. Maybe you should time manage better. This mom doesn’t leave the house without her hair washed. Maybe you should get up earlier to clean yourself up. Good for those mom. Here’s what I’ve figured out: It’s okay to give up on what is “expected” of you.  To give up on your home looking perfect. To give up on friends that don’t understand the new stress you’re under. To give up on being anywhere on time.  To give up on pristine outfits. To give up on seeing the new releases in the theaters. To give up on being the perfect mother. There is no such thing. 

It’s not okay to give up on your kid or your path as a mother. There is no one correct way to raise a kid and no two kids are exactly alike. You go into parenting with the absolute best intentions and you somehow, someway make exceptions. Give up on whatever you need to so you can adjust your focus to what truly matters now: that screaming rebel child that wants you to pick her up.

First Mother's Day

I wasn't sure how this day was going to hit me. Would I be overcome with emotions? Would I be sad? Would I be happy? It was hard to tell. Mother's Day is a loaded phrase for me. Last year, when I was 5 months pregnant my husband tired to make it special for me. I was wracked with fear. I didn't believe I would get to meet this baby growing inside of me. I was certain this thing that I wanted so badly was going to be ripped away from me. I thought about my mother and tried in vain to remember what I did for her the last Mother's Day she was breathing.

On September 27th, 2015 at 22 minutes before midnight, Naneki came screaming out of me. I was so very happy I got to meet this little version of Tim and I. When I lost my mother at 13 to a slow leak brain aneurysm, I told myself if I ever had a girl I'd name her after my mom, Nancy who went by Naneki. Tim and I were told we couldn't have kids and after a year of attempting just that feat we were starting to believe our doctors.

Naneki's due date was September 26th. At first I didn't think much of this date. Then my older sister said "How great would if be if she was born on mom's birthday?" It took me a minute to register, to remember. My mom's birthday was September 27th, 1947. The day I went into labor, my father, who flew in from Hawaii, was actually in Seattle attending my uncle's memorial. My best friend, Francie was in Sacramento for a wedding and my Mother-in-Law was certain I'd be late and wasn't able to get out of work early to leave Boston. I knew. I knew she was going to come on my mother's birthday. It was just so cosmically obvious. I also knew it would be while everyone was out of town.

Here I sit, holding my 7.5 month old daughter, who has my mother's name, who was born on my mother's birthday and I can't help but feel grateful. Nene has not been an easy child. Not by a long shot. While perfectly and beautifully healthy, she has had a laundry list of issues. She fights sleep like she's some kind of opponent in a Rocky Balboa film. In the early months, her gas and acid reflux made her scream for hours on end. I was very scared to leave my house with her. Things have mellowed out a bit in the last month or so. She's developing like crazy crawling, pulling herself up to standing, experimenting with free standing and relying on balance. She talks, she mimics, she fake sneezes and coughs. She actually smiles and laughs these days. Something we didn't see much of in the few breaks from the screaming when she was a newborn.

My husband is in the kitchen making me breakfast. My dogs are nestled beside me. I hold my daughter tightly and all I feel is thankful. Life could be so much worse. While I don't have my mother physically with me anymore, I can look back on how she handled us 4 girls. I can pull from those memories and carry on those odd songs, those silly responses to questions and that loving attitude. I don't know if every Mother's Day I will feel this appreciative. I'm pleased that this year, my first year, I'm able to reflect and enjoy my trials and tribulations as a mom. Maybe next year I will be sad and remember my mom or I will be stressed out and missing the point. This year. This year, though. I am happy that I have had the opportunity to be mom to this squealing, screaming, laughing ball of me.

Happy Mother's Day to all you veteran moms, first time moms, short lived moms and grandmas. You're more important to someone than I think you'll ever realize.

Looks Like Rain

My mother had such faith that I would be a good mother. That I would be good at this thing called life. As I sit on my couch 27 weeks pregnant. As I struggle. My mom enters my thoughts a lot. She had four kids, all girls, all about three years apart. She had her first when she was 33 and didn't stop until she was 42. She died at 49.

Through most of my life, I've felt like I let her down. I'm the only one to leave Hawaii. I got an education and still only make $30K/year. I'm in my second marriage. I made horrible life decisions. I honestly never thought I would have a kid. In fact, until I was about 27 I never actually WANTED kids.

Yet here I am, life growing inside of me at a rapid rate. Three months to go, almost 7 months down. I rely on my mother, a lot. She's not here physically but I think about how she handled us girls, how we each managed to have her undivided attention at times, how she shaped us. It's really hard to wrap my head around the fact she won't meet her granddaughter. I do think, however, that she had her hand in all this. Naneki (Nancy in Hawaiian, which was my mother's name) is due a day before my mother's birthday.

September 27th, 2015

6am – The day following my due date for my first child. Cramping came randomly and was light enough that I fell back asleep. I started a new book too – The Rewind Files by Claire Willett – It basically saved me.

9-10am – My husband awoke to find me leaned over the couch swaying a bit. He looked at me funny and with a perky demeanor, I said,

            “So, I’m in labor…”

He went into “crisis” mode asked me if I’ve been timing my contractions, if I’ve eaten anything and why I didn’t wake him (one of us should be well rested going into this thing)? We started to time my contractions. I stomach a orange popsicle and a yogurt. I even managed to take a shower and shaved my legs.

Noon – Things made an ugly turn. No one told me when you go into labor your body “empties” itself. It was 95-100 degrees that day in SoCal and my non-air conditioned home, especially my bathroom became a hotbox. I poured sweat and spent all my time on the toilet. We asked if someone could come over and watch our dogs.

1pm – Oh my god, I think I’m dying. Our friends showed up to watch the dogs. Tim was holding me during a contraction and I ran to the sink to puke. The pain was that bad. We began our 15-minute drive to the hospital. Tim grabbed me a puke bucket.

1:15pm – THERE’S NO MATERNITY PARKING LEFT AT THE HOSPITAL. It’s a Sunday! Tonight is not just a full moon but a SUPER BLOOD MOON. EVERYONE went into labor. We park as close as we can and then try to walk it in, usually there are wheelchairs at every parking lot entrance, not today.  It’s hot. I’m drenched in sweat. My contractions seem to be 3-5 minutes apart. I have one getting out of the car we walk a bit with the hot sun and I have another one. Tim, the poor pack mule, has a puke bucket a labor bag and a post labor bag. I lean heavily on him. Halfway through the walk, after my third contraction I tell him I’m not going to make it. Leave me here to die. We waddle on.

1:35pm – I made it. I did it. I got to Labor & Delivery. They have me filling out paperwork, when I just slowly and calmly drop to my knees and have a contraction, apologizing. They want me to pee in a cup. I go white and dread fills my face but I manage to get it done between contractions and we’re admitted into Triage to see what the situation is. The situation is bad. It is BAD. They prod Tim about the bucket.

            “What’s that for?” Asked the triage nurse.

            “When she has a really bad contraction, she pukes.” My husband said.

            “Okay. Well let’s just move that off to the side for now.”

I’m 6cm dilated and 0 effaced. I pass muster to be admitted to the hospital. They sat me up, I looked at Tim and screamed “Bucket!” I vomited neon orange.

            “Good thing you had that bucket,” said the triage nurse.

Things went dark for me. The pain reached a level I didn’t know I could stand. I became unresponsive. I kept sweating and made them turn the AC way down. Tim tried to make it work. I begged for an epidural. 

Curled up in the corner of the hospital bed crying, sweating and apparently blacking out often, the epidural finally came. They had Tim leave the room. He got the worst turkey sandwich of his life and by the time he returned I was cracking jokes with the nurses.  I didn’t feel the epidural the pain from my contractions was so intense that I honestly didn’t notice. This was important to me. I was terrified of an epidural after a bad experience with a spinal tap when it was believed I had meningitis in 2006. I had to get a blood patch. The epidural worked and though I had a tender spine for a few months I fully recovered. I honestly don’t think I could have given birth without it.

3:30pm – My water broke and I was 9cm dilated 0 effaced.  Your water breaking, especially after an epidural is the weirdest feeling. Like the hottest water balloon being popped on your lap well, not really on your lap.

9pm – I hadn’t progressed and my contractions stopped (apparently). They wanted to start me on Pitocin. I started to get a little nervous. Also, all I had to eat that day was some ice chips which I kind of forced Tim to mix Sprite with because I needed some type of something to get me through this.

9:30pm – By the time they got the Pitocin ready, my contractions had started again and we were going to start pushing soon.

10pm – Ahhh oh push it.  Until I pushed too hard and gave myself a headache. Two Tylenol and wait 20 minutes.

10:38pm – Pushing begins again. I can’t feel anything and they have to tell me when to push. The nurse kept asking Tim if he wanted to feel the head before it crowned. He politely declined.

11:20pm – Still pushing. Tim tells me all he sees is 2 inches of hair like weird tentacles then he stopped checking.

11:38pm – I start to tell Tim I don’t think anything is happening and I’m worried the baby isn’t coming. He just looks at me wide-eye and assures me “THINGS ARE HAPPENING.” Not even 2 pushes later our beautiful baby girl came screaming into this world. SCREAMING. Tim, although hesitant cut the umbilical cord. I felt the afterbirth which was also just a strange unexplainable feeling. 

At 7 pounds 7 ounces, 21” long she apparently kind of flew out. Her shoulders didn’t even get stuck. I had a small tear in my left labia. Midwife said normally she wouldn’t bother to stitch it but it will help me to heal faster.  She latched and breastfed right away. It was told to me that as soon as I pushed her out and heard her screams I said to my husband, “That wasn’t so bad I can do that again in a few years.”

I didn’t know there was a button on the epidural to feed me more drugs. By the time I had Naneki Eileen Regan, I could walk and function pretty normally which shocked the nurse. While I got wheeled into my recovery room holding my sweet baby girl they played the little musical announcement to indicate a baby had been born.   

That first night was magical. I slept with her on my chest I was so unwilling to let her go.  I finally got to meet my little Nene. Delivered at 11:38, September 27^th 2015 during a rare Super-Harvest Blood Moon. This child was destined for great things but no matter what she does she will always be great in my eyes.

 

I Can't Take the Heat

I remember when my blood test came back positive,

"Congratulations, is this your first one?"

I nodded to my doctor. I was with child. For the next few months, I puked and cried and slept. I tried to maintain a normal life and I failed. I had to turn vegetarian, I cut out sweets, I was disgusted by cheese. I lived off peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and prayed it was a boy.

Every ultrasound, every sonogram I was terrified. Panicked there'd be no movement, no growth, scared it would somehow all be taken away from me.

Three years earlier, I was told having children was going to be extremely difficult. That I should look into in vitro and adoption. I was told to go back on the pill to help regulate my Polycycstic Ovary Syndrome.  I cried for days over this news.

Now, pregnant, I am constantly filled with fear that I'll do something wrong, something will go wrong. I'll be alone with the memories of terrible kicks to my spine and punches while I desperately tried to sleep.

The day we found out it was a girl, I was slightly crestfallen. I'm one of four girls, all I wanted was a boy. My husband, patted my leg with so much joy in his eyes.

She's alive.

That's all that I cared about. She was alive with no major issues. Seeing her, really seeing her changed something inside of me.

I thought it was a positive but things quickly went dark. I cried, daily. I was anxious and frustrated and some days I simply couldn't get out of bed. There was the fear of somehow losing her. There was the disaster that was my home not even partially prepped for a baby. There was the financial stress I was already under being added to by specialist visits to manage my high risk pregnancy. There was the slow limitations of my body. There was the unsexifying of my body. There was a distance brewing between my husband and I. My frustrations were not his frustrations. He had started a new job, working nights and my concerns over a nursery currently burdened by essentially the leftovers of a move from two-years ago were not a high priority for him.

September 26th looms in the distance and I am overly ready and at the same time not at all. My house is in shambles. It's a dry heat in the 90s where I live. I'm exhausted. Just maintaining the dishes, laundry and daily dog walks is becoming a strain. I still work full-time and plan on returning to work after the birth. I need the money. I've started to retreat from social gatherings. I've started to hate that I do that. I don't know what I'm doing. I don't know where I am. I don't know who I love.

Envious of those women who have happy pregnancies, blissful even. Those who beam with love and pride. Those who say they never felt more beautiful than when they were pregnant. I don't feel beautiful. I don't feel happy. I feel fear. I'm quick to anger. Fast at annoyance. I'm tired. I'm so tired.

I can't afford these feelings. I can't afford this baby. I can't afford to not find joy in my life.

At night, with these feelings trying to pull me under. I feel her kick. I feel her shudder. I feel her grow. She's making me weaker. She's already draining me. I still muster the strength to whisper "I Love You" to her as she let's me settle into uncomfortable sleep.

Happy Sad

One of my guilty pleasures is watching military homecomings. Whether it’s with their never-before-seen newborns, pets or family, I could watch homecomings for hours on end.  Could be a surprise could just be at the airport, docks, base, whatever.

One of the reasons I love these so much is because I’ve been there. My first husband was a U.S. Marine. He is a great man. I remember waiting for him at K-Bay (Kane’ohe Marine Corps Base). My stomach in knots. Nervous. I don’t know why you’re so nervous about seeing them again. It’s like you’re worried they won’t recognize you or be happy to see you. The biggest fear is they won’t be there. I scanned faces, frowning, you always get so depressed when you don’t see them immediately that fear they missed the plane/boat/bus or something much worse becomes palpable. I had my leis, my gifts in the car. There’s this monumental build. At any moment you feel like you’re just going to crumble to dust. Somehow, he got behind me. Tricky bastard. He wrapped his arms around my waist and whispered softly in my ear.  I spun around on my heels so quick I was dizzy and I fell into him and there was such a release in me. I clung to him like if I let go I was going to lose myself.  My body quivered and heaved and shook. I cried and shrieked and wailed and clawed at him.  I crushed the leis in my hand and couldn’t find words. There are no words for the relief, for the joy of a safe return. I was scared to let him go. We stood there for a long time while the tears slipped out and my voice was foreign to me. Even when he was putting his bags in the car I clung to him. His friend, who we called “Fez” had no one waiting for him, so I brought him a lei and a gift too and hugged him but kept one hand on my husband.

We spent nine months apart from each other. I wrote him letters every day and he told me some weeks when the mail got backed up he’d get a literal garbage bag full of mail from me. He was in Okinawa, Tinian, Philippines, Guam. When he was in Okinawa we could talk on the phone.  Sometimes I’d drive to the base to be able to have video chats (this was 2002 after all). I’d leave parties or friend’s houses early just to race home and be able to talk to him on the phone before he’d be out in the field for weeks.

It takes a special breed to wait and stay dedicated. The only reason I could do it that time was I had my family and friends as a support system. I lived in Hawaii (where I grew up) and my routine wasn’t demolished by his absence. When his next big deployment to Iraq rolled around in 2007, we had moved to North Carolina. I had no support system I had a few friends, no family and was looking for work after graduating college. I couldn’t do an indefinite deployment. I just couldn’t do it. 

I’ll never forget what that marriage taught me. I watch those videos because I can relate to what I see in their eyes. The mixture of love, relief, joy. I cry when I see these reunions because I know how scared they were. When they’re gone you’re terrified all the time. At least I was. I interacted socially. I kept myself busy but I was truly afraid every minute of the day. I slept with one of his dirty PT shirts on a pillow so I wouldn’t forget his scent. I kept pictures of him everywhere so I wouldn’t forget his face. I was recording TV shows on VHS tapes to mail him so he knew he was in my thoughts.

When you have a loved one in the military and they are deployed it’s life consuming. It’s in your thoughts minute-to-minute. You have nightmares, you have intimate dreams, you talk and talk  and talk about them until people stop coming around. Then you act like you’re fine, give the semblance of normalcy, but you cry at night and when they call, you breakdown.  Hearing their voice creates a physical response. My body would shake.

Their return to your life is like a gift you never thought possible. I tricked myself into thinking him being away was normal; this was how it was going to be forever. When he was standing, in front of me, grinning, I never thought I could be so happy.

My husband now, was a submariner in the Navy when we met. We dated long distance and through his underways and when I’d see him at the airport it was that same euphoric happiness. It was the I-never-believed-this-was-going-to-happen relief. 

The military has a way of putting that finality in your thoughts. The depressing, consuming thought that This.Could.Be.The.Last.Time. It’s heart-wrenching. It’s nerve-wracking. It’s life-altering. When they return. When you see their face. When you can hug them, kiss them, smell them again. There is no greater bliss.

The Reality of the Situation

My mind played a dirty trick on me. A few nights ago, I had a very vivid dream where Tim and I found out we were pregnant and we were trying to decide how to tell our loved ones. We were happy. When I woke up it was evident this was not the situation. The next day was followed by granny panties and a strong need for chocolate, reaffirming the no-baby situation.

I understand a lot of couples don’t want babies or are grateful for that monthly reminder that they are in fact baby free. I used to be excited about that too. Until I was diagnosed with Poly Cystic Ovary Syndrome. Until I was told odds of me conceiving are silm. Until that option of having kids was taken from me.

My husband and I have been attempting this whole “let’s start a family” thing for well over a year. We’ve faced a lot of hardships in that year. To the people who get knocked up on the first try or within the first month, fuck you. Fuck you in your happy fucking faces. I know I’m not the only woman who faces this. Who weeps when she gets her period or feels a pain in her chest when she sees people with strollers. I know. I know it’s not just me. To all my friends pregnant or with newborns, trust me I don’t hate you, I just wish I was you. It’s just tough for me to see the pictures of your babies. To hear the antidotes. To know all the ins and outs of your pregnancy. It’s hard. It’s really, really hard.  To be honest it’s like a slap in the face. But at the same time I can’t stop looking at your pregnant bellies and your baby pictures. It’s a very painful addiction. I know I comment on all your photos and like all your statuses  and seem really interactive and I am genuinely happy for you. It’s a punch in the guts. Your children are all so beautiful. I will never stop admiring your children and commenting on your statuses.

There are couples who have tried for a lot longer than Tim and I. There are couples who have tried everything. We’re new to this. We’re new to the feeling and the understanding that pregnancy is not an easy, automatic gift.  That the equation isn’t always first comes love then comes marriage then comes a baby in a baby carriage. Sometimes it’s  love and marriage and an empty carriage.  Or love only. Or dogs. Or cats. Or nothing at all. And that’s okay. That’s life. It’s no one’s fault. It’s no one’s responsibilities. It’s no one’s defect. It’s just life.

To those with children, I don’t think you’re lucky or blessed or favored. I think you’re a family, same as mine. I think you’re happy, same as mine and I think you’re grateful for them.