Mother Musings

I think it’s crucial to have conviction in life. Some might say I have too much. But I know for a fact that if I did not feel convicted in my day to day activities, there would be no point in doing them. I had, and still have, so many dreams for my path on motherhood. I never in a million years would have dreamt up what we’ve been through in the last four years. When I sit down and recognize that I’ve actually, truly, literally been through 3 full pregnancies, 2 miscarriages and have three living breathing daughters, IN FOUR YEARS, I am flabbergasted. I just shake my head because it doesn’t seem possible. But here I am, now living in Cincinnati, in a GD house, with an almost 2 year old shoveling popcorn down her throat (and throwing it all over my floor) right next to me… man. This thing called life is wild.

Why did I start this off with conviction? Henry told me on our six year anniversary that his favorite trait about me is my dedication and determination. I think it was a nice way of saying that I’m stubborn as hell, and therefore difficult in most day to day activities. For example: I refuse to drink tap water, in any capacity. (If you’re an idiot and still drinking tap water, watch Dark Waters and I dare you to not change your mind. Better yet, read this article. Good grief). I’m sure you’re thinking, that’s really not that extreme, just use a Brita. LOLOLOLOL NO. I am so extreme in my convictions that I won’t let Henry buy our jugged water for our standalone dispenser from Walmart. If you wanna fight about it, I’m here for it. Let it rip.

I also will only eat organic produce. I wash my berries in apple cider vinegar. I don’t drink sodas or colas or pops, any which way you wanna swing it. We avoid soy at all costs. Processed sugar is the devil. High fructose corn syrup? Ha! Are these luxuries that maybe only a few select people prioritize? Can we have many heated discussions over food deserts, poverty, the disservice our government is doing for the bulk of our non-white Americans? Yes. Am I also putting my family in a bit of debt by being so insistent on these standards, and also therefore making most evenings difficult because Henry is working and I cook dinner five nights a week? Yup. We spend on average $1200 a month on groceries, and that’s not including the meat and dairy we have shipped in from a regenerative farm… I digress. If you wanna talk about these things, I do too. I promise there is a point to all of this.

Another example: I firmly believe that breastmilk is the only way to feed your baby for the first year of their life. Is this difficult for most mothers, including myself? Absolutely. If you don’t know my feeding history with my now three babies, let me give you a ‘kind of’ brief synopsis. All three of my girls have been diagnosed with tongue and lip ties at birth, which made latching basically impossible for all of them. Lucy never stood a chance, we made the discovery too late, and even though we went through with the procedure to fix the ties, she never returned to the breast. I exclusively pumped my breastmilk for her for a full year. When Maxine came around, we knew what to look for and got the problem fixed much sooner, and huzzah! She was breastfeeding. But no one can prepare a sweet 2.5 year old on what it means to share your mother for the first time ever, so intimately. Henry went back to work after 6 weeks, and it was Mama Bear with 2 little ones, one of them extremely jealous and the other extremely hungry. So back to pumping I went, in an effort to restore some peace between myself and my oldest. I pumped for 9 months for Maxine. Here comes Imogen, my third daughter. Again, we knew what to look for, and again we got it taken care of as quickly as possible. She did great with her latch, but her endurance was absolute shite, and this girl did a terrible job of establishing a supply, and here we are at pumping again. Except that we also moved cross country six weeks after she was born, bought a house and a new car, Henry started a new job, I became a fulltime mom… things got very hectic and stressful very fast.

So now I ask you: what does a mother do, whose convictions are so intense, and whose stress level is so high, that she now has to choose between feeding one child the only way she wants to, or keeping the rest of herself and her family functioning? And there is the root of my existence. Constantly choosing between two hard options. My journey as a mother could best be described as how my cousin so eloquently put it: …it feels like you’re being ripped limb from limb, coming to the edge of death. There is a certain way of going about your day, when you’re grieving a thing that has never been and never will be, no matter how hard you’ve fought for it.

If you’re still reading, you must know me fairly well. You know that I’ve spent the last ten years putting myself through grueling training, I’ve worked insane hours, I’ve done things most people have nightmares about. I am not a stranger to pain, difficulties, driving through concrete walls. I’m willing to worker harder than almost anyone I know, to make something I want to happen. But y’all. What about when the darkest thoughts are so all consuming, you’ve locked yourself away from your kids so nobody gets hurt? What about all the countless times you can’t breathe, can’t see, can’t think, because the anxiety is beating you down through the floor into the Earth’s crust and you don’t know if you’ll ever come back up again? When you find yourself frozen in crippling fear, completely incapable of making a decision and moving forward physically AND mentally? What then? The screams inside the deepest parts of me are deafening. There is no peace.

So here I sit, typing away, trying to find some kind of redemption or forgiveness, for myself from myself; trying to tell you all that I found a new road where it felt like none existed. At 4.5 months, just 18 weeks for my sweet Imogen, I’ve stopped pumping, and started supplementing a raw milk formula. I made a hard choice. I figured out to pivot when my entire body felt like cement. Am I going to have big feelings about this for a very long time? Absolutely. Am I full of doubt over my decision? 100%. Is Imogen eating and sleeping and pooping and still acting like a perfect precious babe? You bet your ass she is.

I make it myself in my kitchen every other day. It’s a chore, but it’s not the same kind of six hours of pumping a day chore. I’m aware I need to be in therapy. I’m aware that I’m not okay. But last night I actually slept seven hours, instead of 4.5. And that’s a start. I chose living for my daughters over murdering my sanity.

Being a mother is… it’s hard. I’m here to keep talking about it. I love y’all. Let’s f**k shit up together.