More than Just Spit-Up and Poopy Diapers

Let's face it, motherhood is not always a piece of cake; and anyone who says otherwise is a complete loon.

I once heard Dorothy Zbornak say on an episode of the "Golden Girls" that, if motherhood were easy, fathers would do it. OK, so maybe Dorothy exaggerated a little, but you get the idea. Motherhood really is hard.

Learning these truths comes by pure immersion. After you deliver your baby, the nurses take care of it in every way except when it comes to feeding. And then once your two days are up, they let you waltz right out the door (well, they let you roll out in a wheelchair) with a tiny, helpless creature. You then take your baby home, and your new lives as Mommy and Daddy begin. One moment, those wonderful nurses are taking such good care of you and your little one; the next, they're feeding you to the wolves.

Those first few nights (and weeks, and well, OK, those first couple of months) are tough. In my case, I was unaware how low my milk supply was at first, and so my poor little baby was practically starving. Needless to say, he cried incessantly those first few nights at home; so much, that King and I felt we had no other choice but to call my mom in the middle of the night so she could try her hand at consoling him. I was incredibly sore and tired, so I tried to nap whenever I could grab a chance. Over time, my nursing issues continued to worsen (which I will cover in another blog post in the near future) and so things around our house didn't settle down until only recently.

Since motherhood can throw lots of curve balls your way, you learn to adjust accordingly. You learn what works and what doesn't. You learn your baby; he learns you. You learn how to do things one-handed, and you learn how to get through the day without your husband there for support. You learn how to time visits, and how to pack a diaper bag. One thing that I have learned very quickly in the short 5 months in which I've been a mom, is that along with spit-up and poopy diapers, motherhood can also present you with a dump-truck load full of guilt. Thoughts of "Am I a bad mother because I ______?" will run through your mind at least a dozen times a day, if not more. I'm proud to say that I am now coming into my own as a new mom. No, I'm not perfect. In fact, that's the whole point of this post. I'm nowhere near perfect when it comes to being a mom, and I'm learning to live with my shortcomings. There are times when I still feel guilty about my mothering decisions; and then there are other times when I shrug my shoulders and move on. Motherhood is about striving to be the best mom you can possibly be, but also realizing that you'll never hit that mark. For me, a sign of good mothering is learning to be comfortable with your best effort.

Last night, I was lying awake in bed after indulging in a little caffeine binge, and I kept thinking about myself as a mother. I had just read an article about Kelly Ripa in an issue of "Good Housekeeping," where she was asked a question about one of her guilty pleasures. She answered the question, but honestly admitted that her "guilty" pleasure really didn't make her feel all that guilty. Inspired by her candidness, I've come up with two lists for myself as a mother: My Guilty Pleasures List and My Not-So-Guilty Pleasures List. This is where the "learning to be comfortable with your best effort" comes into play, and where I'm brutally honest about my own mothering.

My Guilty Pleasures

--I watch a small amount of TV during the day. I know the research about babies and their exposure to television, but I can't help myself. I mainly use it as a substitute for adult interaction. I'm currently watching "The Office" on Netflix. It's background noise that just happens to be ridiculously hilarious!

--I still eat awful-for-you Bethel Dipper cheeseburgers even though I'm not pregnant anymore.

--I sleep in because Ian sleeps in. Most days, we don't get up until at least after 10:00 a.m.

--I have a "Baby on Board" decal on the back windshield of my car. I have become that mom.

--I sometimes find myself feeling relieved that I was unable to breastfeed. It's so nice for others to help out with his feedings, plus it's a joy for me to wear regular bras, tops, camisoles, and dresses again. I absolutely hate these feelings because I desperately wanted to breastfeed and tried every possible measure for 3 months before finally weaning him.

--Since having Ian, I have bought way too many Nook books.

--I kind of enjoy the fact that Ian needs to be rocked and cuddled for his naps. I know he should probably learn to fall asleep on his own (he does this perfectly at night), and I often feel like I should be using that opportunity to get more things done around the house. But sitting with him gives me the chance to relax; plus, it allows me to read all those books I buy for my Nook.

--I still spend way too much time on Facebook, even though most of what I see and read gets on my nerves.

--I let Ian watch me some on the computer and the Nook. It's probably not the best thing for his little eyes, but he's just so captivated by it.

--After Ian was born, I relinquished my duties as cook and gave the job to King, although he usually ends up bringing something home or we eat with family. Most days, neither of us feel like cooking. I feel extremely guilty about this, knowing that Ian will be eating off our plates soon. I don't want the majority of his diet coming from fast food.(But I thoroughly enjoy not cooking.)

--I enjoy the convenience of disposable diapers, even though I know how much better cloth is for my baby's bottom. This is on my things-to-try list.

--I keep a bowl of candy next to my recliner. I've pretty much gotten control of myself, but making it through Halloween, Christmas, and recently Valentine's Day, has been tough.


Now, for my Not-So-Guilty List. These are things that I have struggled with, but have generally stopped giving myself a guilt trip over. I accept these things for what they are, and just let them be.


My Not-So-Guilty Pleasures

--Usually once a week, after my husband gets home from work, I go to Wal-Mart for some grocery shopping. This is part of my "me" time, and I don't rush the trip. I savor the time by myself, and spend more time than I probably should looking at the cosmetics and hair products.

--I let Ian stay in the nursery for 2 hours during church on Sunday mornings. It gives King and me the opportunity to attend our Sunday School class and worship service. Plus, it gives Ian the opportunity to experience new faces.

--I stay up late at night after King and Ian go to sleep so I can veg out. I lay in bed while reading, writing in my new one-sentence journal, or browsing online.

--I love hearing compliments on how Ian is such a sweet, contented baby. It makes me so proud.

--Having a baby now gives me an excuse to read kids' books.

--I want to buy my 5 month-old-son beaucoup books. Toys? Not so much. Just books.

--Sunday mornings are usually the only time I have to really fix myself up and dress nicely. I let King feed, dress, and get Ian's things ready so I can "primp." Sometimes, a girl just needs to primp.

--Even though it feels good to "primp" sometimes, I still have the "new mom" excuse for looking shabby.

--I pestered my husband about buying a subscription to our local newspaper even though he opposed paying the $36 for it. I don't get out much, but I still want to know what's going on!

--I have dressed my son in an outfit that had the teeniest bit of camo on it. And he made it look darn good.

So yes, motherhood is hard. But I feel like I'm now learning that I don't have to make it any harder than it already is. Sometimes, you just have to let things go for the sake of your own sanity, and raise your baby the best way you know how, dealing with the spit-up, poopy diapers, guilt, and all.

During My 5-Month Hiatus...

As you might have guessed from my previous blog posts, I had my baby. Almost 5 months ago. And yes, I'm just now getting around to blogging about it. As it turns out, motherhood is hard and kind of time-consuming. But incredibly fulfulling, nonetheless.

Unfortunately, my desire to have my baby naturally was just not meant to be. Somewhere around my 37th week, my baby decided to flip himself out of the head-down position and turn breech. My obstetrician (who was wonderful, by the way) advised against trying to turn the baby, since I was a first-time mom with my abdominal muscles still good and strong. He had never been successful at turning a first time mom's breech baby, so he wasn't hopeful in my case either. King and I trusted him wholeheartedly, and decided that the safest thing for our baby, as well as for myself, was to deliver via c-section.

Throughout my entire pregnancy, having a c-section had not been an option. I wanted to experience childbirth as millions of women had experienced it through the ages. All natural. No painkillers. No epidurals. No surgical interventions. And when the topic of c-sections came up into conversation or was covered in our childbirth classes, I admit, I tuned out. It was NOT going to happen to me. But, of course, things don't always go the way we plan for them to go. My cousin, who had had 3 c-sections of her own, gave me a piece of advice for handling the disappointment: when it comes to kids, you sometimes have to just go with the flow. We don't always get to choose our birth stories, and that's ok, just as long as Mom and Baby make it through alive and well. This is what I kept telling myself.

Even so, I was still disappointed. My husband King, although very sympathetic and understanding, didn't seem to grasp the situation entirely. As a man, I think it was kind of hard for him to see why it was so important for me to deliver naturally. Don't get me wrong, King was WONDERFUL throughout the entire experience--the pregnancy and delivery, alike; however, I believe that his sympathy and understanding could only go so far. He couldn't see inside my head, just like I can't see inside his. No matter how open we are with one another (and believe me, we're very candid with one another about our emotions), there are just some feelings that we can't fully experience alongside each other.

For me, experiencing childbirth meant being inducted into a sacred community of women. It signified a rite of passage into womanhood, so to speak. Now I realize that delivering my baby by c-section doesn't make me any less of a woman or mother, nor does it make my baby any less special. But to be honest, every once in a while, I still find myself feeling gypped that I couldn't fully experience the thrill of going into labor, rushing to the hospital with my husband bags in tow, feeling the contractions push my dear baby out through my body and his skin against mine during kangaroo care. For the most part, I've gotten over these kinds of feelings and have embraced my birth story. No, it didn't happen quite the way I originally wanted it to. But my sweet, little baby made it into this world just as he would have had I delivered naturally. No matter which way he came, all that really matters, is that he came.







Ian King Simpson arrived into the world at 7:58 a.m. on Friday, September 16th, 2011 at the Medical Center in Bowling Green, Kentucky. He was 8 pounds, 3/4 ounces and 20 1/2 inches long. He had blonde hair that mostly covered the back of his head, and had "storkbite" birthmarks on his forehead and left eyelid, beneath his nose, and on the back of his neck. Our little Ian is now almost 5 months old, and he is the happiest, most contented baby you'll ever meet. We just love our little Snoozy with all our hearts!