Posted by Anonymous.
I am 28 years old and I have never had a loving relationship in my life. Perhaps that’s because until I was 25, my priorities were school and work.
My close friends describe me as educated, smart, successful, well spoken, funny, cute and very kind. Usually when guys meet me, the first thing they say is “you seem like every guy’s dream girl. How come you are single?”
4 years ago, the guy that I was in love with, broke it off because it turned out that he was cheating on his girlfriend with me for a year! I really had no idea! A coupld of other guys I met, never loved me or left me for someone else.
This year, I met someone at work and it seemed like it was instant connection. After about a month, I realized for some health reasons he was rather depressed. But I didn’t want to push him. My grand mother passed away and I decided to spend 2 weekends with my family rather than him. On a Sunday that we were supposed to meet for brunch, he didn’t show up. I called him for 12 hours and I was convinced that something had happened to him, until I saw him at work on Monday morning.
He apologized and said that he couldn’t return my calls because he was with someone else. I still shiver when I recall that conversation.
He said he didn’t think I would be so upset because I am a strong woman and I can have any man I want. Some of his words still buzz in my head: “she is a friend from before. I wasn’t planning on sleeping with her, it just happened.”
He apologized for a whole week and eventually we made up. With have been dating for more than 2 months after that incident, since.
He has introduced me to all his friends and even told his parents about me. This past weekend he met my parents.
I am still very curious about that weekend 2 months ago. He has a lady friend that lives close by and he doesn’t want to talk about her. I am pretty sure she is the woman he slept with.
Sometimes when he doesn’t pick up the phone, I can imagine him with her in bed and I start crying, despite the fact that he has bought me a promise ring, he says he loves me and he will never hurt me again.
I can see him sleeping with someone else if I get pregnant. I picture him saying “it just happened, I wasn’t planning on it”.
I care about him a lot. He is smart and sweet. He is very clean and even cooks for me. We have the same taste in food, clothes, furniture and movies. But I know he is a bit messed up.
I know when he was a child, he was molested. So was I, but I dealt with it. He tried to get married twice before, but was unsuccessful due to bad luck, mostly. He is emotionally unstable, I think.
I am beginning to think that I am emotionally unstable, too.
I am almost sure whoever I meet, will cheat on me eventually. I have always loved to become a mother. But now, I am afraid that the guy will leave me. What if he wants sex and I cannot give him that during pregnancy? What if I get fat and he doesn’t want me anymore?
Why do I hear on the news that 80% of men cheat?
I am pretty sure by now that I don’t deserve love and commitment. I am destined for heart break. I am very scared and confused.
Tuesday, March 13, 2007
Thursday, March 08, 2007
Angry Mother, Bad Mother?
Posted by Anonymous.
I have become a bad mother. Not a “ha-ha bad mother” but one that you would certainly turn your shopping cart around to avoid. I rant and rave and go on and on and on about trivial crap. I swear. I stomp around. I am Angry. All. The. Time.
Well, not all the time. I am happy when I go to my class, or am creating art or going out to see live music. All of these things I am able to do more, now, than I have in a long time. But when I am NOT doing these things, I am an unbearable bitch. And since I have 3 children, I can only really do these things after they go to bed.
I feel like I was a good mother up until the birth of the third, and I just don’t have it in me to be kind to all of the people all of the time. My husband is more helpful than he has ever been, but still significantly lazy. (Not “doesn’t hold a job lazy”, but “takes a 3 hour nap 4 hours after waking up, and doing nothing if importance in the meantime” lazy).
You would think that with 3 kids I would have a handle on what I am doing, but I don’t. The older 2 are 11 and 10 and are going thru all the “tween” issues. But I haven’t found a “What to expect- elementary years” book. I don’t know what responsibilities they should and should not have and I don’t know what to expect on a cognitive level. I probably expect too much, but it is also met with eye rolling and sassy attitudes. I am lost.
I do know this with the 2 year old. The issue with him, is that he has an audience with the older ones, so all the behaviors that I should “just ignore, and will go away for lack of attention”, don’t go away, but get a laugh instead.
And I have no consistency in my parenting because I am so very outnumbered that things may or may not get disciplined, depending how much I have on my plate.
I know that others have it worse. I can recognize all the wonderful things I have in my life. I take anti-depressants and I exercise (not as much as I should, but they recognize my face at the gym). I love my part-time job. I don’t have cancer…there are so many blessings that I can see, but I don’t know how to stop being so ANGRY.
Does anyone have any similar experiences or advice??
Tuesday, March 06, 2007
In Paradisum
I could not blog light-heartedly this evening.
You may not know Rob, or his blog, How About Two. Or maybe you do know him, and have followed the stories of his wife's pregnancy with twins, and his efforts to prepare himself for fatherhood. But whether you already know him, or don't yet know him, you should know this: he's one of us, a parent who is embracing parenthood with his words. And he, and his wife, his family, have just suffered a devastating loss.
Please, go and visit. Send whatever love that you can. Offer warmth and hugs and good, strong wishes for the well-being of their hearts. Help them say goodbye to the angel that has flown, and say hello (joy-filled hellos! for she is an occasion for much joy!) for the living angel that remains in their arms.
And tell Rob thank you for sharing his story, and his grief. Say thank you, because his words remind you to be so, so grateful for the children that you carry in your arms. And because his story reminds you that true love lives always, eternally, in the heart.
Much love to you, Barron family. Much love, and thanks.
You may not know Rob, or his blog, How About Two. Or maybe you do know him, and have followed the stories of his wife's pregnancy with twins, and his efforts to prepare himself for fatherhood. But whether you already know him, or don't yet know him, you should know this: he's one of us, a parent who is embracing parenthood with his words. And he, and his wife, his family, have just suffered a devastating loss.
Please, go and visit. Send whatever love that you can. Offer warmth and hugs and good, strong wishes for the well-being of their hearts. Help them say goodbye to the angel that has flown, and say hello (joy-filled hellos! for she is an occasion for much joy!) for the living angel that remains in their arms.
And tell Rob thank you for sharing his story, and his grief. Say thank you, because his words remind you to be so, so grateful for the children that you carry in your arms. And because his story reminds you that true love lives always, eternally, in the heart.
Much love to you, Barron family. Much love, and thanks.
Doss Donovan Barron, in paradisum deducant te Angeli.
Sunday, March 04, 2007
Secret Heart
Posted by Anonymous.
Secrets have a life of their own, don't they? I am careful to only share this secret in places where I know my family won't tread. Because, regardless of all the secrets I have told them... this isn't one of them.
I'm a birth mom. I had a little girl for whom my heart aches, daily. She is the product of a relationship I am still in, with someone I dearly love. Her timing, not so great. I was 5 months pregnant when I actually found out that I was carrying a little life.
I do realize this paints me as some ozark cave dweller with zero body consciousness. I was still having menstrual cycles and I had only gained 3 pounds. Needless to say, I was not the only one surprised.
We made the decision, swiftly, quickly, to place her for adoption. We were simply not ready to be parents. I will be honest, that while I don't mourn my decision...I long for her. We see her once a year, and her parents keep in good contact with us, they are giving, wonderful people. But, when I see her curls and hear her laugh, I want to wrap her in my arms and cry as I breathe in her smell. I want to trap it in my brain and take it home with me so I can pull it back up when I feel alone.
She asks her parents about me, she pulled her mother into her room one day, where a picture of her, biodad and I sits on her dresser. She held it in her sweet, little girl hands and asked "Is Christine ok?"
Oh, my heart. This was the right decision, but it doesn't mean I don't hurt. I can't even send out mother's day cards without feeling as though I am about to break. I don't know what I want from this... I just needed someone to know.
Secrets have a life of their own, don't they? I am careful to only share this secret in places where I know my family won't tread. Because, regardless of all the secrets I have told them... this isn't one of them.
I'm a birth mom. I had a little girl for whom my heart aches, daily. She is the product of a relationship I am still in, with someone I dearly love. Her timing, not so great. I was 5 months pregnant when I actually found out that I was carrying a little life.
I do realize this paints me as some ozark cave dweller with zero body consciousness. I was still having menstrual cycles and I had only gained 3 pounds. Needless to say, I was not the only one surprised.
We made the decision, swiftly, quickly, to place her for adoption. We were simply not ready to be parents. I will be honest, that while I don't mourn my decision...I long for her. We see her once a year, and her parents keep in good contact with us, they are giving, wonderful people. But, when I see her curls and hear her laugh, I want to wrap her in my arms and cry as I breathe in her smell. I want to trap it in my brain and take it home with me so I can pull it back up when I feel alone.
She asks her parents about me, she pulled her mother into her room one day, where a picture of her, biodad and I sits on her dresser. She held it in her sweet, little girl hands and asked "Is Christine ok?"
Oh, my heart. This was the right decision, but it doesn't mean I don't hurt. I can't even send out mother's day cards without feeling as though I am about to break. I don't know what I want from this... I just needed someone to know.
Monday, February 26, 2007
(Not) Living The Dream
Posted by Anonymous.
I feel terrible writing the things I said here, but I'm hoping that getting out the evil thoughts will feel better than letting it fester within me: I have a gorgeous little girl. She's bright, full of energy, and incredibly beautiful. The problem is, I hate being a mom. My career was just starting to take off when I (accidentally) got pregnant. Being newlyweds who eventually, probably wanted kids, we never considered NOT having the baby. I went into this thinking I would have a partner (I don't really), thinking my immature husband would start acting like an adult and taking some responsibility (he hasn't). He often works late. Yes, he's earning the money we use to pay for everything and that's a form of being responsible, but he works late because he goes in late and he goes in late because he stays up late playing video games or farting around watching TV (and ignoring the dishes, laundry, etc). So he's worthless in the morning and is often home too late to even see his daughter. I often wonder if he's not just stupid. I ask him to do something, he has to ask me a thousand questions to get the task done, and even then, he's most often fucked something up.
I'm exhausted. I'm sick of effectively having two children when I'm not sure I even wanted one. Now, I'm stuck. My career is sort of a strange one. Where we live, I can only really work freelance, so I'm trying to do that at home at night and on weekends to keep things afloat until I can work more. I keep asking my husband to just watch the baby and hang out with her so I can have a few hours to work at the weekends instead of in the middle of the night, but he doesn't really. He wanders off to play a video game or check his email. Or he brings her to me to say, "Hi." Of course, once she sees me, she doesn't want to just go back in the other room. Or he's suddenly inspired to do dishes and ignores the baby. Often he doesn't even know where she's gone (she's a year old so she gets around well and is into everything). I would leave the house to work but countless times he was supposedly "watching" her and then she's hurt herself, albeit not seriously, or he's forgotten what he was doing and then when I ask where she is, he says "she was in the bathroom with you!" (I wasn't in the bathroom) so I feel like I have to at least stay in the house to keep an eye on what's going on.
I know his shortcomings in this area have more to do with his discomfort with his role as a father than anything else, but I'm at my wit's end. I'm sick of staying up working until 3 am and in addition being the only person who gets up to comfort the baby when she cries at night. I'm sick of being the person who does nearly all of the work in the house, as well as nearly all of the work with our daughter. I'm sick of him acting like what I do all day is easy and all fun. I'm sick of telling him he's going to miss his train, which he almost always does, never mind that he should be taking one that's at least an hour earlier. I'm sick of trying to convince him that we can't afford to spend money the way he does. I'm sick of having to justify my needs and explain why I need a tiny bit of free time.
When I write down most of the stuff he does, it doesn't look like that big of a deal, but it's just the exhaustion of doing everything and having to redo or undo everything that he does and having to be the nag just to get him to even participate. It's his constant lack of attention to what's going on and why. Every day, he is eating away at my love for him. It's not unusual for me to think about how much I hate him and fantasize about being a widow. I try concentrating on the good stuff. I go away and come back filled with good feeling for him and the future and thinking I might even *gasp* sleep with him. He manages to kill those good feelings in less than 24 hours. For example, I stay up until the wee hours of the morn working several nights in a row in order to meet a deadline and at the same time take care of the baby all day and am the only one to do it at night. When the weekend comes, who gets up at 7 with the baby? Me. Who sleeps in? Him. When I insist he gets out of bed, he spends all day whining how tired he is (after 10 hours sleep) and insisting he needs a nap and is completely useless. I've tried being sweet. I've tried being mean. I've tried ignoring him being late and stupid. I've gone one strike and not done any of the housework. Nothing I do or don't do seems to change anything.
Enough about my husband. Like I said, I hate being a mom. I think it sucks. Yes, the smiles and the cuddles and the "mama"s and all that are great but I still think it sucks and is boring and sucks and sucks then is incredibly awesome then is boring and frustrating and sucks. I've finally come to terms with being responsible for someone else morning noon and night, but I had (have?) a career and I had a thousand things I wanted to do. I can't do any of those things any time soon, especially not without the support of a partner. It's driving me mad to be at home. I count the hours until my husband will arrive so I can have *a little* relief and adult conversation (though he's usually an hour or two later than he promises and often too late to even see the baby) and I count the time until the baby will sleep and I can just start working and ignore the man I never should have married.
I feel like I'm a terrible mother. I am just so bored. I don't think I talk to my daughter enough and I don't think I play with her enough. Maybe I'm just like my husband. I just don't know what to do with her. Every day I promise myself I'll do better tomorrow and every day, I feel like I'm falling down on the job. I can't muster the energy and enthusiasm to play and sing and come up with things to do. Whenever I look at old photos of her, I want to cry. She was so beautiful and spunky. She had this energy, like she just loved and was so excited about life. I'm afraid she's not like that anymore, or not as much as she was. I'm afraid I've ruined her. I don't know what to do. I feel like she'd be better off with someone else. Not my husband, certainly, but someone else. How can I be so awful when I'm fortunate enough to have a gorgeous, healthy, smart girl? How can I keep doing this and getting through every day?
I don't regret having my daughter because I love her so much. I do regret the rotten, resentful marriage I'm stuck in. I regret letting it get this bad and I regret that I don't think I even care enough to bother with therapy. And I regret that I can't be a better mother because my daughter deserves it.
If you got this far, and even if you didn't, thanks so much for allowing me to let off steam.
I feel terrible writing the things I said here, but I'm hoping that getting out the evil thoughts will feel better than letting it fester within me: I have a gorgeous little girl. She's bright, full of energy, and incredibly beautiful. The problem is, I hate being a mom. My career was just starting to take off when I (accidentally) got pregnant. Being newlyweds who eventually, probably wanted kids, we never considered NOT having the baby. I went into this thinking I would have a partner (I don't really), thinking my immature husband would start acting like an adult and taking some responsibility (he hasn't). He often works late. Yes, he's earning the money we use to pay for everything and that's a form of being responsible, but he works late because he goes in late and he goes in late because he stays up late playing video games or farting around watching TV (and ignoring the dishes, laundry, etc). So he's worthless in the morning and is often home too late to even see his daughter. I often wonder if he's not just stupid. I ask him to do something, he has to ask me a thousand questions to get the task done, and even then, he's most often fucked something up.
I'm exhausted. I'm sick of effectively having two children when I'm not sure I even wanted one. Now, I'm stuck. My career is sort of a strange one. Where we live, I can only really work freelance, so I'm trying to do that at home at night and on weekends to keep things afloat until I can work more. I keep asking my husband to just watch the baby and hang out with her so I can have a few hours to work at the weekends instead of in the middle of the night, but he doesn't really. He wanders off to play a video game or check his email. Or he brings her to me to say, "Hi." Of course, once she sees me, she doesn't want to just go back in the other room. Or he's suddenly inspired to do dishes and ignores the baby. Often he doesn't even know where she's gone (she's a year old so she gets around well and is into everything). I would leave the house to work but countless times he was supposedly "watching" her and then she's hurt herself, albeit not seriously, or he's forgotten what he was doing and then when I ask where she is, he says "she was in the bathroom with you!" (I wasn't in the bathroom) so I feel like I have to at least stay in the house to keep an eye on what's going on.
I know his shortcomings in this area have more to do with his discomfort with his role as a father than anything else, but I'm at my wit's end. I'm sick of staying up working until 3 am and in addition being the only person who gets up to comfort the baby when she cries at night. I'm sick of being the person who does nearly all of the work in the house, as well as nearly all of the work with our daughter. I'm sick of him acting like what I do all day is easy and all fun. I'm sick of telling him he's going to miss his train, which he almost always does, never mind that he should be taking one that's at least an hour earlier. I'm sick of trying to convince him that we can't afford to spend money the way he does. I'm sick of having to justify my needs and explain why I need a tiny bit of free time.
When I write down most of the stuff he does, it doesn't look like that big of a deal, but it's just the exhaustion of doing everything and having to redo or undo everything that he does and having to be the nag just to get him to even participate. It's his constant lack of attention to what's going on and why. Every day, he is eating away at my love for him. It's not unusual for me to think about how much I hate him and fantasize about being a widow. I try concentrating on the good stuff. I go away and come back filled with good feeling for him and the future and thinking I might even *gasp* sleep with him. He manages to kill those good feelings in less than 24 hours. For example, I stay up until the wee hours of the morn working several nights in a row in order to meet a deadline and at the same time take care of the baby all day and am the only one to do it at night. When the weekend comes, who gets up at 7 with the baby? Me. Who sleeps in? Him. When I insist he gets out of bed, he spends all day whining how tired he is (after 10 hours sleep) and insisting he needs a nap and is completely useless. I've tried being sweet. I've tried being mean. I've tried ignoring him being late and stupid. I've gone one strike and not done any of the housework. Nothing I do or don't do seems to change anything.
Enough about my husband. Like I said, I hate being a mom. I think it sucks. Yes, the smiles and the cuddles and the "mama"s and all that are great but I still think it sucks and is boring and sucks and sucks then is incredibly awesome then is boring and frustrating and sucks. I've finally come to terms with being responsible for someone else morning noon and night, but I had (have?) a career and I had a thousand things I wanted to do. I can't do any of those things any time soon, especially not without the support of a partner. It's driving me mad to be at home. I count the hours until my husband will arrive so I can have *a little* relief and adult conversation (though he's usually an hour or two later than he promises and often too late to even see the baby) and I count the time until the baby will sleep and I can just start working and ignore the man I never should have married.
I feel like I'm a terrible mother. I am just so bored. I don't think I talk to my daughter enough and I don't think I play with her enough. Maybe I'm just like my husband. I just don't know what to do with her. Every day I promise myself I'll do better tomorrow and every day, I feel like I'm falling down on the job. I can't muster the energy and enthusiasm to play and sing and come up with things to do. Whenever I look at old photos of her, I want to cry. She was so beautiful and spunky. She had this energy, like she just loved and was so excited about life. I'm afraid she's not like that anymore, or not as much as she was. I'm afraid I've ruined her. I don't know what to do. I feel like she'd be better off with someone else. Not my husband, certainly, but someone else. How can I be so awful when I'm fortunate enough to have a gorgeous, healthy, smart girl? How can I keep doing this and getting through every day?
I don't regret having my daughter because I love her so much. I do regret the rotten, resentful marriage I'm stuck in. I regret letting it get this bad and I regret that I don't think I even care enough to bother with therapy. And I regret that I can't be a better mother because my daughter deserves it.
If you got this far, and even if you didn't, thanks so much for allowing me to let off steam.
Sunday, February 18, 2007
Another View of Labor
Posted by an anonymous doula...
Brook and I had been in constant communication leading up to the birth of her second child. Her first child was born within 4 hours of her first contraction, so she was concerned that her second would be born even faster.
When we initially made contact she went on and on about how unsupportive her husband is and that is why she needed a doula. I also did this birth for free as she talked about all of her financial hardships. (I found out there had been a cruise within months of me giving my services for free… among lots of other inconsistencies) I should have known this was going to be not what it seemed when her husband seemed anything but unsupportive. He really loved her and was all on board to be her man and be there for her.
I called her at 7:20 to check in with her. She had been having contractions for about an hour. She talked to her midwife at 9 that evening and was encouraged to take a bath. At 11:45 pm I got the call to meet her at the hospital. I met them within the hour and at 12:50 am her midwife checked her and she was 4cm dilated and 90% effaced. She was GBS + and needed to have antibiotics per hospital protocol. She had her first dose of IV antibiotics at 1:10 am and then was free to walk around, use the tub, etc.
I encouraged her to take advantage of early labor and try to get some rest, but she was unable to settle in and she decided to do some walking to get things moving.
This client was personally very challenging for me. She needed a lot of attention as opposed to support. She seemed to exaggerate things in every aspect of her life, including labor. I had a lot of compassion for her because it was clear that she didn’t know why she did this or that she even did it at all. It made for many challenges for her during labor. It was impossible for her to rest in early labor as she seemed to really not be able to settle into things without an audience. She and her husband did very well walking but she wanted me to walk with her, but not too closely….so I spent a lot of the night walking 10 paces behind her. At about 3am she hooked up to the intermittent monitor for 15 minutes and then resumed walking with her husband while I trailed behind.
By morning she was truly exhausted and I was worried about her. I encouraged her and her husband to go soak in the Jacuzzi for a while in hopes of getting her to rest her eyes a bit and give them some quiet time as a couple. At 9 am she was uncomfortable and was also ready for another round of antibiotics. At 9:30 am she was checked and was now 100% effaced but still only 4 to maybe 5 cm. Clearly, this was not going to be the same labor pattern as she had with her first baby. She was very discouraged by the lack of progress and was given the option of AROM by her midwife. At that point she declined as she was very committed to a birth with minimal interventions.
By 10:30 her contractions were 1-2 minutes apart. She was feeling very nauseated, exhausted and in low spirits. At 11:30 she decided to try and rest in bed a while with warm blankets. She also had a vaginal exam at that time where she was 5cm and still at -1 station. At this point she did have her waters broken. There was something about this client’s personality that proved challenging not only to me as her doula but the midwife and the nursing staff…creating a very uncomfortable dynamic between her caregivers and myself. The nurses wrongly assumed I was ‘anti pain relief’ and would whisper to her husband to let them know if she ‘wanted something’. She was extremely committed to a natural childbirth completely outside of any thoughts I hold about childbirth. It isn’t my role to make decisions for her. In all honesty, I was worried about her exhaustion level and wondered if she could have used something for rest before the pushing stage. As this was NOT her wish, I never suggested this and I supported her desire for a natural childbirth.
I did my best to help the client relax and encourage her to rest as best she could between contractions. I proved unable to make this an appealing option for her. At Noon the midwife came in and seemed annoyed with me that her patient was so chatty and talkative. She gave my client a stern motherly talking to, drew the blinds turned off the lights. I was truly relieved as Brook seemed to respond to this and finally sink into herself and focus on the quiet internal work of childbirth.
All the while, some crazy goddess worship music is on repeat in the background. It was bad yet catchy. It went on for probably 8 hours of the 19+ hours I spent along side her. Being sure this birth would be fast given her prior labor pattern I didn’t pack snacks….in fact, I hadn’t slept since Saturday night (It was now Monday), I had been on a 15 mile hike Sunday, and in four days I would get the completely unexpected news that I was expecting my first baby. I was deliriously tired, and feeling quite guilty as I was not the one in labor.
At Noon time Brook is sure the babe is coming. She is clearly uncomfortable but starts to do some pushing. She pushes and pushes and pushes and pushes and pushes. She does rest at the midwife’s command. She is nauseated and uncomfortable. She needed a lot of quiet encouragement, which I could give her. This was more of my element as a doula. She did seem to at least be more within herself and focused than she had the entire labor. I was happy for her.
In walks repair guy. Big annoying hospital repair guy to futz with the phone. The room was crowded with people and it somehow seems to only be ridiculous to me that someone would choose this laboring mom’s transition stage of labor to be clanking around the room.
“Is this quite necessary right now?” I ask. Apparently, yes it was. This day couldn’t seem to get much weirder. And yet, it does.
Brook finally was ready to push. Her baby was coming down and crowned for what seemed to be an eternity. Maybe it seemed so long because the client was insistent that she wanted multiple pictures of her baby crowning. Surely this would come in handy one day for her son. Okay…I can do that. I start to snap pictures…Lots of them. This was her wish and I was her doula helping her get what she wanted even though it wouldn’t have been my choice. A nurse starts yelling at me to stop, this was not allowed; they do not let people take pictures of birth. Um, whatever lady. Believe me when I say it wasn’t my idea. Yet, it is her body, her birth, her baby. She can have video of it as far as I am concerned.
The midwife eventually cuts Brook so the baby can be born. I was pretty horrified that the midwife gave her an episiotomy. As far as I could tell from the tone of the room and what the medical staff was discussing, this baby was not in distress. I get shivers thinking of her doing that to Brook.
Her beautiful son was born late in the afternoon. He was over 9 lbs and was healthy and beautiful. Brook and her husband were thrilled.
As I was leaving the hospital I had to get paperwork from the Midwife regarding my role as doula. I was collecting feedback for certification purposes. The midwife lays into me at the nursing station about how laboring mother’s don’t need all that hand holding and being told ‘oh that was a good job, you’re doing wonderfully’ talk. They need to be quiet in a dark room so that they can move deep to labor. She acted as if I had somehow disrupted this process and made more ‘work’ for her as a midwife. She didn’t give me great feedback and wrote snotty comments that weren’t especially helpful or offering of guidance.
As soon as I walked into the elevator I burst into tears and cried all the way home. I drew myself a hot bath and was sobbing in the tub when my husband got home from work. I really wondered if I was cut out to be a doula.
In the end, Brook and her husband were ecstatic with their labor support. I feel proud about the way I handled myself in retrospect. Two of my own pregnancies and childbirths, and several other births as doula, and almost 4 years of life behind me I still think of this family now and again. I can’t believe I went on to attend the births of other women after such a difficult experience.
Brook and I had been in constant communication leading up to the birth of her second child. Her first child was born within 4 hours of her first contraction, so she was concerned that her second would be born even faster.
When we initially made contact she went on and on about how unsupportive her husband is and that is why she needed a doula. I also did this birth for free as she talked about all of her financial hardships. (I found out there had been a cruise within months of me giving my services for free… among lots of other inconsistencies) I should have known this was going to be not what it seemed when her husband seemed anything but unsupportive. He really loved her and was all on board to be her man and be there for her.
I called her at 7:20 to check in with her. She had been having contractions for about an hour. She talked to her midwife at 9 that evening and was encouraged to take a bath. At 11:45 pm I got the call to meet her at the hospital. I met them within the hour and at 12:50 am her midwife checked her and she was 4cm dilated and 90% effaced. She was GBS + and needed to have antibiotics per hospital protocol. She had her first dose of IV antibiotics at 1:10 am and then was free to walk around, use the tub, etc.
I encouraged her to take advantage of early labor and try to get some rest, but she was unable to settle in and she decided to do some walking to get things moving.
This client was personally very challenging for me. She needed a lot of attention as opposed to support. She seemed to exaggerate things in every aspect of her life, including labor. I had a lot of compassion for her because it was clear that she didn’t know why she did this or that she even did it at all. It made for many challenges for her during labor. It was impossible for her to rest in early labor as she seemed to really not be able to settle into things without an audience. She and her husband did very well walking but she wanted me to walk with her, but not too closely….so I spent a lot of the night walking 10 paces behind her. At about 3am she hooked up to the intermittent monitor for 15 minutes and then resumed walking with her husband while I trailed behind.
By morning she was truly exhausted and I was worried about her. I encouraged her and her husband to go soak in the Jacuzzi for a while in hopes of getting her to rest her eyes a bit and give them some quiet time as a couple. At 9 am she was uncomfortable and was also ready for another round of antibiotics. At 9:30 am she was checked and was now 100% effaced but still only 4 to maybe 5 cm. Clearly, this was not going to be the same labor pattern as she had with her first baby. She was very discouraged by the lack of progress and was given the option of AROM by her midwife. At that point she declined as she was very committed to a birth with minimal interventions.
By 10:30 her contractions were 1-2 minutes apart. She was feeling very nauseated, exhausted and in low spirits. At 11:30 she decided to try and rest in bed a while with warm blankets. She also had a vaginal exam at that time where she was 5cm and still at -1 station. At this point she did have her waters broken. There was something about this client’s personality that proved challenging not only to me as her doula but the midwife and the nursing staff…creating a very uncomfortable dynamic between her caregivers and myself. The nurses wrongly assumed I was ‘anti pain relief’ and would whisper to her husband to let them know if she ‘wanted something’. She was extremely committed to a natural childbirth completely outside of any thoughts I hold about childbirth. It isn’t my role to make decisions for her. In all honesty, I was worried about her exhaustion level and wondered if she could have used something for rest before the pushing stage. As this was NOT her wish, I never suggested this and I supported her desire for a natural childbirth.
I did my best to help the client relax and encourage her to rest as best she could between contractions. I proved unable to make this an appealing option for her. At Noon the midwife came in and seemed annoyed with me that her patient was so chatty and talkative. She gave my client a stern motherly talking to, drew the blinds turned off the lights. I was truly relieved as Brook seemed to respond to this and finally sink into herself and focus on the quiet internal work of childbirth.
All the while, some crazy goddess worship music is on repeat in the background. It was bad yet catchy. It went on for probably 8 hours of the 19+ hours I spent along side her. Being sure this birth would be fast given her prior labor pattern I didn’t pack snacks….in fact, I hadn’t slept since Saturday night (It was now Monday), I had been on a 15 mile hike Sunday, and in four days I would get the completely unexpected news that I was expecting my first baby. I was deliriously tired, and feeling quite guilty as I was not the one in labor.
At Noon time Brook is sure the babe is coming. She is clearly uncomfortable but starts to do some pushing. She pushes and pushes and pushes and pushes and pushes. She does rest at the midwife’s command. She is nauseated and uncomfortable. She needed a lot of quiet encouragement, which I could give her. This was more of my element as a doula. She did seem to at least be more within herself and focused than she had the entire labor. I was happy for her.
In walks repair guy. Big annoying hospital repair guy to futz with the phone. The room was crowded with people and it somehow seems to only be ridiculous to me that someone would choose this laboring mom’s transition stage of labor to be clanking around the room.
“Is this quite necessary right now?” I ask. Apparently, yes it was. This day couldn’t seem to get much weirder. And yet, it does.
Brook finally was ready to push. Her baby was coming down and crowned for what seemed to be an eternity. Maybe it seemed so long because the client was insistent that she wanted multiple pictures of her baby crowning. Surely this would come in handy one day for her son. Okay…I can do that. I start to snap pictures…Lots of them. This was her wish and I was her doula helping her get what she wanted even though it wouldn’t have been my choice. A nurse starts yelling at me to stop, this was not allowed; they do not let people take pictures of birth. Um, whatever lady. Believe me when I say it wasn’t my idea. Yet, it is her body, her birth, her baby. She can have video of it as far as I am concerned.
The midwife eventually cuts Brook so the baby can be born. I was pretty horrified that the midwife gave her an episiotomy. As far as I could tell from the tone of the room and what the medical staff was discussing, this baby was not in distress. I get shivers thinking of her doing that to Brook.
Her beautiful son was born late in the afternoon. He was over 9 lbs and was healthy and beautiful. Brook and her husband were thrilled.
As I was leaving the hospital I had to get paperwork from the Midwife regarding my role as doula. I was collecting feedback for certification purposes. The midwife lays into me at the nursing station about how laboring mother’s don’t need all that hand holding and being told ‘oh that was a good job, you’re doing wonderfully’ talk. They need to be quiet in a dark room so that they can move deep to labor. She acted as if I had somehow disrupted this process and made more ‘work’ for her as a midwife. She didn’t give me great feedback and wrote snotty comments that weren’t especially helpful or offering of guidance.
As soon as I walked into the elevator I burst into tears and cried all the way home. I drew myself a hot bath and was sobbing in the tub when my husband got home from work. I really wondered if I was cut out to be a doula.
In the end, Brook and her husband were ecstatic with their labor support. I feel proud about the way I handled myself in retrospect. Two of my own pregnancies and childbirths, and several other births as doula, and almost 4 years of life behind me I still think of this family now and again. I can’t believe I went on to attend the births of other women after such a difficult experience.
Thursday, February 15, 2007
The Thin Red Line
Posted by Lara; cross-posted from her blog, Life: The Ongoing Education.
If you follow my blog, you have been reading for quite a while now. Those of you who've recently joined, well, even you have most likely heard or read about the Depression Series by now. If you have no idea what I'm talking about, you're either a random passerby, in which case I say "Hello, and have a great life!" because you're probably not coming back, or you should take the time to go read up a bit, so that you won't be left behind in this (and future) post(s).
So, as I'm pretty sure you all know, I'm a cutter. I haven't cut in over three months now (as of last Wednesday - hooray!), but I'm still a cutter. I'll always be a cutter, because it'll always be there, in my mind. But I don't always have to cut. I have the power to make other decisions. I have the power to choose not to cut.
At any rate, that was a mini pep talk for myself that sort of strayed from my intended topic here. I'm a cutter, and I've admitted as much to anyone and everyone who might stop by here to visit. Part of my reasoning for that was that I wanted the freedom to talk about myself and my problems; when I wrote the Depression Series, I did so because I needed to share all the crap inside my head and my heart, and that included the cutting. But there was also a part of me that chose to talk about the cutting because I know it's not something that's often talked about. The amount of attention it receives in society is completely out of proportion with the number of people dealing with it. The silence about it upsets me, because if I'd known about it, and about how many others were struggling with it, it might have been easier for me to get help sooner.
So I wanted to put it out there, shout out to say, "Hey, I'm here and I have this problem, and it doesn't make me a freak." And what I realized at the time, and what has come to be proven since, is that people probably have a lot of questions about it. Most people don't know about it, or know very little if they do. And, more importantly, most people don't know where to go to ask about it.
So here I am. Ask me.
I want to tell my stories. I want to answer your questions. I want people to know more about this problem that so many out there have. That's why I'm giving myself out as a resource. Anything and everything you've ever wanted to know about cutting, I will do my best to answer. You can leave questions in the comments, email me, IM me, call me, whatever. All questions will remain anonymous and will be answered here in a future post (or posts, if there are a lot of questions). And forward this to anyone you think might also have questions, or even post a link to it on your own site if you're willing. This, while perhaps not a "cause," per se, is my thing. I care about it, the way Her Bad Mother cares about muscular dystrophy , the way Julia cares about diabetes, the way Little Shot cares about global warming. I want people to know more about it.
One thing to keep in mind, however: I am not a pyschologist. Clinical questions about the disorder might not be so easy for me to answer, and would probably be answered by a lot of Googling. Questions about the personal and emotional experiences are going to be more my strong point. But as I said, I'll do my best to answer any questions you toss my way.
So really, please, what do you want to know? Because I want to talk.
Sunday, February 11, 2007
Taking a Stand Against Taking a Stand
Posted by Anonymous. (If you'd like to share a post here, anonymously or otherwise, e-mail Her Bad Mother at herbadmother@gmail.com...)
In a few weeks a friend of mine is going to prison. On purpose. She took part in a protest at the School of the Americas and out of 20,000 plus people she just had to be one of the 16 people that went through a hole in the fence and trespassed onto government property.
Why? She says it is a step in the direction of peace, she says she did it to spread love, she said she had to take a stand.
I say this. Fuck that. No one has heard of the god damn place, and you have 3 young children that are freaked out because their mom is going to prison. You have a husband that you did not discuss this with and are now informing him that you have arranged for strange women to MOVE INTO your house while you are gone to help him out and be there with the children because you are a stay at home mom who home schools. He is angry, your kids are scared and quite honestly I am very disappointed in you and more angry than I may have a right to be.
How can you leave you children for something that will not even make a difference? How can you make those sorts of life altering decisions and not share them with your husband? What the fuck is wrong with you?
Every email and post is about you, how you feel, how you have been chosen to do this by god, how you are going to make things better. Let me tell you sister, when you have kids it stops being about you. Period. I know you want to change the world, God knows so do I. If you feel like you have been called to be an instrument of peace do that, go to the protest, keep your happy ass on the right side of the fence, home school your children about the great people before us that gave their lives for peace, teach them about Martin Luther King Jr., Mother Theresa, Gandhi. Do not dare send me another message about holding your family in the light and by the way can you stop your life and drive my kids to where they need to be because you will be taking a writing class in prison, and plan to make this into a book.
******
In a few weeks a friend of mine is going to prison. On purpose. She took part in a protest at the School of the Americas and out of 20,000 plus people she just had to be one of the 16 people that went through a hole in the fence and trespassed onto government property.
Why? She says it is a step in the direction of peace, she says she did it to spread love, she said she had to take a stand.
I say this. Fuck that. No one has heard of the god damn place, and you have 3 young children that are freaked out because their mom is going to prison. You have a husband that you did not discuss this with and are now informing him that you have arranged for strange women to MOVE INTO your house while you are gone to help him out and be there with the children because you are a stay at home mom who home schools. He is angry, your kids are scared and quite honestly I am very disappointed in you and more angry than I may have a right to be.
How can you leave you children for something that will not even make a difference? How can you make those sorts of life altering decisions and not share them with your husband? What the fuck is wrong with you?
Every email and post is about you, how you feel, how you have been chosen to do this by god, how you are going to make things better. Let me tell you sister, when you have kids it stops being about you. Period. I know you want to change the world, God knows so do I. If you feel like you have been called to be an instrument of peace do that, go to the protest, keep your happy ass on the right side of the fence, home school your children about the great people before us that gave their lives for peace, teach them about Martin Luther King Jr., Mother Theresa, Gandhi. Do not dare send me another message about holding your family in the light and by the way can you stop your life and drive my kids to where they need to be because you will be taking a writing class in prison, and plan to make this into a book.
Wednesday, February 07, 2007
On Being Pregnant
Posted by Anonymous
I hate being pregnant!! I tired so hard to get prego - used ovulation strips for days after my cycle to figure out when ovulating and then had sex at all the right times, and it still took over a year. The husband had some mixed results with
fertility testing that we thought would be an issue so I was ecstatic when we found out we were expecting.
I found out right away when I was pregnant especially since I was puking from day one. I have puked in grocery stores, on most major highways, at my desk, in the washroom, and I have thrown up in the garbage can while using the washroom. The puking was crazy and lasted til just about one month ago. (I am 27 weeks now). Diclectin helped though it wasn't perfect.
Now as I am getting farther along, I have heartburn every time I eat. Tums doesn't touch it and what can you do??
The pregnancy has not been great. I have had intermittent bleeding all through the 2nd trimester which I am nearing the end of. I am on limited activity, no sex, no exercise, and no lifting. I find that I am soooo out of breath and my Cardio
system is shot. I have had fatigue, headaches, low energy, mood swings. I have had to have a few days here and there of "rest" after spotting and cramping.
Then I sprained my ankle and am on crutches for the next week. I am off work and watching daytime TV - bored, listless, and would rather be at work.
It is cool that the baby is moving like crazy and all but I am feeling guilty about the fact that pregnancy kinda sucks and I hate it and can't wait for it to be over!!
I am wondering if others went through this experience. I know, I know things could be even worse, that I could be on bedrest. I should be grateful being it took so much effort to get prego in the first place, that I should be "enjoying" this when really - I can't wait til the end comes.
Anyone want to share their experiences or reassure me that I ain't the only one who thinks this pregnancy is not "BLISS"?
I hate being pregnant!! I tired so hard to get prego - used ovulation strips for days after my cycle to figure out when ovulating and then had sex at all the right times, and it still took over a year. The husband had some mixed results with
fertility testing that we thought would be an issue so I was ecstatic when we found out we were expecting.
I found out right away when I was pregnant especially since I was puking from day one. I have puked in grocery stores, on most major highways, at my desk, in the washroom, and I have thrown up in the garbage can while using the washroom. The puking was crazy and lasted til just about one month ago. (I am 27 weeks now). Diclectin helped though it wasn't perfect.
Now as I am getting farther along, I have heartburn every time I eat. Tums doesn't touch it and what can you do??
The pregnancy has not been great. I have had intermittent bleeding all through the 2nd trimester which I am nearing the end of. I am on limited activity, no sex, no exercise, and no lifting. I find that I am soooo out of breath and my Cardio
system is shot. I have had fatigue, headaches, low energy, mood swings. I have had to have a few days here and there of "rest" after spotting and cramping.
Then I sprained my ankle and am on crutches for the next week. I am off work and watching daytime TV - bored, listless, and would rather be at work.
It is cool that the baby is moving like crazy and all but I am feeling guilty about the fact that pregnancy kinda sucks and I hate it and can't wait for it to be over!!
I am wondering if others went through this experience. I know, I know things could be even worse, that I could be on bedrest. I should be grateful being it took so much effort to get prego in the first place, that I should be "enjoying" this when really - I can't wait til the end comes.
Anyone want to share their experiences or reassure me that I ain't the only one who thinks this pregnancy is not "BLISS"?
Friday, February 02, 2007
Where Do I Go From Here?
Posted by Anonymous. If you'd like to share a post here, anonymously or otherwise, e-mail Her Bad Mother at herbadmother@gmail.com...
************
Being anonymous is something I covet. Everywhere I go I'm someone's mother or daughter or even thought of still as someone's wife. The internet, most times, affords me the opportunity to let loose and if met with resistance, simply press 'delete.' It would be simply magnificent if life had a backspace, delete or reload button.
I digress.
I've been accused of overanalyzing and over thinking, although that is my nature. It makes me who I am. It's why therapy is a good value for me. I cut right to the chase, no time needed to get acquainted or beat around the bush. I need to sort things out, like a two year old. Each thought or person in its place with things just like it in one way or another. Neatly compacted and easily identifiable - that's the way I like things.
Too bad I'm shit out of luck on that.
Entwined in what I would call a new relationship, I find myself not really certain of what I want or what I'm even looking for. And letting things happen as they may, well, doesn't really sit well with the massive obsessive planner part of my brain, but I'm working on it.
When you meet someone new, be it friend or lover, you are bound to find out things about yourself in the process. I have found that I am very set in my ways, and am not really looking to change them significantly. I'm not looking to have someone help me raise my children, I'm not looking for a hand-out, or a savior. I'm also not looking for someone else to raise, I have kids. I'm not looking for someone to train, I have dogs. I've always maintained that I would need and want someone who fits into the life I've built...and now I know that to be true, because I've met someone very nice and I'm not sure that he does.
Which makes me think I'm a snob, because rich or poor, it's nice to have money. And I have none for so long, then I had a lot, then I had none again, and now I'm just fine and in line for always being OK. And I like the lifestyle that I've grown accustomed to. I don't, by any stretch, live a five-star lifestyle...every day...and I know that material possessions do not inherently bring happiness.
Except for Coach purses.
But truthfully, it's not all about money. It's about lifestyle and expectations for oneself and one's children. It's perception of self and others and yes, even perception of money.
Then I think I'm not fair because I've had an adult lifetime of extraordinary experiences that have shaped me. I can't expect everyone to have had those. But it's important to share some fundamental similarities with people you're close to. I do not believe that opposites attract, at least in the long term.
The reason for this post is because I do like this man...but to me our differences are glaring and he doesn't see them at all. I enjoy my time with him, although it has been very limited and also very much the same every time. That is due to time and financial constraints which is attributable to both of us. But I wonder if with our wagons full of different ideas and expectations, if there is the potential for more than just pleasantries and burgers.
I've said that I need to take it slow, I've cited our differences, and that I don't know where this will go, if anywhere. For now, status quo is the road we are on.
But when I think about my future, I know I do not want to be alone. My kids will grow up and move on and out and up and here I'll be twiddling my thumbs, blogging? I want to share my life with someone and I want to give this guy a chance. But those differences I mentioned, which also include our children who are more than ten years apart in age, just stick out to me.
I know you're thinking to take it a day or a date at a time. And I'm trying. I swear I am. But I'm also trying to figure out, because of all this, what is really important to me, what I need and what I want...out of life and out of a relationship and out of myself when it all boils down.
And since for some strange reason I told this man about my blog, I can't write about him there. I have nothing awful to say, but I don't think it's fair to search my heart and soul so openly and have him read responses that are about me, or him.
So I'm hoping he doesn't know about The Basement.
Tuesday, January 30, 2007
Toxic Friend?
Posted by Anonymous.
If you'd like to share a post here, anonymously or otherwise, e-mail Her Bad Mother at herbadmother@gmail.com...
I guess I'm writing this to express my disappointment in someone, or maybe just the situation. Feedback (constructive of course, I'm a wee bit delicate) is appreciated.
I'm friends with this person, we meet at grad school, work together in the summers, and get along well. She's always been harsh (mean comments about appearance, unnecessarily blunt to people) and says whatever comes to her mind and I accept that about her, knowing it's just who she is and you can't take things personally.
I think it's fair to say I've been a good friend to her - chauffeuring her to job interviews more than 2 hours away, driving her to see another friend an hour from there, and home. I did things like make dinner for her and her partner when she was in a minor accident, and the like.
As it turns out when school's done we both end up with jobs in a city far away from where we met and so our friendship becomes closer given that I'm a long way from friends and family. She was one of the only people I knew outside of work in the new city, and we got along great and hung out all the time.
While we're there, I get engaged, and, given how close we had become, I ask her to be in the wedding party. Even though we hadn't been friends for too many years, I thought it made sense to ask her, and did. You can likely see where this is going.
With the goal of making it easier on her (she makes it clear on a regular basis that she hates weddings and anything to do with them) I told her about the dress I had picked out and colour I liked (sage green), sent her the pictures, and places near her where she could see it. I offered to order it for her and pay for it myself and then bring it to her (4 hour drive) so it'd be more convenient for her. Once I've done that she calls to tell me how awful the dress is and how much she hates it. In a move I'd like to say is uncharacteristic of me, I cry about it because I'd worked so hard to make things easier for everyone.
A few weeks before the wedding, her and I, our partners, and extended circle of friends all go out for dinner and a few drinks together. Through dinner she makes comments my fiance interprets as rude and pointed at him, and they eventually exchange words, him saying he was "tired of her fuckery," a sentiment that was largely based on her comments that night, and partially what she'd said about me earlier.
She emails to say he's no longer welcome at her house (where we were staying for another wedding a couple of weeks later). My fiance emails to apologize to her for having lost his temper but never gets any kind of response or even acknowledgment.
Since the wedding a few months ago she and I both attended a wedding shower for a friend of mind, and she went between being curt to me and ignoring me. I joked at the shower (where a four course meal was served to more than 200 people and the bride announced at the front of the room with a microphone what she got, which included things like large appliances) that it was "fancier than my wedding," given that I'd never been to a shower that was so over the top. She told me to "shut up."
At a wedding we all attended she pretty much ignored us, to the point that people asked what was wrong.
I know we'll be in neighbouring cities over the holidays so I tell her when I'll be there and offer to get together. She has dinner with mutual friends in town where we are, but never calls me. I've called and left several messages since my wedding that were never returned.
Is this friendship a write off? I'm tired of feeling like the schmuck.
If you'd like to share a post here, anonymously or otherwise, e-mail Her Bad Mother at herbadmother@gmail.com...
************
I guess I'm writing this to express my disappointment in someone, or maybe just the situation. Feedback (constructive of course, I'm a wee bit delicate) is appreciated.
I'm friends with this person, we meet at grad school, work together in the summers, and get along well. She's always been harsh (mean comments about appearance, unnecessarily blunt to people) and says whatever comes to her mind and I accept that about her, knowing it's just who she is and you can't take things personally.
I think it's fair to say I've been a good friend to her - chauffeuring her to job interviews more than 2 hours away, driving her to see another friend an hour from there, and home. I did things like make dinner for her and her partner when she was in a minor accident, and the like.
As it turns out when school's done we both end up with jobs in a city far away from where we met and so our friendship becomes closer given that I'm a long way from friends and family. She was one of the only people I knew outside of work in the new city, and we got along great and hung out all the time.
While we're there, I get engaged, and, given how close we had become, I ask her to be in the wedding party. Even though we hadn't been friends for too many years, I thought it made sense to ask her, and did. You can likely see where this is going.
With the goal of making it easier on her (she makes it clear on a regular basis that she hates weddings and anything to do with them) I told her about the dress I had picked out and colour I liked (sage green), sent her the pictures, and places near her where she could see it. I offered to order it for her and pay for it myself and then bring it to her (4 hour drive) so it'd be more convenient for her. Once I've done that she calls to tell me how awful the dress is and how much she hates it. In a move I'd like to say is uncharacteristic of me, I cry about it because I'd worked so hard to make things easier for everyone.
A few weeks before the wedding, her and I, our partners, and extended circle of friends all go out for dinner and a few drinks together. Through dinner she makes comments my fiance interprets as rude and pointed at him, and they eventually exchange words, him saying he was "tired of her fuckery," a sentiment that was largely based on her comments that night, and partially what she'd said about me earlier.
She emails to say he's no longer welcome at her house (where we were staying for another wedding a couple of weeks later). My fiance emails to apologize to her for having lost his temper but never gets any kind of response or even acknowledgment.
Since the wedding a few months ago she and I both attended a wedding shower for a friend of mind, and she went between being curt to me and ignoring me. I joked at the shower (where a four course meal was served to more than 200 people and the bride announced at the front of the room with a microphone what she got, which included things like large appliances) that it was "fancier than my wedding," given that I'd never been to a shower that was so over the top. She told me to "shut up."
At a wedding we all attended she pretty much ignored us, to the point that people asked what was wrong.
I know we'll be in neighbouring cities over the holidays so I tell her when I'll be there and offer to get together. She has dinner with mutual friends in town where we are, but never calls me. I've called and left several messages since my wedding that were never returned.
Is this friendship a write off? I'm tired of feeling like the schmuck.
Saturday, January 27, 2007
Anyone, anyone?
It's been pretty quiet, here in the Basement. Which is fine - good even - if it means that a) we're few or none of us struggling with issues that can only be aired in a very safe place, or b) finding other venues for the airing of our issues.
Me, I could use some airing/venting, but it's kind of difficult for me to speak anonymously here, especially when the space has been otherwise quiet. It's something of a catch-22 for me - if the Basement is busy, I feel that I could slip in unnoticed, and post anonymously about something that's been bothering me... but if it's busy, I don't want to crowd out someone else's story. On the other hand, when it's quiet - like now - there's ample room for superfluous HBM ranting... but in the quiet of the Basement my voice is more likely to get recognized.
Does that really matter, having my voice, and so my darker or more embarassing stories, recognized? Probably not, but I'm still not ballsy enough to go there with some things - my pseudonymity hasn't really got me covered in real life, and there are just some things that I'd prefer colleagues and acquaintances and extended family members not listen in on.
I'm feeling a bit cowardly - I've really prided myself on my bravery in writing, on my willingness to look silly/stupid/incompetent/insecure - but it's a reasonable sort of cowardice, I think. And so I'm sitting down here, in the Basement, waiting for someone else to speak up, so that I can throw my voice in, uninhibited.
Which is to say - this is a rambly and long-winded way of asking if anyone out there wants to get talking? On, say, post-partum physical insecurities? Challenging in-laws? Challenging relationships generally?
I've got wine, and tea, and cookies, and a sympathetic ear, and stories of my own. Wanna share?
Me, I could use some airing/venting, but it's kind of difficult for me to speak anonymously here, especially when the space has been otherwise quiet. It's something of a catch-22 for me - if the Basement is busy, I feel that I could slip in unnoticed, and post anonymously about something that's been bothering me... but if it's busy, I don't want to crowd out someone else's story. On the other hand, when it's quiet - like now - there's ample room for superfluous HBM ranting... but in the quiet of the Basement my voice is more likely to get recognized.
Does that really matter, having my voice, and so my darker or more embarassing stories, recognized? Probably not, but I'm still not ballsy enough to go there with some things - my pseudonymity hasn't really got me covered in real life, and there are just some things that I'd prefer colleagues and acquaintances and extended family members not listen in on.
I'm feeling a bit cowardly - I've really prided myself on my bravery in writing, on my willingness to look silly/stupid/incompetent/insecure - but it's a reasonable sort of cowardice, I think. And so I'm sitting down here, in the Basement, waiting for someone else to speak up, so that I can throw my voice in, uninhibited.
Which is to say - this is a rambly and long-winded way of asking if anyone out there wants to get talking? On, say, post-partum physical insecurities? Challenging in-laws? Challenging relationships generally?
I've got wine, and tea, and cookies, and a sympathetic ear, and stories of my own. Wanna share?
Sunday, January 07, 2007
Moments You Regret
Posted by Anonymous.
I feel so wretched! My children were sleeping in the car and I ran in to TJMaxx to return a shirt. Was gone for 15 minutes tops. When I came back police were all over the car and I was almost arrested. I feel like such a sack of crap for putting my obsessive need to finish the errand above their safety. Luckily, the police did not arrest me. But I feel like the worst and stupidest mother in the world.
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I feel so wretched! My children were sleeping in the car and I ran in to TJMaxx to return a shirt. Was gone for 15 minutes tops. When I came back police were all over the car and I was almost arrested. I feel like such a sack of crap for putting my obsessive need to finish the errand above their safety. Luckily, the police did not arrest me. But I feel like the worst and stupidest mother in the world.
Sunday, December 17, 2006
For The Love Of Pizza
Posted by Gidge.
*******
Tony’s Party Pizzas have always made me horny.
When I was in my twenties and in a torrid love affair of dubious quality, we were broke. We spent all of our money on booze, clothes to wear to clubs, cover charges to clubs and what was left went to food. Ramen noodles and Tony’s party pizza were staples. The pizza was preferred. It went better with beer, and was easier to eat sitting snuggled up on the loveseat we’d drug up from the Goodwill down the street.
We declared our love for each other constantly, and with huge grins would fall onto each other as if it would be the last time we ever said the words. A lot of party pizza would get smashed into the couch when the moment would strike us.
It wasn’t love, but we didn’t know it. It was lust. We had both found that first person you can be uninhibited with. The someone you can do anything to or with, and they stare back at you smiling……willing to do whatever you want. Nothing was off limits, nothing was wrong or a sin…….and everything began or ended with beer and party pizza.
I worked a second job to subsidize airfare to keep this relationship going. I spent every extra dime I made on airfare, sometimes flying 2000 miles just for a two day visit. The fact that he didn’t reciprocate was probably a sign, but I didn’t notice it at the time.
Arrival, sex, dinner – Party Pizza, after dinner, sex, go to club – contemplate further sex, go home – possibly covert sex in cab or on bus, get home, more sex, go to sleep, wake up in the middle of the night, more sex, wake up for the day, more sex, shower – sex during shower, breakfast – party pizza left? Eat if so, if not, go out to Denny’s and flirt voraciously so that you have to go back to the apartment for more sex rather than go do whatever you intended to do.
Tony’s Party Pizza punctuated with passion filled sex.
One of the best combinations ever.
Sunday, December 10, 2006
We have to be REMINDED to be considerate, now?
Posted by Kim (Braiding Mommy ).
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Yesterday I received an email from my BIL titled, "[SIL]'s Birthday!". His wife, my SIL's birthday is Saturday. I consider myself pretty close to SIL, so a few weeks ago, I got her a birthday card, a gift card, and got a birthday card for Pippi to send to her aunt. I was waiting to send them, because sometimes we see her around her birthday (though this year, I was doubting it due to some family circumstances,
etc). So when I got the email, my first response was that maybe BIL was having a party for her. Cool.
Not quite... he was, and I quote, soliciting me, and other friends he had emailed, to send her cards for her birthday. Something he said is called a "card shower" (an idea he credited to his mother... my MIL... oy).
I've never heard of such an idea, and frankly, it sounds absurd. I was so mystified that I googled it, and yep, I found links to people requesting "card showers". Ok, now, I understand for Aunt Bessie who is turning 99 in the nursing home. Or for a family member who is very ill... or something of the like. But for my SIL? Who is turning a rather uneventful age? I'm confused.
My main point of confusion is why people have to be asked, reminded, or even "solicited" to be considerate and thoughtful. Sure - people forget birthdays. They forget cards and they forget to call. My best bud has mixed up my birthday a time or two - but I would never want to think that my nearest and dearest have to be point blank asked to remember me.
I already had a card for her. I sent her a card when she went back to work after her baby came. I sent her a card for mother's day (ok, I guess I am a card person). I was tempted to hit reply and say "yeah, got it covered...". Because you don't have to ASK me to do what family SHOULD do. And... I almost get a little offended at that idea.
I know, this is trivial. But things like this make me concerned about things like human decency. Maybe it's the type of people they are (my SIL did send out a rather business-like email to me and her other various friends asking them to join them at a pumpkin patch on Saturday in Oct... surprise, no 'friends' turned up).
Call me casual. Call me not 'with-it'. Call me old-fashioned. I'm not rsvp'ing to the card shower. (And thanks for letting me vent in a safe place!)
Sunday, December 03, 2006
How it all began
Posted by Lara David.
If you'd like to use this space to tell stories/secrets/confessions of your dangerous maternal mind, anonymously or otherwise, send me an e-mail (see sidebar) and you too can enjoy the refuge of the Basement.
*******
[This is the first in a series of posts about some recent struggles I've been having. There are seven posts in total, all up at my blog (see the link at the bottom), and I would be grateful for any and all feedback, thoughts, suggestions, or general comments you have, either on this post or, if you have the time to read it, the series as a whole.]
I was trying to think of an easy way to introduce the topic of where I had disappeared to since Iggy's obituary, and found myself thwarted at every turn. But then I read this Mocha post, and it gave me the perfect opening:
You wouldn't know by just looking at me, but I just spent a week in the hospital psych ward.
Big news, I know. Surprising news? Probably not so much. For one thing, many of you out there reading this already knew, and, in fact, even came to see me. But even those of you finding out for the first time had a lot of warning (here, here, and here, for example). For all that I've lived through some serious stuff, I just was not handling recent events well at all. I was cutting again - something I've struggled with for years - and it was getting really out of hand. And for the last few days leading up to my hospitalization, things had gotten drastically worse.
When things first started almost a month ago, my emotions were all over the place. I was crazy upset, but I still had moments where I could laugh and feel mostly normal. And in the midst of the up-and-down roller coaster of emotions, I was relying on my friends for support.
But then the roller coaster stopped. The good moments went away, and even the bad moments became infrequent. Mostly there was just... nothing. I just felt numb. Unless I was in a sobbing fit of absolute despair and hopelessness, I pretty much didn't care about anything at all. And worst of all, I stopped talking to just about all my friends and family.
It's strange for me to remember now, that complete and utter lack of emotion. It's just so unlike me, to genuinely feel nothing - to genuinely not care about anything. I was in that state for most of that weekend and the early part of the week. And that was the state I was in Wednesday night.
Not too long after mourning Iggy's death (no, that's not what pushed me over the edge, sad though I was), I found myself curled in a ball, sobbing. J. came in to ask if there was anything he could do, but I pretty much told him to go away and leave me alone. He did, and I eventually stopped crying and found myself back in the numb, fog-like state in which I often found myself in those days. And in that state, I began to consider suicide.
It's hard to explain the confused jumble of thoughts I experienced in those two hours - yes, I pretty much just thought about life, death, and the options each presented for close to two hours. First in my room, lying in bed staring at the wall. Then standing in the bathroom staring at myself in the mirror holding the bottle of pills (left over from my last ER visit). Then finally sitting back in my bed, this time looking back and forth between the pile of pills I'd poured into my right hand and the glass of water in my left.
When the doctors asked me later if I'd been trying to kill myself when I took the pills, I told them, "Not as such," or, "It wasn't as explicit as that." And those answers are true. I really didn't take the pills so that I would die. I knew it was possible, but I deemed it a low risk. I mostly just didn't care either way anymore, so with sort of a morbid (and completely irrational) curiosity, I took the pills just to see what would happen.
It didn't take long for fear to kick in and me to decide I didn't *actually* want to wait it out and "see what would happen." I went to J., who was watching TV in the office. He could tell by my sort of stricken and scared face that something was up.
J: What's wrong?
Me: Um...
J: Tell me - what is it?
Me: Um... Hypothetically speaking, how many of my anti-nausea pills do you think I could take and still be okay?
J: ...I have no idea. How many did you take?
So I told him, and he called Poison Control to ask for advice. They said there could be some "serious side effects," and he should get me to an ER. So, almost exactly a month later, we headed back to the ER.
Initial burst of fear aside, I actually still didn't care much about what was happening. I sort of stared blankly out the window in silence the whole car ride there, then responded with one- or two-word answers to almost everything I was asked in the ER. The first thing that got a real reaction from me was the liquid charcoal they made me drink. That stuff is NASTY. I was convinced all their talk of its "binding to the medication" was a lie, and it was really just to make me throw up. I couldn't even finish it, though the threat of having it fed to me through a tube in my nose was scary enough to get me to choke down a lot more than I would have otherwise.
Eventually they put me in a room and started taking blood and monitoring my vitals and all that fun stuff. They also apparently flagged me as a major risk of some sort (okay, with good reason, since I'd been brought in on a purposeful overdose with huge gashes up and down my wrists and forearms) - when I opened the door to go use the bathroom, a security guard watching my room stood up and gruffly asked, "Where are you going?" "The bathroom?" I responded quite timidly. He sort of nodded his permission and I walked past him warily. But then I apparently took too long in the bathroom, because I heard my nurse ask where I was and if anyone had checked on me, and suddenly the guard was knocking loudly on the bathroom door. "What are you doing? Are you okay?" "I'm fine," I squeaked. "I'm just going to the bathroom..." From then on, when I went, I made an effort to be much quicker.
After some number of hours, one of the psychiatrists came to talk to me. He asked me lots of questions, listened carefully to both my answers and my silences (as all good listeners do), and eventually said, "Well, I think it might be good for you to come up and check in for a few days so we can work on finding some solutions. Would you be okay with that?" I nodded and sort of mumbled an assent. "Okay," he said. "Well, we'll get you registered and everything. You'll be in the voluntary wing, which is good, 'cause if you'd said no I just would have put you in the involuntary wing anyway."
Wha- ? Huh? Interesting illusion of choice you gave me there, Doc. Apparently I was coming to the looney bin whether I wanted to or not (although being here voluntarily changes my privileges, which I'll address in a later post). But either way, I was looking at multiple days in the hospital - my first time ever staying overnight in the hospital as a patient...
If you'd like to read the rest of this series, Post #2 is here and you can follow the links at the bottom of each post from there. Thanks for reading.
Tuesday, November 28, 2006
(Virtually) Violated
Posted by Anonymous.
If you'd like to use this space to tell stories/secrets/confessions of your dangerous maternal mind, anonymously or otherwise, send me an e-mail (see sidebar) and you too can enjoy the refuge of the Basement.
If you'd like to use this space to tell stories/secrets/confessions of your dangerous maternal mind, anonymously or otherwise, send me an e-mail (see sidebar) and you too can enjoy the refuge of the Basement.
*******
My husband and I have been shopping for a new home for some months now. When the time was right we put our own house on the market (it sold after ten days!) and placed a contingency offer on a house we fell in love with months earlier but couldn't afford. Coincidentally the house came down $15,000 in price right around the time we placed our own home on the market, so we were able to make an offer on the home we love. I've been writing about our house-hunting search on my own blog because a) I can, b) I think many people can relate to the ups and downs of it all, and c) I think our experiences can help others down the road when they embark on this journey.
Fast-forward to this week. We just finished the torturous round of inspections on both homes. In the course of having the home we want to purchase inspected, it was discovered that there were some cracks in the bricks, perhaps indicating foundation problems. We had a structural engineer come out and all was discovered to be just fine. Of course I also wrote about my anxieties concerning the discovery of the cracks; my worry that we wouldn't be able to buy the home we want so badly and that we would be left without a place to call home when we close on our current home in two and a half weeks--this was before the engineer came out and pronounced everything fine.
Yesterday we discovered, via our realtor, that the sellers of the house we want to buy found my blog.
Yes, they *found* my blog. Not only did they then read the blog (well, who can blame them) but they are upset about my house-hunting posts for some reason. Our realtor wasn't supposed to know this fact and we're not supposed to know it but we do. I know it is idiotic to feel violated and intruded-upon when you are writing a blog but I do. The couple we're buying the home from have a teenage son and a daughter in college. The daughter attends the same college where my husband teaches. I have been careful in my blog never to talk about my husband's job, or really any personal matters concerning us--it's primarily a blog about my kids, about the challenges of juggling our jobs with parenting, and about my thoughts on any number of issues--political, literary, philosophical. The inspections are done and we've signed off on the repairs the sellers will make. Their reading my blog doesn't seem to have done any harm to this whole process, except that it's harmed *me*. I feel awful about this. I hate knowing they have read the blog. I hate knowing they can still read it. I even hate buying the house I love from them. And most of all I hate the fact that I am now contemplating discontinuing the blog I love so much.
What are my options here? What would others do? Should I proceed blithely on blogging or should I take down that blog and perhaps start another, carefully shrouded one? Do I have the right to feel violated? I am not a blogger to use pseudonyms and perhaps this was unwise. I feel foolish now, as if I were flirting with disaster just by doing what I love--writing about those I love; reaching out and making connections from my world out to the worlds of others.
Thursday, November 23, 2006
Hope and Fear
Posted by Anonymous.
If you'd like to use this space to tell stories/secrets/confessions of your dangerous maternal mind, anonymously or otherwise, send me an e-mail (see sidebar) and you too can enjoy the refuge of the Basement.
If you'd like to use this space to tell stories/secrets/confessions of your dangerous maternal mind, anonymously or otherwise, send me an e-mail (see sidebar) and you too can enjoy the refuge of the Basement.
*******
I found out I was pregnant on December 17th, 2005. The next day, my best friend gave birth to her son, my god son. I didn’t tell her I was pregnant when we visited her in the hospital. I wanted that day to be about her and her new son.
Two weeks later, I had a miscarriage.
I went home – to my parents’ house - for Christmas with my husband. On Christmas Eve, I told my parents, brother and sister I was six weeks pregnant. They cried - they were so happy. It would have been my parent’s’ first grandchild. They talked about names for the baby. I tried not to get too involved in those conversations. I thought it was too early. They thought I was being superstitious.
We came back to Toronto on Boxing Day. I went to the bathroom and saw blood in my underwear. We went to a clinic. The doctor said sometimes that happened, but if I had cramping and continued to bleed, I should go to a hospital.
I continued to bleed. We went to the hospital the next day. My husband came in the room with me. We were in there for three hours. They took blood tests. The doctor said I might be having a miscarriage. He told my husband to keep an eye on me overnight because I might hemorrhage. My husband didn’t sleep that night. He woke up every two hours, feeling my temperature.
The entire process lasted about four days. We were both off work. We distracted ourselves by running errands. One night I had really bad cramps, like having a period but worse. My husband asked me if we should go to the hospital, but I just wanted to be at home. I didn’t want to be in a waiting room, or lay on one of those tables, wearing an awful hospital nightgown, waiting for the doctor to come. There was nothing they could do anyway.
I wanted to be at home, in my own bed, with my husband’s arms wrapped around me. Letting my body go through what it was going to go through.
The next morning, I went to the bathroom and it came out of me. It plopped in the toilet. I’ll never forget that sound, that feeling.
I left the bathroom, stood in the hallway and cried out. It was over.
My husband came out of the bedroom and put his arms around me and we both cried.
We weren’t trying to get pregnant. The doctors all asked us if we had been trying. The answer was no, but in those short weeks, we had gotten used to the idea. And besides, what difference would it make if we were trying or not?
I had an ultrasound shortly after the miscarriage, to see if there was anything left and if I’d need a D and C. There was nothing there. But they found something on my ovary.
At first, they thought it was a cyst. And they told me to wait three months, have an ultrasound and see if it went away. I had three ultrasounds before the doctor referred me to a specialist. The specialist said it might be a tumor.
I had a cancer test. I had to pee in a jug for 24 hours. The test was negative.
They referred me to a surgeon. He’s going to remove the tumor in December. He asked if I had any concerns. I said my only concern was being able to get pregnant. He said the tumor was small enough that he’d be able to preserve the ovary.
If not, the other one is working fine.
I can’t help but think I should have had the surgery sooner. We played the wait-and-see game for too long.
I’m 32 years old.
And I can’t help but think the miscarriage was my fault.
Maybe it was the coffee, or the wine. Maybe I should have gone to the doctor more often. Maybe I should have taken better care of myself.
My friends are starting to have kids. Some are pregnant and have morning sickness.
What I’d give to have morning sickness.
I wonder what my life will be like if I can’t have kids. I wonder how I’ll cope if I have another miscarriage. I wonder why no one talks about miscarriages.
I wonder if this is it for me.
I wonder if that was my one chance.
I wonder if there is hope for me.
Sunday, November 19, 2006
Wish
Posted by Kate of Because I Said So.
If you'd like to use this space to tell stories/secrets/confessions of your dangerous maternal mind, anonymously or otherwise, send me an e-mail (see sidebar) and you too can enjoy the refuge of the Basement.
If you'd like to use this space to tell stories/secrets/confessions of your dangerous maternal mind, anonymously or otherwise, send me an e-mail (see sidebar) and you too can enjoy the refuge of the Basement.
*******
The longer I have a blog, the more aware I am of my limitations in posting based on my audience. I have to be careful and political about when and how I mention my husband... too many days in a row of bitching makes him cranky and defensive. I go easy on comments about
the sex life, because in my heart of hearts I know that most of my readers are large hairy sweaty men who breathe heavy and salivate a lot (not YOU, of course, but some of those other people...). And I don't talk about one thing that presses on my heart on a daily basis,
because... well, just listen.
My sister Mary is 15. She is smart, and funny, and precious, and I just love her to pieces. We all do. Kids love her, babies love her, dogs love her. She's not sweet in a fake-cute-bubbly sort of way, she's just observant and insightful and witty, and when she is sarcastic it's well-aimed and deserved. She thinks a lot, and is one of those rare people who actually seems to think before she speaks.
She has muscular dystrophy, and at 15 she is, in all likelihood, already past middle-aged.
Her form of the disease, nemaline myopathy, is incredibly rare. Back in 1992, when she was diagnosed (a process which, by itself, took 14 months), she was the hundredth reported case, ever. Worldwide. That's not to say that she's the 100th person to ever have it; most infants born with it die before they can be diagnosed. In fact, we believe that this is why my father's brother died in infancy, but there's no way to verify.
When Mary was born, some idiot in the guise of a doctor told my parents that they should look into supportive housing for her, "Just put her away somewhere. She'll never walk or talk anyway." I'm still impressed that my mother didn't bludgeon him to death with the examining table. She walks now, albeit with braces, and talks, albeit quietly and sort of nasally, and has enriched the lives of so many people.
For several years, I was able to sort of brush aside that nagging awareness that most people with the infantile form, those that survive infancy, have a sort of plateau through most of their childhood. Essentially, what her illness does is create an extra protein throughout all of her muscles, acting a bit like static on a radio station - the muscles still work, but the protein gets in the way. While she's still growing, the healthy muscle tissue can keep up with the proteins, and she's remaining relatively healthy. Prone to pneumonia, prone to broken bones because she falls easily and can't catch herself, but living at home and going to school and going to vacations and fighting with our mother... as normal a life as anyone could ask for.
But someday she will stop growing. Someday her muscles and body will be essentially as formed as they can be, and those damn nemaline rods will start to take over. Most people with this disease are in wheelchairs by the time they're 20. Most have succumbed to pneumonia, because their lungs simply aren't strong enough to clear themselves, by 22.
22.
I don't know how to talk about this. I don't know how to deal with it. She and I have talked before, and she's so well-adjusted that I kind of want to pinch her, sometimes. I asked her once if she ever wishes her disease away, and she said, "Well, not really. This is my life, it's what's normal for me. If I didn't have it, I wouldn't have gone on the trip to Disney World. I wouldn't have the same friends I have. Everything would be different." (The Children's Wish
Foundation - like Make A Wish but for kids with long-term, rather than terminal, illnesses - sent our family on an all-expenses-paid trip to Florida in 1998.)
Her perspective is healthy and good, but you know what? *I* wish it away. I wish it away every day. I want her healthy. I want her to be old. I want her to make all of the stupid college mistakes that I made. I want my children to introduce her to their children.
And I can't post about her on my blog, because she reads my blog every day, and I don't want her to realize the extent to which I think about this. I want her to feel normal and happy, whatever that means, and I don't want to make her self-conscious. Enough common acquaintances read my blog that I would feel I was invading her privacy if I took it there.
I don't need advice on this one. There's nothing I feel like I need to DO. Just needed to vent.
Thanks.
Thursday, November 16, 2006
Mourning
Posted by Anonymous.
If you'd like to use this space to tell stories/secrets/confessions of your dangerous maternal mind, anonymously or otherwise, send me an e-mail (see sidebar) and you too can enjoy the refuge of the Basement.
If you'd like to use this space to tell stories/secrets/confessions of your dangerous maternal mind, anonymously or otherwise, send me an e-mail (see sidebar) and you too can enjoy the refuge of the Basement.
*******
I am a new mother to a beautiful nine month old boy. Every time I look at him I am completely in awe of him. Everyday he teaches me what it means to love unconditionally because before him, I think I always held back just a little bit.
You see I grew up in home that was chaotic to say the least. My mom is bi-polar and her illness ruled our lives in ways that would likely shock you. But my brother and I survived and we have both moved on to become stable adults in loving relationships.
That being said there is a small part of that mourns that I do not have a mother to turn to for support. When I speak with her everything is about her and how hard her life is. When I told her I was pregnant (I waited until I was five months along in case we miscarried) she said "well, make sure you don't fall down the stairs and kill the baby." I can hear you gasping but yes this was her response. [She lost twins before I was born and is convinced it was due to a fall.]
When I asked her what I was like as a baby she said "How can I remember that - it was over thirty years ago." And a little part of me wept because I'll never know when I got my first tooth or if I loved to giggle like my son does. I mourn because I want that so much. I want a mother who is loving and supportive and does not make me feel like I am never good enough. The
reality is that I will never have that, and I'm trying to accept it but for now I just hold my son and whisper in his ear that I will always love him no matter what.
Saturday, November 11, 2006
No Balls
Posted by Mamacita.
If you'd like to use this space to tell stories/secrets/confessions of your dangerous maternal mind, anonymously or otherwise, send me an e-mail and you too can enjoy the refuge of the Basement.
If you'd like to use this space to tell stories/secrets/confessions of your dangerous maternal mind, anonymously or otherwise, send me an e-mail and you too can enjoy the refuge of the Basement.
*******
I'm embarrassed about what I'm going to tell you today. I don't feel good about it and I want to change. I'm hoping that writing about it will help. So bear with me through the background.
We have some neighbors who have become good friends since my pregnancy and the birth of Garcon. She is a respiratory therapist in the neonatal infant care unit (NICU) at a local hospital, and he's a former nurse. In the very very beginning, roughly weeks 1-6, we struggled with Garcon crying uncontrollably during the witching hour. She gave me some suggestions from her experience in working with many, many infants that really made a difference for him in the 5-9pm period. For that, I'm grateful. Now, we see them about once a week and occasionally, they'll babysit for Garcon- or supervise their 12 year old daughter babysitting for him. They genuinely enjoy him and are nice people.
The trouble is this: Because we relied and appreciated their advice in the beginning, they have begun to take small liberties that make me uncomfortable.
Case 1: Once, when Garcon was very young, less than two months, we were chatting with them in the driveway. Neighborman offered to hold Garcon, and before I knew what was happening, had dug out some eye schmutz that had accumulated in the corner of Garcon's eye and on his lashes. He handed him back and said, look - I was able to get that goop off his eye.
HUH!? Wait - you touched my baby's eye? Without clean hands? After working in the yard for a couple of hours? EXCUSE ME? I should tell you, dear reader, that when I need to clean Garcon's eye, I wet a cotton ball with warm water and rub gently. He had a clogged tear duct in the beginning, and would get the schmutz pretty offten, and so I was used to cleaning his eye in a very clean manner.
I was a bit ticked that he'd even think to do that. I didn't say anything at the time, and as I thought about it later, began to be really pissed off.
Case 2: Another time, when Garcon was about four months (and I was still home part time), DH came home and told me he'd backed the car into a post. Well, at the time, we had one nice car and one older, reliable but less snazzy, slightly dinged-up car. He'd backed the nice car into a post. Damaging the bumper. Of the first new car I'd ever owned. I was ticked! And a little post-partum, I confess. I really got mad at him about that - and also vented that Garcon had been a challenge all day. Well, DH went outside and looked at the car, and probably looked stressed. Neighborwoman yelled hello across the street, he said hello back. She decided he looked worked up, and volunteered to come over and help me with Garcon. I was still sitting in the house, ticked about the car when she walked in the house. Now, I was ticked at DH that he went for reinforcements on Garcon - when I was really mad about the car, not baby. But we have her in the house, and now look! Neighborman came over to see his little buddy - and all I want to do is be left alone with my DH and son. Then, they offer to take him away to give us time! I continued to protest, saying everything was fine. They asked about feeding, they asked about sleeping. It took several more protests than necessary for them to actually get the hint and leave. I didn't want to say in front of them and DH, that I was pissed at DH about the car. Shouldn't be necessary to get them to leave.
It was here that I began to have the sense that they felt they knew more about this than we do. Despite our lack of experience, we definitely know what's best for our family and our Garcon. More time passed and I forgot about my annoyance.
Case 3: Then, last week, we asked them to watch Garcon while we went to an event in the city. We provided plenty of formula and Stage 1 food, and everything seemed to be fine. When I picked him up, Neighborwoman mentioned that she'd given him Multi-Grain Cheerios and he liked them. WHAT? You gave my son new food without asking me? There's several things wrong with this. We're only on Stage One foods, Multi-Grain Cheerios have a ton of sugar and tons of additives/preservatives beyond what's he's been exposed to, AND MOST IMPORTANTLY: we have a gluten intolerance on my side of the family (My dad) and are NOT GOING TO INTRODUCE GLUTEN FOR ANOTHER 5 MONTHS, when Garcon is one. I confess I was shocked. Am I so naive that I assume other people won't feed him things without asking me? That they assume they know more than me and feed him whatever they want? I'm sure that when her kids were in the high chair, she'd throw a handful of Cheerios on the tray while getting the rest of the food ready. I know I'll do that, eventually (hopefully). For a second, I thought maybe I was being silly - but then I clammed up and muttered something about having to go, and NEVER ACTUALLY ADDRESSED IT WITH HER. I'm using a lot of caps, because aside from being annoyed with her, I'm more mad at myself.
Where are my stones? Where is my god-given mother-will-kill-for-young instinct? And why the hell can't I speak up the minute these things happen? I'm pissed at myself. I've stood up to other people on lots of other things related to Garcon, but just haven't got it together about these two people. Is it because on some subconscious level I think of them as authority figures? Is it because they're friends and I don't want to damage it? Is it because I am too nice and want to be liked? Ok, I get that from my mother. In the last case, I have a very good, very legitimate reason to not introduce foods, and I didn't say anything. I'm obviously making the situation worse for myself for not being more assertive each time. Next time something happens, as I'm sure it will, I need to respond appropriately and assertively, but do so in a way that does not reflect my latent anger about the first three cases. Help.
Tuesday, November 07, 2006
Looking For A Happy Ending
Posted by Joanne of Insane Mom.
If you'd like to use this space to tell stories/secrets/confessions of your dangerous maternal mind, anonymously or otherwise, send me an e-mail and you too can enjoy the refuge of the Basement.
If you'd like to use this space to tell stories/secrets/confessions of your dangerous maternal mind, anonymously or otherwise, send me an e-mail and you too can enjoy the refuge of the Basement.
*******
So, help a girl out, will ya?
I don’t know how to explain my situation without giving you half my life story…I apologize in advance for the length of this post. And, I really hope I don’t bore you to death.
I am an (almost) thirty year old single mom. I have three beautiful, amazing, intelligent and challenging kids.
I have been dating someone since June of last year. He’s incredible. I care about him like you wouldn’t believe. He cares about me that much, too. It’s awesome. And it’s not.
He is a 32 year old single guy who has never been married and has no kids. You could say he is picky or you could say he is smart. He’s been waiting for a girl who can make him “all the way” happy. I don’t think he expected it to be someone like me. You know - the separated, three kids kinda thing. Part of his life’s dream has been to meet that girl that makes him feel good, marry her and have a family. I crossed marriage and kids off my to-do list years ago.
In itself this is not a huge issue. I could get married again (after I get a divorce, I suppose). I could (with a little bit of surgery) even have more kids. The issue is that blending our lives together is altogether challenging. It’s not working. We know it’s not working. But, we can’t seem to let go either.
A relationship between him and my kids just does not come naturally – for him or for them. My kids are 11, 9 and 6. They think he’s cool and he does cool stuff, but mostly he’s just the guy mom spends her time with when she’s not hanging out with us. For him, the chaos of my life is just too much. It’s one thing to get accustomed to life with kids over time, gradually – have a baby, adjust; have another baby, adjust and so on… But to walk into an established family with three strong-willed (loud) kids and try to become part of that is not so easy. It’s culture shock. And, it’s not getting any easier. We both feel it should be by now.
We have tried to end our relationship several times. But, instantly we both regret it…and neither of us have the willpower to go through with it. It’s like quitting smoking or sticking to a diet…the temptation is just too great. When we break up, we both feel lost. For the day or two that we actually stay broken up, we still talk constantly and we end up convincing ourselves that we should keep trying. Or, if we don’t talk I go crazy wondering what he’s doing and whether he’s really over me this time. He does the same thing. So, we get back together, more out of desperation than logic. We are both logical thinkers most of the time, but when it comes to this relationship we’re definitely not.
Ok, here’s where I get into my life story. I just want everyone to understand where I’m coming from. I had my first child a week after my 18th birthday. My husband and I got married when I was just 20 and baby number two came along shortly after. Baby number three came when I was 23. I was married with three kids at age 23. Wow. Can you believe that?
Anyway, my husband was not very nice. He was the first boy with whom I had a ‘real’ relationship and things were bad from the start. I was young and I thought if I tried hard enough, I could make him happy. In my mind, his happiness meant success and his unhappiness meant failure.
We struggled financially. We were both in our early twenties working minimum wage jobs trying to pay the bills. I thought if I could make more money I could make him happy. So, I went back to college while working full time at McDonalds and raising my two year old son and infant daughter.
I thought if I could get a better job and make more money for him to spend, he would be happy with me. I thought he would respect me. I thought he would stop hurting me. When I graduated from college I got a great job right away. I thought this was the answer to my prayers. But instead of getting better, things got worse. He was a dangerous man, my husband. I knew this but I ignored it. Foolishly, I thought if I could just do better, if I could be a better wife and a better mother, things would be better. Two years ago, things got so bad that my then seven-year-old daughter had to flee to our neighbour’s house to call the police. I’m so ashamed of that. The police came and took him away and my kids and I picked up the pieces. We’re better for it now. That much I know.
The brief summary of my married life above is because I want you to understand my full dilemma now. I am with someone who cares about me. He is gentle and sweet. And, even though I know in my heart that it can’t work, the thought of walking away from that is unthinkable. I’m so afraid that I will never find that again.
I realize I’ve blurred the issue here. My dilemma is in finding the strength to let go of something that really I want to hang onto. I love this man. But I know he is not right for me, he is not right for my life and I am not right for his. I want to know how long it will take to get over him. I want to know that I won’t always feel like I’m crumbling inside. I am a logical person. I know I will get over the end of this relationship once we decide to end it. But it’s so much easier to say than do.
Friday, November 03, 2006
Dear Friend
Posted by Sarah of Sarah and the Goon Squad.
If you'd like to use this space to tell stories/secrets/confessions of your dangerous maternal mind, anonymously or otherwise, send me an e-mail and you too can enjoy the refuge of the Basement.
If you'd like to use this space to tell stories/secrets/confessions of your dangerous maternal mind, anonymously or otherwise, send me an e-mail and you too can enjoy the refuge of the Basement.
*******
Dear "Friend,"
I called you this morning and you whined "I was beginning to wonder if you'd ever call."
I just want you to know that this is the exact reason I don't call more often. I can't stand the bullshit guilt trip you try to lay on me. I realize that you cannot understand that you are not the center of the universe but I have my own life.
In fact, I have two children, a husband, two cats, a home, a job that is freelance that I have to do in between the kids freaking out and changing diapers and a social life all about 1200 miles away from you.
So if you were wondering why I don't call you anymore it is because you are too high maintenance. I don't call because I don't want to have to hear about my never calling. I don't visit because I don't want to hear about me never visiting. You stopped being a friend to
me when you became a burden. Why can't you just say "Hi. How have you been?" like all of the other people I talk to once or twice a year?
Talking to you is never a pleasure. It is draining.
You can't maintain friendships by bullying people into them.
I am done with you. I don't need the hassle.
Love,
Sarah
Tuesday, October 31, 2006
Is This Weird?
Posted by Anonymous.
If you'd like to use this space to tell stories/secrets/confessions of your dangerous maternal mind, anonymously or otherwise, send me an e-mail and you too can enjoy the refuge of the Basement.
If you'd like to use this space to tell stories/secrets/confessions of your dangerous maternal mind, anonymously or otherwise, send me an e-mail and you too can enjoy the refuge of the Basement.
*******
I love my baby (ok, maybe not a baby…more like a toddler…16 months) but who doesn’t? Every mom has their struggles. Why can’t I get baby to nurse? Why won’t this kid eat anything but bananas? When do I potty train? Why? When? How? Yes I’m a new mom. Yes lots of questions. I think I’m doing a fantastic job, and so is my husband. Our son's vocabulary is amazing…he counts…he’s charming…he rarely fusses…he smiles all the time…he really is a good baby. We are lucky. That doesn’t mean life is dandy in babyville…no wait…it is.
There is just this one problem.
Said baby likes to…well…it’s embarrassing...and…see…that’s the problem…well…he…likes to…HUMP! There I said it. My kid is a humping machine.
He doesn’t hump in public, thank god. He only humps at home. He humps in the morning. He humps at night. Sometimes he humps in the afternoon. Sometimes we go days without humping. Sometimes we go days on end with humping. What triggers the humping is unknown.
HUMPING: How does he hump? Well, he lies face down on the ground and sort of gyrates up and down. There is some moaning (as I’m sure it feels good). There is some mention of names (mama, bubba, grandma, dada). He does not appreciate when you intervene on the humping. Sometimes he holds the dog’s leg and humps…dog does not appreciate this.
Yes it is embarrassing. It makes me uncomfortable when people are over and he humps. Sometimes I can see a hump coming and I’ll stop it if the wrong people are around. Sometimes it makes other people uncomfortable when he humps. I can tell…there is this look in their eyes like…”this kid is some sort of perv. Why is he humping so much?” Mostly from people who don’t have kids. He’s not old enough to understand that this is a private thing to do. So it’s difficult to know what to do. Do I stop the humping?
I’ve tried to research the topic, and what information out there is that this is a common theme within that age group. They say it is not sexual, and they do it because it just feels good. Apparently, some kids hump stuffed animals…thank god he hasn’t figured out that he can do that yet.
I can say with absolute certainty that he is not sexually abused in any way. I know who he spends time with, and rarely is he without me (I know, I know, get a social life…really I have one…we entertain). When he is, he is in very loving arms. My family, my husband, or his family would NEVER hurt him. This thought never crosses my mind, but I know it may cross yours, and that is why I mention it.
This is where you come in. I need your advice. Is this weird behaviour? Is he some sort of sex driven child? Do I talk to a doctor? Should I stop him? Would you be concerned? Does your kid hump? Basically, what are your thoughts on the whole humping situation?
Yes…I’m being serious.
Thursday, October 26, 2006
When The Past Returns
Posted by Anonymous.
If you'd like to use this space to tell stories/secrets/confessions of your dangerous maternal mind, anonymously or otherwise, send me an e-mail and you too can enjoy the refuge of the Basement.
If you'd like to use this space to tell stories/secrets/confessions of your dangerous maternal mind, anonymously or otherwise, send me an e-mail and you too can enjoy the refuge of the Basement.
*******
12 years ago, the man of my dreams left me. We had been together for 2 years and he was the one who was going to make it all happen. He was going to give me my happily-ever-after. He left me via phone.
He was the one. The one who I thought of daily for the past 12 years. The one who I longed for
soooo many years. Often wondering if he was happy, if he had gotten sent to Iraq, all of the thoughts went through my head for years.
He popped up again 9 years ago, and then popped back out. Over the years, loving him has brought me much heart ache. He's not a flake, he's not a bad man, he actually a very good man (hard to believe, I know, with all that I'm telling you.)
He came and found me again after all of this time. He tells me how much he loves me, how full he is of me! How I have been in his thoughts for so many years, dealing with the whole I fucked up so many years ago. Now he tells me all of this, now he tells me the things I have longed to hear for sooo many years. Now he tells me when i'm married with 2 kids. He's all I think about. I can still smell him. I'm driving myself mad. I have written "Dear John" letters over and over again and have yet to send one to him. Everytime I think about telling him goodbye it's as though my heart is going to crumble.
My husband's not a bad man, he's a good man, but I don't love him as I do the other. He has a temper that in the past has made me scared for my children. It's so sad to see that in black and white but it's so true. I go home and wish for time to stop so that I can get some kind of grip on the emotions swirling around in my head, and at the same time be a great mother and a
wife to the man I married.
Help me. Do I follow my heart and leave my husband? Or do I continue to run from the past and all the memories that it contains?
Sunday, October 15, 2006
What's in a dream?
Posted by Anonymous.
If you'd like to use this space to tell stories/secrets/confessions of your dangerous maternal mind, anonymously or otherwise, send me an e-mail and you too can enjoy the refuge of the Basement.
I know that you're not supposed to write posts about your dreams, but I hope that exceptions to this rule can be made in the Basement.
I've been having dream about men other than my husband. Not sex dreams so much, though sex is sometimes involved, but dreams about being in love with other men. Not men that I know. Men that are, or seem to be, figments of my imagination. Usually I'm much younger than I am now. Sometimes I'm aware, in the dream, that I have a husband somewhere. Sometimes the dreams end badly, where I end up losing the person, getting hurt, that kind of thing. But the basic theme is always the same - meet some guy, realize that I am in love with that guy, fumble around about being in love, often have that love end badly, wake up.
I love my husband very, very much. We have a good sex life. I don't fantasize about other men, I can't imagine thinking about running off. So the dreams are weird, and they feel weird. I can't figure them out. I don't know why I have them.
It's not every night. But it's a few times a month, anyway.
I can understand about sex dreams. But love? Why love? I have love, lots of it, so why do I dream about finding it somewhere else?
Any dream analysts out there?
If you'd like to use this space to tell stories/secrets/confessions of your dangerous maternal mind, anonymously or otherwise, send me an e-mail and you too can enjoy the refuge of the Basement.
*******
I know that you're not supposed to write posts about your dreams, but I hope that exceptions to this rule can be made in the Basement.
I've been having dream about men other than my husband. Not sex dreams so much, though sex is sometimes involved, but dreams about being in love with other men. Not men that I know. Men that are, or seem to be, figments of my imagination. Usually I'm much younger than I am now. Sometimes I'm aware, in the dream, that I have a husband somewhere. Sometimes the dreams end badly, where I end up losing the person, getting hurt, that kind of thing. But the basic theme is always the same - meet some guy, realize that I am in love with that guy, fumble around about being in love, often have that love end badly, wake up.
I love my husband very, very much. We have a good sex life. I don't fantasize about other men, I can't imagine thinking about running off. So the dreams are weird, and they feel weird. I can't figure them out. I don't know why I have them.
It's not every night. But it's a few times a month, anyway.
I can understand about sex dreams. But love? Why love? I have love, lots of it, so why do I dream about finding it somewhere else?
Any dream analysts out there?
Saturday, October 07, 2006
Does This Stroller Make Me Look Rich?
Posted by Tania (Urban_Mommy)
If you'd like to use this space to tell stories/secrets/confessions of your dangerous maternal mind, anonymously or otherwise, send me an e-mail and you too can enjoy the refuge of the Basement...
If you'd like to use this space to tell stories/secrets/confessions of your dangerous maternal mind, anonymously or otherwise, send me an e-mail and you too can enjoy the refuge of the Basement...
*******
I’m here in the basement because I have a bone to pick with my sister and she, of course, knows of my blog. Thank God for The Basement.
I love my sister. She is one of few family members I can say that about, so I really do cherish our relationship. However. Over the years, she has become very judgmental of how I live my life. Or perhaps it is more accurate to say that when it comes to how we live our lives she has become very competitive.
When we were young, this was never an issue, we were very different so there wasn’t much to compare. But as adults, we both strive for success in love, in our careers, our lifestyle, our station.
As it turns out, I have done well in these pursuits. I have a great marriage, a fulfilling career, an interesting lifestyle and, well, as for what I am calling ‘station’, I really mean money. And yeah, I have plenty of that too. Which all seems to make my sister very pissy and disapproving.
It is, of course, her prerogative to dislike my choices. I haven’t a problem with that. What gets my goat is that she is always implying that my husband and I have somehow sold ourselves out in making certain choices, attaining certain things. She implies that one cannot possibly enjoy any job that comes with a hefty pay cheque and that having a good-paying job means that one must compromise one’s morals. It is total bullshit. By her reasoning, only low paying jobs can be rewarding, and that all low paying jobs are, because of their low pay, noble pursuits. I’ll say it again, total bullshit. Working at McDonald’s is not the same as working for Greenpeace. Low pay does not equal virtue.
Another favorite detail of my circumstance that my sister likes to judge is that my husband is really the one that makes the big cheque. (I, on the other hand, make a lucrative living, which is to say, when I work I get paid very well, but with the baby I don’t work that often.) Husband brings home the bacon, I am a SAHM/WAHM. She goes crazy with this. “When did you become so traditional?”, she asks. By which she means a backwards, anti-feminist, focus-on-the-family, twin-set-wearing dullard.
This all drives me crazy. Crazy, I tell you. Crazy! Because none of it is true. She knows perfectly well that my husband grew up in extreme poverty and for him to make a very good living doing something he absolutely loves is the best example of karma that she or I will ever witness. She also knows that he and I have ‘risked it all’ a number of times in order to stand by what we believe. As for me turning my back on my independence, she also knows, deep down, that it is not true; that I am a hard-core kind of feminist in many respects. But I have a 6-month-old baby and, call me crazy, I want to raise him for a while.
As I said, at the heart of all of this is competitiveness. I believe that she sees my happiness and success only in relation to her own. She is keeping score and any time she feels I’m pulling ahead by a large margin, she issues me demerits, herself some moral bonus points, and presto, she is back in the game.
It makes it very difficult to share my life experiences with her.
But I refuse to not talk honestly about my life. To me, if I downplay the good things then I really AM comparing myself to her. And being condescending. (Should I downplay because, you know, what I’ve got is so much better and how could she not feel bad hearing about all my fabulousness? How is this reasoning not insulting?) I refuse to do it. I don’t see why I should have to apologize or hide or dumb-down my life in order to make other people feel better about their life. I work hard for what I have. It is not a competition.
I believe that women in general feel too uncomfortable celebrating their successes. Too often we speak only about negatives – or worse, turn positives into negatives in order to talk about things openly. It is as if we feel like saying anything good about ourselves would be boasting. That is just wrong. But I think we feel this way because, really, this is how some other women - like my sister -often make us feel. And it is all because they are being competitive. And petty.
A good marriage is no small feat. Establishing yourself professionally is hard won as well. A great body, higher education, money, good kids – none of these things come easily. They should be celebrated if you can achieve them. Good on you! (For the record, I do not have a great body, I have a Bachelor of Fine Art aka Bachelor of Fuck All, some money, and the kid is in development. I’m hardly picture perfect; that is not my point.)
This topic is fresh for me right now not only because of a recent call with my sister but because I’ve seen some evidence of this attitude in recent posts and comments in the blogosphere. And I think we should call it out.
If you have a good marriage, feel free to celebrate it.
If you have great skill, training, education, go on and flex your brawn or brain.
If you’ve worked hard for your possessions and get comfort and joy from them, tell me about it.
I love to hear about rewarding love, insightful ideas and opinions, great travel, new gadgets, killer shoes, awesome strollers that glide over any surface and fold down into toothpicks. Tell me! It’s OK. I will not assume that with every sentence you utter that you are really saying that you are happier, smarter, more successful, or more beautiful than I am. Because I will realize that you are talking about you, not about me.
I wish people would just get over themselves. My sister especially.
Phew. Turned into a bit of a ranty-rant there at the end. But I feel better. Thanks!
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