Dear Motherhood: Hormones and Flying Clocks

Dear Motherhood,
     I guess most people feel they grew up too fast. Once your an adult all those easy years of childhood that you once wished away, suddenly you want back. Where did all that time go anyway? And why didn't we slow down and take it in more like our elders told us to? Yes, time certainly does get away from us. I don't know what can slow it down but I found what speeds it up...becoming a mother.
     Since I gave birth yesterday...okay it was 9 days ago...I feel I have pressed a fast forward button. The hours are minutes and minutes are seconds and it's all racing in front of my face. All of a sudden there is so much to think about.  I care about things that 10 days ago I never paid terribly much attention to. What would she want to be when she grows up? Will we be able to pay for college? Who will be president and how will they effect her life? Good Lord what will happen when she gets her drivers license?! What kind of man will she marry? Will I end up in prison for killing someone who breaks her heart? Orange is not my color! It's all too much to take!  Needless to say I cry a lot these days thinking of any and everything that could possibly go wrong over the course of the next 50 years. I may be dealing with a few minor hormonal issues that i wasn't fully expecting. Or maybe this is all normal first time mother feelings that I have no choice but to buckle down and endure. There isn't much these days that doesn't send me into a full blown Niagara Falls eruption of tears. Especially last Saturday I woke up to a 1 week old.
      Where did that week go? Where does any time go? Since I had her every day is faster. All I want is for it to slow down. And soon when she is a little older she will do what I did, wish to grow up. And I'll do what my mother did, tell her to slow down. And she won't listen because kids usually don't. They tend to grow up regardless of what we say or do. And in a short 25 years she may be sitting here wishing her baby would stay a baby for just a while longer.  But it wont. And I'll point and laugh and say I told you so. Because that's what mothers do. I can't make time slow down. I can't keep her in this innocent form that will always need me to feed her and rock her to sleep. I will have to learn to dry my tears and let my little bird fly. So maybe I'll stare at her a little too long and hold her a little too tight. Maybe I will spoil her and let her sleep in the middle. I'll try to memorize every part of her, every move, every smile and wrinkled nose. What choice do I have?  I have already seen how fast it all goes by. Yesterday's baby is gone, today's will only last a second, and tomorrow she will be another day older, a little bit bigger and stronger and today's baby will becomes yesterday's memories. But right now I'm laying next to her in bed while she drifts in and out of sleep watching little smiles come across her face as she dreams...and yes crying a little. Maybe she won't always need me. She will grow up and make her own way. But right now she's my baby. However brief it may be. Motherhood, slow down.
Sincerely,
The Mom

Dear Motherhood: Breastfeeding and The Big Bad Doctor

Dear Motherhood,
     The first trip to the doctor can be scary. Your brand new, don't know what is going on or what to expect,  needles and syringes staring you in the face. And that's just what I'm dealing with so imagine how my daughter must feel. And we haven't even got out of bed yet...
     All of friends had told me how it takes a lot longer to leave the house after you have a baby. So with confidence I set my alarm to give myself 1 hour 45 minutes instead of my pre mommy 20-30 minutes.  When breastfeeding calls you do what you have to so I wasn't too bummed when my starving baby woke me up an hour before my alarm. I latch her to me thinking now I have plenty of time. Then she poops. No big deal.  She has pooped before.  I detach her carefully as not to wake her up. She is sound asleep. I so have this down. I slide a fresh diaper under her just in time for her to pee in it. Okay, we are still good. I'll just trash this and grab a new one. She pees again. On the sheets. I needed to wash those anyway. Over the course of the remaining time I had to get ready things got more chaotic. In short, I wound up pooping while breastfeeding,  sat in the pee filled sheets while nursing, eating a bowl of cereal, and applying makeup. All of this without electricity that a mild storm had temporarily robbed me of. No bras fit my currently engorged breast so I resorted to taking scissors and cutting the built in bra out of a tank top. I deserve a trophy for the genius of it, really. All to run out the door, arrive at the exact appointment time, had held high in victory and triumph with fuzzy hair from no flat iron, spit up down my makeshift shirt, and leaking breast that have make me quite sticky. But we had done it. Then the waterworks start.
     Oh the eruption of the most extreme and pitiful tears uncontrollably fall to the floor. The sheer terror of the feel and sounds of the pediatric lobby creeping up and walls closing in. It's a good thing my daughter was sound asleep in her seat so she didn't have to witness my emotional breakdown. Finally they call us back. Hesitantly I get up and follow my husband and daughter down the halls. My heart is in my throat. I'm starting to sweat. Screams of children that had gone before us coming from each door we pass just ensures our fate. As we enter the dungeon they ask us to remove her clothes. What are these monsters planning on doing!? It's cold in here! Oh no. A rectal thermometer.  I can't look. I squint my eyes tight and wait for the screams of discomfort and embarrassment to escape her lungs. Silence. Okay, she survived that one. As my husband follows the nurse and carries my naked and humiliated baby to be weighed I break into sobs. How could they leave the room to lay her bare skin on those cold scales? This is some sort of mid evil torture.  We must escape. The doctor comes in, quickly examines her and we are done. That's it? She didn't even cry. Only now it's time to eat. I hook her to my breast and head out the door to make her next appointment.  We had done it! Victory!  Bravery! Until next week when we have to come back...
     I follow my husband to the car with my daughter still attached and looking a mess with makeup lines running down my face. Maybe that wasn't as bad as I thought. Perhaps my 5 day old is a million times braver than I could ever hope to me. Maybe every day in motherhood isn't a walk in the park. But at least for today I had succeeded.  My daughter was healthy and full and peaceful and at the end of the day that's all that counts. So take that motherhood.
Sincerely,
The Mom

Dear Motherhood: The Next Three Days

Dear Motherhood,
      Day 1: The bonding moments after giving birth are sacred.  And when I say moments I mean 34.8 seconds because that is about how long mom gets before delivering after birth and baby getting carted off to the nursery. It's okay. It's only for two hours. Two. Hours. Oh my God. She was just born!  She NEEDS me! They will poke her. They will make her cry. Unless they are lactating they can't feed her if she gets hungry! For the love of Pete I cannot survive this torture!  And that was emotional breakdown number one.
Day 2: Ahh, safe and sound and in mommy's arms. Or on my boob rather because she lives there now. It's 2am and sleeping beauty is peaceful and in case I haven't told you...perfect. I had somehow survived the longest two hours of my life. I couldn't believe it. I should be sleeping but my husband and I decided to stare at her all night long and not sleep instead. It was worth it.  Everything is going great and I'm finally feeling better. What is that? A band aid.  On her foot. A spot of blood. How could they?! That teeny tiny innocent foot that had done nothing wrong had been subject to needles and torture and Lord knows what else!!! Or perhaps they just got her blood but at the time...I had my doubts. Breakdown number two.
Day 3: After deciding to allow the nursery to have her last night to get some sleep i felt rested. Okay, that's a lie. Another plan gone down the toilet. We tried it out. Her father paced that floor and I tossed and turned and we ate our feelings and then brought her back. Can you blame us? Now we are all tired and impatiently waiting to home to enjoy our first 4th of July as a new family. But first...A hearing test. The tech comes in and wakes me and my princess from our cat nap just in time for her to want to eat. As my child was grusomely ripped from my arms against my will (okay maybe I just handed her over but all the same) the hearing tech from hell starts applying the cords and stickers and earphones to my hungry screaming child making her look like some sort of rap star baby from back to the future. I. Hate. This. The test won't work due to her cries of desperation and near starvation at this point. So I try to feed her as we do the test. And now robo baby is hooked to me covered in wires and....poops. This couldn't be going worse. Is it hot here? I'm on the verge of a full blown panic attack. This kid won't relax. What am I to do? Paci. That's it! We calm her with a paci! I don't have one. That was another plan. No and I mean ZERO pacis.  Ever. Oh god someone find a paci! Another nurse comes in to check her temperature in the mist of this pure chaos. What is in her pocket?  Oh glorious day there is a God!  And a paci! Curses I have been had! Another plan I gladly flush away and we pop the hospital issued paci in her face.  Unfortunately we had given up on the hearing test while this miracle was in the works. Now we have to make an appointment to go through this again.  Breakdown number three.
     After 2 nights, 56 sprites, 10000 saltine crackers, 2.5 million different emotions, and 1 cute baby later...it's time to go home. Glory hallelujah!  It's time to do this on our own. Motherhood....here I come.
Sincerely,
The Mom

Dear Motherhood: The Beauty of Planned Delivery

Dear Motherhood,
     You know when your young and the teacher asks the class what would they like to be when they grow up?  You hear answers from snot nosed kids about dreams of firefighters, astronauts,  princesses, and president of the U.S. of A. Not that these aren't respectable dreams or anything,  they just weren't mine.  I was the girl that held her baby-poops-a-lot close to her chest, raised her hand hi, and declared that I, Brittany Snyder baby extraordinaire, was going to be a mother!
      Naturally,  when one is so devout to achieving such a goal, you must plan. For me personally,  getting pregnant wasn't the easiest task, but when it finally happened....let the planning begin!! I was ready. I was determined.  I was.......clueless. And to be 100% honest, I was also scared shitless. Literally.  The only thing I could do was go with my guts and seek the guidance of friends and family that have had children.  The things I knew for fact were the following: 1. I was going all natural. 2. I wasn't going to be induced in any way. 3. They weren't going to break my water. 4. I was going to stay at home in the tub until contractions were 3 minutes apart. 5. No one...and I mean NO ONE....was going to change my mind.  Most of my family was supportive with the occasional jokes. Most all of my friends just thought I was nuts. But I didn't care. Hey, what did we do before drugs? Women used to grab a tree, have a baby, and go back to work, right? I know I can do this. I'll show them. Then on July 2nd 2016 at 4:30am after 2 hours of sleep....labor happened.
     Okay, I've got this. I creep out of bed to the bathtub, just as planned. Only at this moment I'm trying not to wake my husband just in case it's false labor and I'm being a baby. Deep breaths. Hot tub. Count to 10. This isn't so bad. Okay, it's bad.  Surly I'm getting to close to 3 minutes apart. I'll check my mobile app for timing contractions that I had previously downloaded as part of my grand plan. 9 minutes apart. Dammit.  Time to wake my husband. Despite my ever growing pains and his natural instinct to get out the door asap, I have now decided to shower and fix my hair. You know,  since the photographer was going to meet us at the hospital. Just because a girl is in pain doesn't mean she can't look good. Finally,  out the door we go with my clean bouncy hair. Approximately .3 miles away from home I realized I had forgot my makeup bag, vomited partially into a plastic bag, partially down the front of my once adorable shirt, while simultaneously peeing all over myself. Okay,  who needs looks? I'm still doing okay as far as breathing through the pain and I'm about to be a mom. This is still fine. Shortly after checking into the hospital. ...it's not okay. It hurts. It hurts a lot. For the love of God, someone help me! That breathing is exactly what everyone told me...bullshit. Pure, unholy, useless bullshit. Okay, that's it. Shove that needle up my spine now! I lasted 7 out of 14 hours before, ahhh, relief. Now that I am drugged through an IV (that I also planned on not having. I was ice chips only...whatever) and an epidural I feel locked and loaded and ready to go. Within the next 7 hours of labor, all my other plans went to hell as well. Since I was vomiting with horrid heartburn and my contractions had slowed down and at some point....or 1000....I just wanted to die, I took my plans and tossed them (or rather set them on fire and danced around them as they went up in smoke) and let them get things moving.  I was induced through my IV, had my water broken, and was stretched by my midwife from 9 to 10. Thank you Lord it's time to push! 45 minutes later I am doing one thing that I planned and actually stuck to...I reached down and grabbed my baby girl and pulled her straight to my chest. She has arrived! The most beautiful thing I have ever seen. I had done it! I was a mom.
     So, maybe things hadn't exactly gone to plan. Maybe all those months of dreaming the "perfect labor" were a waste of time and energy. Maybe me thinking my vagina was somehow made of steal and could tolerate such tremendous pain were nothing short of physicotic. Seriously,  how do women do that!? At the end of it all I was sitting in a room with my husband and my daughter watching cops and eating McDonald's cheeseburgers. And that, my friend, is a perfect labor story to me. Welcome to motherhood.
Sincerely,
The Mom