Welcome To Hell
I don’t understand women who love being pregnant. I can understand being so-so with it, or being resigned to it but loving it? Yeah, who are these people? Overall I have pretty normal, uneventful pregnancies and for a woman of my “advanced maternal age” I’m grateful for that. I experience the usual spectrum of uncomfortable symptoms; indigestion, a little nausea, some back aches, etc. Usually my ailments are manageable, non-dangerous and uneventful. That is, until now.
Last Wednesday the baby “dropped”. I know she dropped because I had an entire day of painful contractions followed by the feeling that a little person was sitting on my rectum. When considering the possibilities of where a child could place itself in your body the rectum is not a “happy” place. After three or four days I began to notice that something didn’t “feel” right. It became painful to stand, sit, walk. I chalked this up to late pregnancy discomfort and marched on with my daily activities. By Sunday I was in P-A-I-N and discovered that my sweet little girl had given me hemorrhoids. I’ve NEVER in my entire life had a hemorrhoid. Why? Why would God do this to me? Why?
I sheepishly divulged my discovery to David who responded by laughing for ten minutes and telling me to not be such a baby. I punished his insensitive remarks by making him go to the drugstore to buy hemorrhoid cream and NOTHING else. Thus drawing acute attention to the embarrassing product he was purchasing. Having never experienced this particular ailment before I consulted “Dr. Google” who assured me that I would be fine in a couple of days with rest and warm baths. Except it wasn’t getting better it was getting worse. And every time I complained about the pain David seemed exasperated and would utter; “it is just hemorrhoids. Lots of people get them”. I’m sure many people do have them but how do they function?
On Tuesday I woke up to the sight of a lot of blood. I instantly wanted to do a victory lap around the house screaming to David “SEE! I WAS NOT EXAGGERATING! I WAS IN REAL PAIN AND THERE IS THE PROOF! I’M DYING!” However, the acute pain and the ax-murder-esque scene in our bathroom was a bit distracting. I called the doctor with the announcement that something was “WRONG” and how did I know that? Dr. Google told me. My doctor though, being the professionally trained medical person that she is, was not worried.
What happened at the doctor’s office can only be classified in the department of both horrifying AND embarrassing. Just when you think your children can no longer embarrass you any longer the one within your womb finds a new low to pull you down to. Both frustrated and frightened I made David come into the examining room with me. I’m afraid he may never touch me ever again. Of course David found this to be a great opportunity to make jokes at my expense and the doctor, sensing his jovial nature, joined in. I, on the other hand, being naked from the waist down and feeling a whole new type of physical violation just focused on not throwing up.
And this, this combination of pain, disgust, embarrassment and physical horribleness – do these women who LOOOOVVEE being pregnant never experience this? Or do they find this as a great way to get attention. Because honestly, right now, while I type this, I have both children climbing on the couch I’m resting on whining and hitting each other. There are more dirty dishes than clean dishes in the house. There are more toys on the floor than on the shelves. My children are living off of goldfish crackers and juice boxes (and I can’t promise they haven’t shared the kitty food with the cat). And this is supposed to be a “magical” time in my life? This is supposed to make me feel beautiful and wonderful and a vessel for God’s miracle of life? Because the only miracle happening in my life right now is the fact that David and I haven’t killed each other or the kids. Or possibly that the health department hasn’t condemned our house.
David promises me that some day – some day soon – I will look back on this and laugh. Maybe I will, but right now all the laughing is happening through tears.
I Think I Know What I’m Doing, But Ask Me Again In Three Months
Jen at Conversion Diary asked for words of encouragement for a new mother. Well, as I come crashing in at the end of my third pregnancy I’m feeling rather smug regarding my parenting knowledge and thought I would share what my experience has taught me.
#1 DON’T SWEAT THE SMALL STUFF
Now, I know everybody tells you this from the moment that the first pregnancy test comes back positive, but I will tell you that this is the hardest lesson to learn but also the most important. Every grandparent or ‘retired’ parent will tell you; “spend less time cleaning and more time playing”. You know what? Listen to your elders. Is my house a mess? Yes. Most days my sink is full of dishes, my laundry back-loaded, and toys in my family room. In exchange for that I have well-adjusted children who get to experience a mentally sane mother (on most days). Some day I will have children old enough who can do the dishes, vacuum and make their own beds. In the meantime, they clear their dishes, put their laundry in their hamper and do the best they can. And you know what, I no longer care if my house is clean. I reject the idea that cleanliness is a sign of a successful mother.
#2 DON’T CRY – LAUGH
Motherhood is filled with the most ridiculous moments and indeed most “mommy blogs” are filled with tales of such silliness. In my case I can recount stories of spilled paint on carpet, exploding poop on visiting relatives, puke in the middle of the mall, etc, etc. If you thought child delivery lacked modesty and was embarrassing, well, that is only the beginning. You must learn to laugh at yourself or you will find yourself crying far too often.
#3 ASK FOR HELP
At 39 years old and approaching the arrival of my third child I have learned this lesson. I cannot do it all, and I’m not going to martyr myself in an effort to somehow garner praise and appreciation from some invisible entity. Let me fill you in on a secret, your children will not appreciate you more for killing yourself and neither will your spouse. They won’t appreciate you, they will resent you. I pay for a housekeeper to clean my house every two weeks. I pay for babysitters when I need a break or assistance to get things done. Motherhood is a hard job and it is a 24 hour job – you cannot do it all the time
#4 CUT YOURSELF SOME SLACK
You are not going to be a perfect parent all the time. You will snap, yell, scream, throw a grown-up tantrum, let them watch tv, eat popcorn, processed foods, sugar, soda pop, etc. None of these things make you a terrible parent. One of my best friends is a family therapist and she has said to me on more than one occasion that unless I’m beating, purposefully neglecting or feeding my kids drugs I’ve got a long way to fall to become a bad parent. Most of us are consciously trying to read to our kids and provide a well-balanced diet in a loving and supportive environment. It is just that that environment is hard to maintain 365 days a year. Some days you are going to be lucky if the kids spend the day watching PBS and eat macaroni and cheese for dinner.
#5 YOU KNOW NOTHING
When I was pregnant with Lucy I was terrified of the unknown. What was it going to be like to be a parent? How was I going to handle it? How hard was it going to be? When I got pregnant with Max I had confidence and arrogance that was most definitely a mistake. Max came out and was NOTHING like Lucy. It was as if I was a first-time parent all over again. Now, pregnant with my third I recognize that I know nothing and there is peace in that. No use in preparing for this child because it won’t matter. Whatever I anticipate or plan for will be wrong.
Finally, my mother-in-law has a sign on her desk that says “children grow to become the love they know”. No matter how crazy my day is, or how much my children drive me crazy if I can end the day with a hug, kiss, snuggle and the knowledge that my kids know that they are loved, well, that is a successful day.
Hello? Hello? Are You Listening?
When you’re a mother your telephone conversations sound something like this:
Mother #1: hello?
Mother #2: hi – I just wanted to call and talk to you about the current health care debate
Mother #1: Oh, I know did you watch CNBC last night?
Mother #2: I did, and I really thought, Tommy! Tommy! I told you to not hit your sister. SARAH! stop hitting your brother! Who wants to lose a privilege? Sorry about that – let me see, yes, I liked what they were saying about universal coverage but was concerned about the tax implications and you?
Mother #1: Well, I didn’t see the piece on CNBC but NPR was interviewing the CEO of a pharmaceutical company and, BILLY! BILLY! Put that knife down. Yes, Emma I will wipe your bottom. Sorry, okay, well NPR was discussing how the reform might impact malpractice insurance and the availability of doctors.
Do you see how that works? The side conversations with children and punishments dolled out are respectively ignored and the conversation proceeds seamlessly. Neither party offended at the break in conversation nor distracted by the requests of the children in the background. And yet, if this same conversation were held between a mother and a man — any man — it would sound like this:
Mother #1: Hello?
Man: Hi, I was wondering what was for dinner tonight
Mother #1: Oh, well I was thinking TOMMY, TOMMY NO YOU CANNOT EAT CANDY BEFORE DINNER!
Man: I’ll let you go, you sound busy.
Busy? Of course I’m busy. I’m always busy. I’m a part-time working mother of two. The only time I’m not doing three tasks at the same time is when I’m asleep. If you insist on my complete undivided attention on the phone then please plan on calling when my children are 18 years old. I’m not sure why women can follow this phone conversation phenomenon and why men seem to instantly short circuit like a Microsoft hard drive that is trying to run too many apps, but they do and it is frustrating.
As a mother of multiple children (and yes, I’m afraid you need to have more than one to make this happen) my multi-tasking abilities have reached that of Ninja-level. All those teenagers who think they are special because they can drive and text – Pshaw! That is nothing. I can cook dinner, assist with spelling homework, pack lunches for tomorrow AND text message all at the same time. I can wash hair in the bathtub, wipe somebody’s bottom, AND conduct a phone job interview all seamlessly.
What is it about women that makes us able to juggle so many tasks with little problem? Is it biological or did we develop this skill out of necessity? Would a man also be able to multi-task with such ease if he was a single dad? I have no idea but in the meantime I think it might be a good idea for me to start utilizing my “mute” button on my telephone.
