Nurse Eyeliner, At Your Service

If you came to meet Grant at the hospital, I have almost no memory of your visit. I know that Blake watched my catheter bag fill up with pee, and I remember Kattie brought me the best Jamba Juice I’d ever tasted. That’s about it. 

Sweet, sweet postpartum medications.

Grant was born at 12:18pm on June 19th, and we were back in our room by about 1:30; I know I had visitors that afternoon and evening, and the next day as well - my mom and dad, my brother, Karen, Stacey & Blake, my MIL and FIL, and my BIL and SIL - but I don’t really remember anyone being there. I was so uncomfortable, so scared, so excited, so in love, and in so much pain. I had a catheter and was trying to get my baby to latch and wanted to get up and was terrified of accidentally seeing my own incision. I was starving and numb and my arms hurt; I was swollen and cold and shaky and sweaty. 

I had a new baby! I had to take care of him and keep him alive on the exterior of my body now...holy shit!

To say I had a few things on my mind, is an understatement. 

My overnight nurse was a real bitch; the epitome of mom shame. She was a nurse who should have never become a nurse; she lacked empathy, had terrible bedside manner, and wore far too much winged eyeliner for 3:00 in the morning. I hated her so much that I begged to go home a day early, just to avoid having to experience her being a crappy nurse through one more night. Look, I appreciate nurses as much as the next person, but if you are unable to look at a woman whose body just endured serious trauma and avoid yelling at her, you should drop out of nursing school, immediately. 

She was extremely judgmental about my lack of milk production, among other things. Did you know that it’s your fault if your tits don’t immediately turn into udders after you never even go into labor because you chose to have a c-section? It’s not that your body still thinks it’s pregnant because you haven’t released any labor hormones, no; it’s because you’re a bad mom.

Just ask that nurse and her eyeliner.

Anyway. I’ll get into the shame surrounding breastfeeding versus bottle feeding in another post, I promise. Today, I’m talking about the judgment you can expect when creating your birth plan and arranging hospital visitors. Because remember, while you’re bringing new life into the world, it’s not about you or your comfort...it’s about the people who want to be able to say they met your baby first.

If I were to have another baby (and we won’t), I’d do the hospital thing much differently. Just us. Well, us and my mom - my mom was very helpful getting us prepped and scrubbed up for surgery, took some great photos, and quite frankly, adult or not I wanted my mommy as I was prepping for surgery. But as far as visitors, I think I’d just say no, and use the time to sleep and stare at my baby. Hospital visits are awkward in the first place; everything is one paper gown away from being exposed, no one is sleeping or showering, a nurse is coming in every three seconds to touch something or check something or look at something; they want you to try and feed the baby while your in-laws are sitting there. 

Add to it that you’re already being actively judged, and it’s a recipe for disaster.

I somehow talked the hospital staff into releasing me a day early, and managed to escape a third night with Nurse Eyeliner. We packed our bags as got a ride home, and on the way, I found myself suddenly terrified. I could barely stand up by myself, needed help buckling my seatbelt, and was being allowed to take another human home with me. My BIL drove us home, and I was nervous and jumpy every time he changed lanes, accelerated, decelerated, stepped on the gas or the brake. We made it home, and moments after I settled in on the couch to hold (and admire) my perfect little nugget, Grant choked on what we later determined to be amniotic fluid. He flailed his arms, made that awful choking baby gasping noise, and I swear my life flashed before my eyes as Karen flipped him over and swatted him til he literally slimed all over her. The contents of his tiny belly covered her shirt and arms, and she just kept patting his back and cooing at him. Clearly not her first day.

He took a deep breath and started to cry. As I exhaled for the first time in minutes, I also started to cry. I didn’t know what I needed to do, and asked if I needed to call a doctor, or 911 or something...I was clearly terrified. For the record, this is the only time I’ve suggested calling 911 in the past two years.

Karen, still holding my baby, still covered in his slimy vomit, leaned into me and assured me he was okay; that I was okay.

My SIL laughed at me for “overreacting.”

Instantly, I learned that mom shame comes even from those closest to you; from those who know you’re unsure of yourself, those who are supposed to support you, those who should be the most helpful. It was this day - Grant’s third day on the planet - that I started a mental list of the people I knew I’d never be able to count on to help me grow as a confident mother, versus those who would lift me up, offer sound advice, and help me raise my awesome kid.

There is nothing wrong with your birth plan, nor with your plans for visitors. It’s okay for you to welcome guests right away, just as it’s okay for you to want them to wait. If you want your mom to hold your hand before you deliver, that’s okay. It’s also okay for you to ask a friend to bring you a smoothie, if only so you can muster the energy to demand your nurses treat you like a human as opposed to a milking machine. It’s also okay to find your voice and demand a new nurse - you don’t have to convince yourself to go home before you’re really ready, just because you hate the one you have. 

It’s also totally okay to send a letter to the hospital admin staff once you’re home and recovering, letting them know what a nasty bitch they have ruining the nights of new moms in the maternity wing. 

That’s what I did. 

#endmomshaming 

Many Happy Returns (to Target)

Let it be known that I hate baby showers.

I also hate gender reveal parties.

While we’re in this super negative head space, I also hate bridal showers. 

(That’s neither here nor there, though.)

There is something incredibly awkward about opening gifts in front of a bazillion people, especially when you’re huge pregnant and uncomfortable, feeling unlike yourself, worried about every photo being taken…

Oh god please don’t post that on the internet, I’m as big as a house. I’m also hot and sweaty, and also I’m drinking a mimosa, so lord knows I’ll get dragged through the mud for drinking while I’m pregnant. 

Side note: if you want to have a fucking mimosa at your baby shower, DO IT. Anyone who is potentially judging you for that, you literally shouldn’t even be friends with anymore. Uninvite them immediately.

When it was time to plan my baby shower, I had one request: no opening presents. I didn’t want to sit in front of 50+ women and unwrap 50+ gifts for 50+ hours. It’s weird and antiquated, and I’d just as soon play another silly game. More than one person gave me shit about that decision. The more I looked into it though, the more commonplace I found it was becoming with moms in 2018. And so, I demanded it. I asked that people not wrap their gifts; instead, add a card and bring it unwrapped to the shower, and add it to the table at the front of the house - this way everyone can see the cute baby stuff, without my having to awkwardly open any of it.

As a reminder, mom shame is everywhere. You can’t escape it, you guys. I didn’t do my baby shower right, if you can believe that (I didn’t even host my own shower, but I still managed to be wrong). In addition to not opening gifts, I had a mimosa and played Pictionary instead of Smell the Melted Chocolate in a Diaper. I also had a food truck, because my cousin hosted and her neighbor owns a food truck...HOW COULD ANYONE BITCH ABOUT A BABY SHOWER WITH A FOOD TRUCK?!?!!! 

As new parents do, I created a baby registry based on what my then-boyfriend and I wanted for our son. 

I also did that wrong, apparently. 

I wanted to wear my baby, so I registered for an expensive baby carrier. 

I also didn’t want to lug around a 20 pound infant car seat, so I registered for a convertible seat that was good for a baby weighing 5-65 pounds. It was expensive, but it was the only seat we’d need.

I took a lot of backlash for these two items. I literally had no idea you could be shamed over a fucking gift registry, but you sure can!

When I got home from my shower and started to unpack gifts and put things away, I found that one person in particular had given me a ton of gifts, but none from my registry. Only later did someone else tell me that this person had said my registry was “ridiculous,” so she bought what she believed I needed.

To be clear, all this did was create extra work for me, as I returned ALL. OF. IT. I took a cart full of stuff I didn’t ask for, back to Target the day after my shower, and exchanged it for the rest of the items I had registered for...since that’s what I actually wanted. I don’t feel bad about it; especially after learning she did it on purpose. Like, why?? 

Tearing apart a new mom’s baby registry means one of three things. One, you’re an insensitive ass hole. Two, you’re an absolute moron. Three, you think you just know better than she does, how to be a mom, how to raise a human, how to be prepared for a baby. Likely it’s a combination of at least two of these three things, but for sure it’s shamey and mean. A mom-to-be puts effort into a registry beyond just clicking ‘add item to list’ - she has done her new-mom research. Which car seat is safest? Which carrier is best for a postpartum back recovery? Which monitor can I travel with easily? Which crib sheets match the nursery I’m creating on Pinterest, and how do I plan to balance nursing, pumping, and bottle feeding? What is the best binky, which stroller will take us on the greatest adventures? A mom’s registry is well thought-out; it’s a packet of things she’s thought a lot about and read a lot of information on, and likely she’s had a lot of conversations with other mom friends to make her decisions. Your choosing to “know better” and making a purchase contradictory to her registry, is a clear message that you know better than her, and that her instincts are wrong.

Everyone has favorite baby items. And experienced moms are a great resource for new moms as to items that are amazing, items that are useless, items they love and hate. It’s all in the way experienced moms present information: just be nice! 

And when a new mom doesn’t immediately drop her own thoughts to follow your exact path, don’t decide she’s a fucking idiot - trust her to trust herself, and then buy her a present she actually asked for. You can always tell her “I told you so” in a year, when she still hasn’t even opened the baby spa tub she wanted because the baby likes the kitchen sink just fine.

What If a Baby Happens?

My whole life, I've felt like I wasn't meant to be a mom. When I was a kid my cousins and I played make-believe house, and we always had pets and animals, but I don't remember lots of pretend people babies. My Barbies were always out on dates with GI Joe; they were never really home with their families. I grew up in a home day care, and I loved playing with the kids my mom watched, but they were definitely more of a fun accessory than something I wanted to take care of. I liked being able to play with them until they cried. I liked pushing them in the stroller at the mall. I liked to dress them in goofy outfits with my friends.

Thinking about it now, by the way, Barbie was really just such a hussy.

I've just always felt I was meant to do other things with my life than raise a child. I've felt I was meant to go new places, to see new things. I've felt I was meant to do something else, to make waves, to live in the moment. Kids have always been something I don't want. And I've really never swayed from that. I've just preferred more...well, more interchangeable accessories. I get bored of my purse in like 90 days, and I hear you can't trade kids in for an upgrade.

But then...what if??

Day Two of my 30 Day Blog Challenge: What is something you always say "what if" to?

What if I get pregnant on accident?

What if I change my mind? What if I get pregnant on purpose?

What if I watch all these other women mom-ing (yes, I made that a verb), and I think I could do it as well as any of them? What if I decide that mom-ing doesn't mean your life of excitement and passion is over?

What if I tell my family I might want a baby someday, and they all actually die of shock? With them all wiped out, who would help me?

What if I miss my period and totally freak out and have myself completely convinced I'm pregnant, and then what if for a brief second, I'm not completely horrified at the thought? What if a part of me reacts with, that might not really be so horrible?

What if a doctor confirms that I am unable to make a baby of my own and I'm sad instead of relieved? I mean, I have't been on any birth control in almost two years, and I'm not knocked up yet.

Then what?

I have always said, being a mom is not in my cards. Always. I've never wanted to mom. I've been too busy wanting to travel, to work and get promoted, to grow, to learn. I've been too consumed with my desire to live just for myself, to spend money selfishly, to spend time on myself. My desire to sit in silence with a stack of books has far outweighed my need to change diapers in the middle of the night.

And yet, this is the subject in which I always wonder, what if.

Despite the fact that I don't actually have a desire to parent a child, I do believe I'd be a really good mom, should I ever become one - accidentally or on purpose. Aside from the fact that my mother is the actual Baby Whisperer, and aside from the fact that I was raised in a home where she cared for a multitude of small children at a time, I think instinctively I would be good at mom-ing. I never thought that before until recently. I always thought I'd be overly paranoid about things, overly aggressive about others, and just overly selfish in all areas where a good parent is selfless instead.

Even so, I claim to be selfish with time and money, as I sit here on the phone with Blake, making a birthday ice cream date and ordering his new Spider-Man sheets on Amazon. I'm apparently not that selfish with my time and money; I always have time for the people in my life under five years old. I call them on the phone, I buy them things, I take them places...and I do all of these things on purpose.

Clearly being a mother is not the same as being an aunt. I'm just using this as an example of my ability to keep a child safe, fed, and happy for a duration of time, thus my assumption that I may be able to do it for longer than a weekend.

More recently than I care to admit, I had to ask myself the big question among single women who try to be careful but sometimes fuck up: what if I'm pregnant?

What would I do?

And by what would I do, I do of course mean, what bridge would I choose to free fall from?

And after much freak out, after much frantic time spent on the phone (and sadly, also on WebMD), after much calming the fuck down, it occurred to me that you can plan your life a certain way all you want. But as I learned from that fucking life-ruining psychic in Vegas this spring, the Universe will find a way to work your shit out for you. You can plan all you want, but sometimes, shit just happens and you have to learn to roll with it.

What if you just calm down, let life happen, and be flexible in your choices?

Also, what if you happen to make a baby that just goes perfectly with that new dress you just bought?

#Accessorize!!