Cosleeping

I've been getting in trouble a lot this week for not letting a lot of our friends and family know that after 7 years, Caleb quit Maddox and just started a new job this week! I will forever be grateful for Maddox because that is where we met, but boy am I glad that we are both done with that place. His new job is at a software company called Spillman Technologies. He has really loved it so far and we are both really excited! 

The hours are a big change from the late nights he worked as a server, so we have all been adjusting to him getting up at 6:00. Dayen, who is the lightest sleeper known to man, hears him getting ready in the mornings and usually wakes up. This morning, I had a genius idea: why not bring him into bed with me? Cosleeping is all the rage these days. Our pediatrician begged us not to and I never saw the appeal (my personal bubble grows ten times its normal size while I'm asleep, so adding another person to our bed never sounded fun.) plus Dayen is such a light sleeper that any time we moved he would wake up. He started sleeping in his own crib in his own room pretty early on, and even now when we put him down he usually looks at us like, "great, now get out of here so I can get some sleep".

STILL, my friends rage about it (or are upset that they have to now that their kids are used to it) and in my minds eye I could wake up in a couple hours with this little cutie snoozing next to me. 

So I figured, why not?

The following is an account of my tragic, short experience with Cosleeping.

He picked my nose.

He tried to see if my nose was removable. (Almost, buddy. Almost.)

He scratched my face repeatedly, and when I tried to tell him not to he laughed maniacally. (I've never seen such a diabolical look in a man's eyes.)

He stuck his gross, dirty stuffed elephant on my face while I tried to fall asleep. Although to be fair, that's what I do to him, so I guess the sentiment was sweet.

He took up more than half the bed. How does such a tiny human need that much room?

He tore through my carefully constructed pillow walls then tried rolling his way to freedom.

He laughed loudly every time I closed my eyes to try to sleep. You're so funny, mom. That's not what we're here to do. 

He pulled the blanket over his head and then just sat there, waiting to see how long until I'd save him from asphyxiation.

He poked me in the eye. On purpose. When I opened my eyes he had one little finger out, poised to do it again.

He used me like his human jungle gym. 

He wanted the left side of the bed. Just kidding, the right. Ok definitely the left was better. Nope, right again. This was a good object lesson to me about how the grass is always greener...

He had a nice, loud chat with his binky. And his hand.

And finally, he went back to his own bed, where he quickly fell fast asleep. 

Cell phones

I hate phones. Hate, hate, hate them. And I say that despite the thousand ways having a cell phone has benefitted me. I say that despite the bajillion pictures I've taken of my cute baby with my cell phone. I say that even as I write this blog post from my cell phone. That is how much I hate them.

Sometimes I think I was just born into the wrong generation. Sometimes I feel like maybe I should have been born in the 1800's so I could wear big foofy dresses and Oreos wouldn't exist (and therefore couldn't tempt me, so I'd be more likely to fit into my corset) and cell phones wouldn't even be thought about. It sounds perfect until I remember sewage also ran freely through the streets, and then I'm like, ok no thanks.

But it's almost worth it. I almost hate cell phones that much. 

The problem, I guess, isn't the phones. It's the fact that everyone from my 10 year old neighbor to my grandma is addicted to them. (No offense, grandma. I'm just assuming. You always text back right away, so I know your phone is nearby. I hope I'm still the favorite after this.) 

I was one of the few in High School who didn't get a cell phone for a really long time. My parents made me pay my own cell phone bill, so even though I always had a job, I wasn't willing to spend my meager pay checks on a phone bill that, back then, was pretty ridiculous considering you could only talk on nights and weekends and every time you accidently clicked the "internet" button you'd have to frantically click end because that was a luxury you couldn't afford.

Back then, when I was one of few of my friends that didn't have a phone, it was always annoying when everyone would be texting instead of paying attention to everyone we were with. (Although I have to admit, when I finally got a phone, I texted a LOT, and I'm sure I did my fair share of ignoring friends.)

But now, it's so much more than just texting. There are endless, completely mindless things we can do on our phones to distract us from reality. That's part of the reason I gave up Instagram and Snapchat a year ago, and even though I still have my fair share of distractions, I have been SO glad to be rid of those. I can't tell you how annoying it is when I'm hanging out with someone and they obsessively take pictures of themselves, themselves with the food they ordered, with my dog, with my baby, etc. (that's right... You know who you are!)

I know I'm not a genius here for discovering this first. We are all aware what a problem it can be, and yet few seem to care. I am not exaggerating when I say it is rare these days for me to have even a short conversation with someone that isn't, in some way, interrupted by a phone. I can't stand it when I'm trying to talk to someone and they are mindlessly scrolling through Facebook. I've started saying random things when I know they aren't listening: "so I'm hoping my unicorn will be back from the shop tomorrow so I can ride it to school." Most people just nod and smile and pretend to listen. 

Are you starting to see why I hate, hate cell phones?

Because usually, usually whatever you're doing on there can wait. Because if you need to make a phone call or send a text, I understand. When you are carrying on another conversation with someone who is not in the room with us, I don't understand. And frankly, let's just say it: it's rude.

But what really gets me about it is that it seems to get worse with every generation: Dayen is already so surrounded with it that even at 9 months old, he is fascinated with phones. (And I'm sure it has nothing to do with the fact that I'm constantly sticking my phone in his face trying to get him to smile.) He already reaches for our phones and sobs when we wont give it to him, even though we've never let him play with them before. 

Sure, right now he just wants to eat them. But really, what message is he getting when everyone he knows and loves is constantly glued to those little devices he doesn't understand? What is he going to think when he gets older and it's hard to get moms attention when he does a cool trick because she's staring at that tiny screen?

I accept that our phones connect us to friends and loved ones, people we haven't seen for years and people we'd otherwise never talk to again. I know that the Internet connects us to nearly all the knowledge ever known to man, and that we can do worthwhile and incredible things with the tiny phone we carry in our pockets. 

But, speaking for myself at least, MOST of what we do our phones is time wasting and meaningless. The games we spend hours progressing on we will soon give up. The pictures we scroll through will be forgotten. Even the pins we pin and intend to bring to life, we generally don't. 

That's why I finally got so fed up with my phone, and really with everyone else and their phones, that I decided to give it up. At least, as much as possible. Id like to "downgrade" my phone and have nothing but calls and texts, but Caleb (who thinks im slightly crazy) reminds me to not make any rash decisions. Because I want to focus my time and attention on things that last, things that matter. 

And of course, I'm not telling you what to do. But just know the next time we're hanging out and you are pretending to listen to me while you play FarmVille (is that still a thing?) I am kicking you in my mind.

Sins and Sinners

I've hesitated writing on this topic for a long time, because no matter when I write it, I'm afraid it will look like it's directed at someone in my life. So let me just preface this by saying: this is directed at no one in particular. It's just something I've seen a lot, all over, in myself and in others, and it's something I wanted to address. 

A few years ago, I had been in a big fight with one of my best friends about the boy she was going to marry. We ended up not talking for 2 years. At the same time, I also had a family member I hadn't talked to for years, as well as other friends who I hadn't just fallen out of touch with, but who I purposefully chose to cut out of my life for one reason or another. 

Finally one day it hit me: I had all these people in my life that I was afraid to bump into, that caused me anxiety and stress to worry about hanging onto my anger. I was certainly not faultless in any of the situations, no matter how justified I felt in my anger. It was exhausting.

It seems like the older I get, the harder the situations become. Where silly spats used to cause temporary rifts between friends, I am now dealing with friends going through bitter divorces, angry fights and situations where one or both parties have definitely been wronged. And even when I am not the person directly involved, I find it very hard to just let go of my anger.

I am very quick to jump to conclusions and choose sides. Caleb, who doesn't have any of those tendencies and couldn't if he tried, has helped me a lot in this regard.

But the thing that has hit me the most lately is realizing that we are not our sins. 

We are all going to make mistakes. You will never find a friend or spouse who doesn't upset you sometimes, or hurt your feelings, or even occasionally upset you so much that you want to cut off all ties and never speak to them again.

But it's rarely ever worth it. Because despite how severe we may deem the sin, it is not ever impossible to overcome. Christ taught, "And unto him that smiteth thee on the one cheek offer also the other; and him that taketh away thy cloak forbid not to take thy coat also" (Luke 6:29)

I have always struggled with that scripture. Shouldn't I be able to cut people out of my life who have hurt me? Isn't there something to be said for protecting myself against future harm?

But I think I understand that scripture better now. It shows us how much Christ believes in each one of us to be able to change. He knows that those we love will often hurt us more than our enemies ever could. He knows that we will probably hurt those we love in return.

But he also knows that he provided us all a way to return to our Father in Heaven completely clean. He didn't just do that for those with the minor, no-big-deal sins. The atonement is for each and every one of us. 

I don't say this to judge anyone's choices. There are definitely abusive relationships which should be left behind and forgotten.

But for the most part, I think we all need to remember that we are not our biggest sins. Sometimes we have to swallow our pride and let time heal us, and somehow come to separate the sin from the sinner. Because people aren't replaceable. Because when it comes to our marriages especially, I believe we have to fight. These days marriage isn't looked at as something that will last forever, but it should be. That is how we should always think of it, and only in the most dire circumstances should we even consider letting go. Because those we love are worth fighting for. Because we come out of those trials with stronger relationships and determination to be better, to do better. 

But mostly, because if today you are the one being hurt by another's actions, tomorrow you will likely be the one hurting someone else. And I hope that when I am on that end, my family and friends will still be there, willing to forgive, willing to believe that I can change, and that I am worth loving again.

And They Still Bring It Up

Most of you know, because of my hardened self-esteem and ability to take a beating, that I grew up with 3 older brothers. I could tell a lot of stories about those years. Being pinned down and forced to eat sour candies that I hated. The time they let me eat that silica powder pack with my frozen pretzel that specifically says "do not eat". (I couldn't read, and it looked like a powdery topping. When my mom figured it out she lost it and called poison control and I thought I was dying.) All of my dolls being bald because Cody would rip out their hair to torment me.

When you hear this next story, please bear in mind the years of psychological torment that led to this moment. 

I was five. We had just pulled into camp in Oregon where we were staying for a family reunion. It had been a long road trip, and it was starting to get late. As my dad started to park the trailer, I complained that I had to go to the bathroom. Since the trailer wasn't set up yet, my mom told my brothers to walk me over to the public bathrooms across the campsite. 

When we got there, there was a sign on the door for Women, only it looked like this. 

Now, to me, it is still pretty obvious that this woman, while also bald, handless, and all around unfortunately-shaped, also only had one leg.

As my brothers tried to convince me to go inside, I told them nice try, but I was smart enough to know that this was a handicapped bathroom.

They got a good laugh out of it at first. Ha ha, our little sister is so dumb, now go to the bathroom.

But after a few minutes, it wasn't so funny. I mean, I was only five, and I really had to go. This was no time for their mean pranks. But I also couldn't understand why the handicapped women's restroom was right next to the men's room, with no regular restroom in sight.

Luckily, after what felt like an eternity of my brothers trying to convince me that the bathroom wasn't handicapped, my mom came over to figure out what was going on. She, of course, laughed too and then had to escort me into the bathroom, where I was still sure a cop would burst in at any moment and arrest us. 

And now, the point:

Lately, I see a lot of people posting pictures and stories about their kids that may seem cute or funny to us, but are generally really embarrassing for the kid. Granted, I post a lot of pictures of my kid. Like, a lot. But I try to keep in mind what he might not appreciate being posted all over the World Wide Web twenty years from now.  

Not only that, but it's mortifying for them now. Kids aren't just emotionless little robots. They understand and remember a lot younger and a lot more than we give them credit for. Just because they are little doesn't mean they don't deserve basic human respect, especially from their parents. 

All I can do is be grateful there was no one around to film me that day while I stood there doing the pee-pee dance and crying about my lack of bathroom accommodations. Id prefer to blog about them myself twenty years later, thanks!

I am not broken

A few weeks after I found out I was pregnant, I woke up in the middle of the night in a panic and remember thinking, "There is a human growing inside me, and it has to come out at some point." Honestly, the thought completely terrified me. Everything I've ever seen about birth portrayed it as the most painful thing a person can experience. It was horrible counting down the days to what I was sure was going to be a horrific event.

But at the same time, that knowledge kind of went against common sense for me. Why would birth be so terrible for us, yet not so for animals? Why would anyone in their right mind have more than one child after going through trauma like that? And WHY would anyone ever go without an epidural?

Luckily, the mother of the cute little girl I nanny had her natural and we talked about her birth experience a lot. I remember her telling me she had a friend who got an epidural and right before she had to push she was just sitting on her phone on Facebook, and that wasn't what she thought birth should be like. At first when I heard that, I thought, "That sounds great! Sign me up for that birth!"

But, being the person that I am, I decided to research it to death. I am so glad that I did, because by the time I went into labor I had no fear of birth, and was actually really excited about it. Even after having the somewhat traumatic birth experience that I had (two weeks post date, 28 hours of labor, 2 hours of pushing and finally a forcep delivery of my almost 10 lb child) I still have good, calm feelings about Dayens birth & I am actually excited to have more kids! (Go figure.)

But now that Dayen is all good & born, I have this head full of knowledge that is of no use to me until I have another child. And what's worse is having to deal with the amount of people who tell me, "Well just make SURE you don't go past your due date next time!" Or "I can't believe your doctor let you go that far past!" Because I have a huge rant built up in my head, but I don't get to say any of it or I sound completely crazy.

So, here comes the rant & the crazy!

First and foremost... You are NOT broken because you go past your due date. Calling it your "due date" definitely makes it feel like if the baby is not here by that date, something is wrong. I was surprised what an emotional blow it was to me when I didn't have him early, let alone "on time". It was a really disappointing and frustrating couple of weeks, and I wish I'd had less people texting me saying, "he's STILL not here?" and more people reminding me that all babies were born eventually! 

The truth that I didn't know at the time is that MOST first time moms, if left without any interventions, actually go to 41 weeks+ 5 days, which is exactly when I had Dayen. If I had known that, I could have relaxed a little more there at the end.

Usually when I explain that, people like to remind me that going past my due date was probably the reason I had such a huge baby. BUT, Dayen was 9 lbs 6 oz at birth, and over 11 lbs at his 2 week appointment. He has consistently been in the top 97th percentile for his height and weight. 

Yes, him being a bigger baby definitely made birth harder. But I really believe our bodies don't make babies that we can't birth. Dayen was posterior (meaning face up- picture trying to put a tshirt on a toddler from their forehead rather than the back of their head... It works, but takes a lot more effort!) and he had the cord wrapped around his neck so getting him to turn was difficult. I'm very grateful for modern medicine and for the OB who came to use the forceps, but I do believe I could have had him on my own.

Finally, everyone keeps telling me to just get induced next time. And I have to admit, that was a pretty appealing option. I like to have a plan, and it would have been great to know an exact date my baby would be here so everyone could plan on it. But, the truth is that induction makes you 50% more likely to have a csection. We already live in a csection happy country, where nearly 33% of births are now csections, usually not because of medical emergencies but just because birth can take awhile, and it's easier for doctors if they can schedule an exact time for delivery. Don't get me wrong, csections have their place. We are lucky to live in a world where babies and mothers can be saved in emergencies because of csections. But it is definitely not ideal! You don't want to be recovering from a major abdominal surgery while also being sleep deprived and trying to take care of a newborn. It's also very hard to find a doctor who will let you attempt a vbac (vaginal birth after cesarean) so usually once you have a csection, that's how the rest of your births will go too.

The comedian Jim Gaffigan has an awesome commentary on natural birth. His wife had all 5 of their children at home with a midwife. My favorite is when he says "the reaction we usually get is, 'oh we were going to do that too, but we wanted our baby to live!'" It really is crazy to me how many people thought I was completely insane for using a midwife instead of an OB, even though I gave birth in a hospital. I think the term "midwife" gives the image of a woman in a shawl covered with cats & moons who chants over your belly to make sure the baby will be born with 10 fingers and toes. And, there probably are midwives like that. But for me, having a midwife meant that I had support there with me the entire time. I didn't have to "wait to push" until a doctor got there, I didn't have to be checked constantly to make sure the doctor could be there on time. And again, I'm so glad I had a relationship with a great OB who was at home watching Dayens heart rate drop and was awake ready to come in at 2:45 am when they called him. But I can't imagine what that experience would have been like without my midwife! And she still texts me wanting updated pictures or just to say Hi. Show me an OB who will do that.

Ultimately, I realize every birth experience is different. But the fact is, you have a right to choose what your birth will look like. It doesn't have to be where you just walk in and get directed by doctors how to have your baby. You aren't sick, you aren't dying. You are doing what your body was built to do. 

Hopefully, this will stop me from going off on a rant to the next person who tells me I better induce next time. 😁

Still,Still,Still

I remember when I was nine I would babysit my cousin a lot. They lived in a big house with lots of doors and windows, and sometimes when it got dark I would get scared that someone would try to break in or something. I think my nine year old brain realized if there was any danger, I was in charge, and I wasn't really ready to handle that. But it all kind of seemed like a fun game, and of course I didn't really realize things that could actually happen, but I still felt the anxiety from it all.

After one of these nights babysitting, I went home feeling really stressed. I remember crying to my mom that I had a horrible feeling, and I thought something bad was going to happen to someone in my family. I was so worked up that she called all my brothers and had me talk to them so I could see that they were ok. But I still had this horrible feeling that I couldn't shake, and I thought I was psychic or something.

But, nothing ever did happen, and what I didn't realize was that I wasn't clairvoyant, I was just having my first anxiety attack.

I think anxiety is something that is very common in a lot of our lives today. I know a lot of my family has it to some degree, and my oldest brother was even diagnosed with an anxiety disorder. It's something I never really talk about, something I don't really even think about until it decides to rear it's ugly head and remind me that I'm not as in control as I like to pretend to be.

I think it's important to talk about because it is so common, but it's something we all ignore and pretend doesn't happen. I certainly don't like to mention in conversation that anxiety can bring me to a deep, dark place that I feel like I'll never escape from. It is horrible feeling like you can fall into that at any time for no reason at all.

My anxiety peaked in High School. I can remember sitting in class one morning when I felt the weight of it hit me like a ton of bricks. Nothing happened to trigger it, but suddenly it was as if an elephant was sitting on my chest. I felt like I couldn't get any air. I went home in a panic and once again bawled to my mom that something was wrong, that I didn't know how or why but I just knew something bad was going to happen.

Anxiety is scary. It's unpredictable and powerful. It can hit you out of nowhere and stay with you for as long as it chooses.

I try to "live in the light", read my scriptures and surround myself with people who make me happy and keep me calm. Caleb has been incredible for this for me. My anxiety has gotten a lot better since we got married, but I was always terrified that pregnancy and being a new mom would bring in the perfect storm of hormones to cause the worst anxiety of my life.

Luckily for me, having Dayen has actually helped me a lot. I think I just know that I don't have time to waste on feeling that way, because I have him to take care of. That's not to say motherhood doesn't bring on anxiety of it's own.

I don't claim to be an expert, but it's always surprised me how quiet we are about things like this, and I always felt frustrated that I couldn't find any answers on things that actually help when you are in the moment of an attack like that. The only thing I've really found is working through them, waiting them out and talking or crying or whatever you have to do to feel better. But I am fully aware that my anxiety can't be nearly as bad as some people's, and I can't imagine what that must be like. How do you even cope? I can't imagine feeling that way all day, every day.

Because it's not just typical anxiety, "oh I hope this works out." It is truly crippling. It is a deep, dark hole that sucks all the happiness out of you. You can't remember what it's like to feel happy and normal, and you feel like you never will again.

I feel like such a drama queen writing about this, and maybe that's why no one talks about it. Maybe no one wants to sound crazy or weird. But I've found that the times I've opened up about it, I'm usually not alone. I think nearly everyone has experienced it to some degree, and many have what could probably be classified as a disorder, whether they realize it or not.

For me, it's always so random. The things you would think would bring on the worst anxiety generally don't. When my brother was in a bad car accident and we weren't sure he was going to live, I don't remember having a single anxiety attack. When I suddenly realize I've washed the same dish 400 times and it's only going to get dirty again, suddenly full blown anxiety attack.

I personally believe it has a lot to do with the world we live in. Anxiety generally comes from feeling unsafe, or like you're not grounded in some way, and we have so many challenges to face every day and we have so many things bombarding us all the time, we forget to just stop for a second and be at peace. I can't remember the last time I sat down and didn't immediately pull out my phone or turn on the TV or find something to distract me. I think eventually it all builds up until the straw breaks the camels back and we are crying for two hours over dirty dishes.

I wish I had a miracle cure. I wish I could list "10 easy steps for curing your anxiety!" I don't. I am not much wiser than I was at nine, because every time I feel that constricting in my chest, that shortness of breath, a part of me still thinks, Something bad is going to happen.

But I do know that there are many places we can turn for peace. And I think anxiety isn't something you fix as it's happening, but something you try to avoid with preventative maintenance. Take a second to take a breath and just be. Be at peace. Be still. Be grateful for what you have and who you are. 

In my darkest moments, I may still have suspicions that I am psychic, but at least I can take comfort in the fact that I haven't been right yet.

https://www.lds.org/ensign/2014/10/upon-the-top-of-the-waters?lang=eng

Part Time Parenthood

My day usually starts off, if not at 3:00 or 4:00 am, then at least by 7:00 to the sound of my baby screaming from his crib like he's withering away and never been fed before.

I don't even really think about it anymore. I don't lay there and wish he'd go back to sleep, or put my pillow over my head to drown out the noise. I just get up and get him. Sometimes I'm halfway to his room before I even realize I'm awake.
I didn't use to be a morning person. But it's hard not to be when one of the first things you see is the cute face of your child smiling at you.

I really do love it. Not in a grin & bear it, we'll get through these tough years kind of way. In a wow, I didn't realize how much I'd love this kid kind of way. In a "does everyone think my kid is as cute as I do?" kind of way. In a I will read you bedtime stories every night even though I seriously doubt you understand a word and would rather eat the books than read them, kind of way.
But lately, I feel like all I see are articles about how tough parenthood is. About how you need to take time for you, about how you should try to enjoy parenthood, but you probably won't, so get a sitter and go out and find yourself. About how being a mother doesn't define you, and you are still in there somewhere.

And the thing is, I have a huge problem with that. Because I don't view motherhood as this break from "finding myself", or as a huge distraction from my "me time". I don't feel the incessant need to leave him at his grandparents so I can go away for the weekend just to get away from him. It frustrates me that the world wants me to almost be ashamed of being a mother. It shouldn't be the only thing I ever accomplish. It just isn't enough to only be a mother.
Is being a mom hard? Sure. There have been days I've had to set him in his crib and let him cry while I went outside and did the same. There have been moments of frustration that I felt I couldn't escape from. And I definitely don't spend nearly as much time writing, or doing photography, or any of the other things I used to love.

But I don't feel like I've lost myself. On the contrary, I think that motherhood has made me more me than I ever was before. It has brought out the best in me in every way.

A few months ago I saw someone post an article about how much mothers complain about motherhood. They said, "if you want me to have a baby so bad, then stop telling me how much I'm going to hate being a mom!" I completely agree. Of course there will be challenges, but why do we tell parents to prepare for the worst? For every person who was excited for me during my pregnancy, there were five more people telling me how much sleep I'd lose, how insane I'd feel, and to give them a call when I had just reached my wits end and needed a break.

I concede: I only have one child, and he is a pretty awesome one. But this whole parenthood thing has been so much better than I ever could have imagined. It's not all sleepless nights and dirty diapers and wanting to pull your hair out in frustration.

It's a little laugh that is truly the best sound you've ever heard. It's sharing this little person you both love so much with your spouse, and strengthening your marriage through them. It's knowing them so well, being so in tune with your child, that you almost always know what they want or need. It's leaving them with a babysitter, and missing them every second that you're gone. 
It's ok to have other goals and dreams. 
But it's also ok if raising this child is the best thing you've ever done.
It's ok if the biggest thing you ever accomplish is raising your child to be a strong and happy person. 
It's ok if the moment you hold your child for the first time, everything else falls away, and all those dreams you used to have don't seem quite so important anymore.
A lot of the world doesn't agree with me. They will tell you that you need a degree, a career, a large house and new cars, endless money and fancy vacations and all the things that would be ruined by sticky little hands and the years it takes to raise a baby.

But I am here to tell you that it is ok. It is ok to want those things. It's ok if the happiest you've ever felt isn't from making a six figure income, but from getting a hug from that tiny human you put your heart and soul into. 
Don't be afraid of parenthood. You won't lose yourself. You will still be there, and you may be surprised to find out who you thought you were isn't who you are at all.