On boobs...

I don't remember exactly what year it was, my mind is telling me 1994 but I can't be certain because I was very young, my grandma found a lump in her breast. It was breast cancer. She was in her 60s at the time and her oncologist recommended that she have a mastectomy to remove the breast and the surrounding lymph nodes. She had the option to have reconstructive surgery but she figured why go through more painful surgery after 60+ good boob years? I didn't get to visit her in the hospital and I don't remember her being sick from chemo or radiation therapy. What I do remember is the first time I saw her topless after her surgery. It looked like her breast had been chewed off by a rabid dog. It was red and angry looking and instead of being flat like I had thought it would be, it was concave. So in essence, she had the opposite of a boob, she had a crater in her chest. The incisions were not straight but ran jagged and the overall look was something out of a horror movie. My grandma lived a long time with these scars on her chest. She had a silicone boob that she would use when she went out to someplace special and a foam boob she would use when she was just heading out to the grocery store. When she was at home, she didn't wear any boob at all. I was always impressed by how well she handled her lack of a breast especially as I got into my teenage years and realized that I wasn't a late bloomer, I would just never really bloom. A difficult concept for me to come to terms with because my mom and my sister are both well endowed and I just figured I would be too.

Three years ago my grandma was diagnosed with lymphoma. Now in her 70s and suffering from diabetes, the prognosis was less than spectacular. My grandma died of complications from lymphoma after her first chemotherapy treatment caused her to develop a bacterial infection in her blood that she was unable to fight off. I was at work when I got the call that my grandma was in the emergency room. The urgency in my mom's voice told me I had to leave and I had to leave now. When I got to the hospital my grandma was in one of those curtained ER treatment areas on a gurney. Her blood pressure was low and she was having trouble remembering where she was and who she was and what was going on. My grandpa was sitting on a hard plastic chair next to her looking overwhelmed. I immediately knew that whatever happened that day would change my life forever, and it did. After some introductions the ER doctor called me out to the nurse's station. There she asked me if my grandmother had a do not resuscitate order. I knew that she did and I was told to send my grandpa home to get it. I was also told in no uncertain terms that if there was any family that was from out of town they needed to leave wherever they were, immediately. She stopped short of saying if they wanted to see my grandma alive one last time. I got the picture. I knew what was going on.

Soon my grandmother was having trouble breathing. The nurses were attempting to put a breathing tube in her throat but since my grandmother was in and out of consciousness she would fight them when they would try. I held her hand and told her it was ok. They were trying to help her and she needed to let them do their jobs. After the tube was in place, she would try to pull it out and again, I'd have to remind her that it was there to help and she had to leave it in place. After what seemed like an eternity, she was transferred to the ICU where finally she was sedated. It was a relief to see her resting peacefully after seeing the terrified look on her face every time she would come back to and try to pull the tube out. At this point, family had gathered and I was told to go home and shower get and some rest. I left the hospital uneasily. I knew that she was dying and I didn't want her to be scared when she left us. Within a couple of hours I was being called back. Her time was coming to an end. The priest had come and given her her last rites and minutes later she was gone.

Up until she had been diagnosed with lymphoma and started feeling really horrible, my grandmother got regular manicures, pedicures, and perms. She never left the house without painting on her eyebrows, putting a ring on every finger, and finding the right earrings to match her outfit. She had shoes in every color, outfits for every holiday, and jewelry for every occasion. After her passing, it was my job to get her makeup and to the funeral home. My mom had already taken her dress. I also had to go to Walgreen's and find the right shade of red nail polish for her nails. Revlon. I still have the bottle.  The only thing we forgot was her boob. Shortly before the viewing the funeral home director let us see her. She looked beautiful, except for the space on her chest where her boob should have been. We didn't have enough time to go find her boob nor we were sure that it would stay straight given that she was lying in the casket. But my mom came up with a solution. Since I've never been well endowed, I'd taken to wearing water filled pads in my bras. My mom knew this and before I had time to think she was reaching in my shirt trying to fish them out. Suddenly, my lack of boobs was a good thing. We didn't end up using the water pads. They were too heavy and too small to fill out the space. We did, however, find a box of tissues and we stuffed my grandma's bra. I just hope after all this time, her stuffing has held up.

On being a step mother...

I knew getting into this marriage that it came with the added responsibility of other kids. Falling in love with the kids actually came a lot faster than falling in love with my husband but kids are like that when you're the kind of girl whose only dream was to become a mother. Being a stepmother is very different though and it's further complicated by the fact that my stepkids spend an extraordinary amount of time with my mother in law who hates me and my husband's ex-wife and I have a complicated relationship to say the least. To make matters worse, my husband is deployed and I live 2 hours away from the kids. What does this mean? I haven't seen them since my husband was home on leave in June when our son was born and then my attention was on my newborn and my mind was in a haze from the sleep deprivation. His mother treats his two children very differently. She very obviously prefers one over the other and as a mother, I would never allow my children to be exposed to this kind of treatment especially not on a such a consistent basis but I'm just the stepmother which means I have absolutely no say in anything unless the children are physically with me. The issues with his mother are too long and complicated and emotionally draining to go over here. Let's just say she liked me for a little while, then we got married and she didn't like me anymore, then I got pregnant and she really really didn't like me anymore. The simple answer is she doesn't like me because she's jealous of me. Her son has found the kind of woman she always wanted to be. I'm the kind of wife that cooks and cleans and irons his uniforms and packs his lunch. I don't stay home because I have too, I have a Master's degree and some years of professional experience under my belt. And actually I work from home teaching college English so I'm a stay at home mom who still brings in some semblance of a paycheck although admittedly I make less than minimum wage when all is said and done. She's under the impression that I come from money because of the way I dress and speak and the fact that my parents both have professional jobs and drive operational vehicles. I don't really need to defend my upbringing or my family but I will give you some insight just to clarify. We're your average run-of-the-mill middle class family who lived paycheck to paycheck. My dad finished his college degree 15 years after he graduated from high school when I was 6. My mom and I were actually in college at the same time, she earned her Bachelor's degree two years after I did in 2007. They have both always worked full time. I have a sister and she has 3 kids and she doesn't have a college degree and she was ok with that for a while but now she's working on it which is no easy task with 3 kids. And that's it. We aren't really close with anyone else in our family. I worked my ass off in school to get a degree. Then I worked my ass off at my job and in graduate school to get another degree. I earned my MA in 2010 and we were married 2 weeks later. I found out I was pregnant in October, he deployed in January.

His mother has never acknowledged our son. Ever. She was very angry when she found out I was pregnant and I'm assuming she's remained angry because despite the fact that on a rare occasion I do hear from her, she's never once mentioned his name to me. I'm not exaggerating. Not once. I sent her an invitation to the baby shower and later I sent her the birth announcement. I thought maybe some goodwill gestures on my part would help. They haven't. And now I'm to the point where I'd just as soon keep my son away from her. But despite her neuroses, I can't keep my stepkids away from her.

For the first six months my husband was gone, I only heard about them through him which as you might guess was only bits and pieces because he's off in another country. After our son was born, his mother started to allow the kids to call me which they do on occasion. Usually to thank me for something I've sent them or to ask about their stepbrother. It's been hard being away from them. Before we left, I was volunteering in my stepson's class a few times a week and was as involved in their lives as I could possibly be. Now, I'm not sure where I fit in their lives and as much as I want my husband home, I'm terrified about what all is to come when he is home and we move back to the same town they live in and I'm left to deal with his mother and his ex-wife again. I'm scared for me, because now that I have the responsibility of raising my own child, I don't anticipate spending the kind of emotional energy I did arguing with them like I did before. I have him to think of and his needs and I'd rather him not see all the ugliness that goes on. I'm scared for the kids because they are going to have to adjust to a new situation all over again. I'm scared for my marriage because we have both been able to acknowledge that 99% of our problems stem from his mother and his ex-wife and the stress that whole situation causes. I'm scared for my son, because he's so innocent and I would die before I intentionally put him in a situation that could hurt him. Long before I became a mother, I couldn't understand how his ex-wife could allow her kids to be used as pawns and to use them as pawns herself but now that I'm a mother, I have an even more difficult time understanding it. And it breaks my heart in a way that I never knew was possible. I'm not a glass half full kind of girl, I have a hard time getting my hopes up, I am always waiting for the other shoe to drop, so what can I possibly anticipate from this situation? And is it fair to even try to guess what might happen? I wish I could see into the future so I would know what I was getting myself into. But I can't. In the meantime all I can do is hang on to the faith that my marriage is strong enough to survive this, I'm strong enough to survive this, and we'll all somehow come out better people in the end.

On finding our groove...

I am happy to say that my Sam is starting to get the hang of life outside the uterus. He's gotten over his fussy newborn stage and is now starting to make noises and smile and he's almost figured out that he has hands and he can move them around at will. He likes to be rocked to sleep, he hates the first 10 minutes he's in his car seat, he loves to take a bath especially getting his hair washed, he likes to listen to Baby Einstein lullabies while he sleeps at night, and country music while he naps in his swing. He doesn't mind that Mom doesn't actually know the words to any lullabies and will often resort to singing Journey songs while we rock in our chair. He needs to be burped after half of his bottle to avoid spitting up, he needs gas drops before every meal, and he tends to be in a better mood after he poops. He doesn't like to be swaddled but he does like his blanket wrapped tightly around his mid-section as long as his arms and legs are free. He loves to be outside and really loves to bounce. The bittersweet part about getting to know my baby is that his daddy isn't here to get to know him with me. For now, the occasional Skype date will have to suffice until we can all be together again.

On C-Sections...

So lately I've noticed an abundance of blogs about about c-sections and the rise in the number of women having them. Honestly, I don't get what the big deal is. If Victoria Beckham doesn't want to push a baby out of her vag then who are we to judge her? If she opts not to breastfeed, is it really any of our business? Personally I got a lot of crap for not sticking it out 14 hours into my induction (more on optional inductions later) but I couldn't fathom pushing a baby out after being awake for more than 24 hours. There were extenuating circumstances surrounding the birth of my son. First of all when it was decided I needed to be induced he had not dropped, nor was I dilated at all. Many women walk around for days or even weeks 1 or 2 centimeters dilated. I was not one of these women. Nor did I have the pleasure of feeling like I had a bowling ball between my legs. My son was perfectly content to stay where he was even at 38 weeks. My induction came as a result of a rise in my blood pressure and given that technically my son was “term” my doctor decided it wasn’t in my best interest to let me be pregnant any longer. I still think she only humored me when I asked to be induced before a c-section was scheduled. Deep down I think she knew the induction wouldn’t work but I had been deeply sucked into team “vaginal birth” and had been told that recovering from a vaginal birth would be easier than recovering from a c-section and a quick recovery is what I needed given that my husband would only be home for 10 days and then it would just be me and my newborn. First of all, any time anyone tells you that they need to check your cervix just be prepared you will never look at this person the same again. Even if the nurse has been amazing, attentive, the best nurse you’ve ever had the pleasure of being nursed by, as soon as they are reaching their fingers up there checking to see if you’re prepared to push anything out you’ll want to rip their fingers off and shove them so far up their nose they come out of the crown of their skull. I’m not exaggerating. No one prepared for that particular pain. I had also been told that contractions feel like “very bad menstrual” cramps. Um…no they don’t. At least not to me. It felt more like my abdomen had been wrapped too tightly in one of those weight loss belly band things and was periodically being pulled just a little bit more tightly. Tight being the operative word here. The contractions weren’t the worst part. I still think having my cervix checked outweighed any other pain I experience as a result of my induction and my c-section, but I digress. As I said before, I only made it 14 hours into my induction before I was begging for a c-section. I don’t feel like I gave up, I’m not disappointed that I couldn’t give birth to my son vaginally. I feel like I made the best possible choice for my son and myself given the circumstances and my doctor supported my decision. Although, I didn’t necessarily choose to have a c-section out of convenience, I don’t think we should judge those who do. After having one myself, I’m not sure what the big fuss is about. Recovery time was about a week. And during that week I wasn’t in bed unable to move from the excruciating pain of abdominal surgery. I just mean that it took about a week to start feeling normal. I can’t imagine that anyone bounces back from a vaginal delivery in less time, especially if there is an episiotomy involved. The only hard thing about the c-section was not being able to hold my son right away but I have to say I don’t feel cheated out of any sort of “bonding” experience either. I love my son with a ferocity that rivals any mama bear’s. In fact, I’ve had the pleasure of defending my young against a bee which made me feel like quite the mama bear even though I was scared shitless of the stupid bee and he had no idea what was going on given his line of vision is limited to about 10 inches and his most recent goal seems to be mastering control of his hand enough to get it into his mouth at his convenience. But I digress, the bottom line here is that it’s up to the individual woman what they decided is best for their child (in conjunction with doctor’s advice, of course).  Do I have any regrets about my birth experience? You bet your ass I do but they have nothing to do with not having a vaginal birth. Am I going to be so hung up about my c-section that I’m going to search high and low for a doctor willing to sit by for a VBAC when I have another baby? No. Not at all. I know what to expect next time and I’m 100% ok with it and I encourage any other woman who’s had a c-section to really reflect on her decision. I don’t think we should judge other mothers who are doing a perfectly good job mothering. Whether or not a woman has a vaginal birth or a c-section the end result is the same. We may not all have the physical scars to prove it, but at the end of the day we all have a tiny little blessing to take care of for the rest of our lives.

Seven years ago I was engaged. Not to my current husband but to a man whom I loved very much. Despite a very quick courtship, we were both certain that we wanted to be together forever. We didn't know how short our "forever" would be. On July 25, 2004 we were in a car accident. I walked away, he didn't. It took a lot of grief, a lot of tears, and a lot of anger before I finally realized that even though I had lost him, I was blessed to have ever had him in my life to begin with however short that time may have been. It's not often that you find someone in life that you connect with, that you want to spend time, who understands you and even when they don't understand you is willing to talk it out with you until they do. I was blessed enough to find this at a young age and although he's gone, not a day goes by that I don't think about him. When I met my husband, I thought there was no way he could possibly understand what I had been through nor did I think there was any way I would ever have the same kind of love with anyone else that I had had the first time around, and I was right. But I found a different kind of love, a different kind of commitment. Not many people are lucky enough to find true love once in their lives. I've been blessed with falling in love twice. No one will ever take Marcos' place. I loved him then and will continue to love him but that love has changed over time and I've learned that there is room in my heart for him and for my husband. I have been blessed with the gift of love twice and although the first time was short and ended painfully, I know that every thing, even the stuff that hurts so bad you think you'll never survive it, happens for a reason.

My baby cried all day yesterday. Well to be fair he took a couple of 15-20 minute naps in between his fits but other than that it was pretty much non-stop. In the midst of all of this, my husband and I are arguing. Yes, arguing even though he's a million miles away in another country. See, our family is one of those very modern blended families. My husband was married before and has two kids with his first wife. Don't get me wrong I love those kids. If I had any doubt about my commitment to them, I never would have married him. I understand that when you get involved with a man with children, they are a package deal. Yesterday, was my step-daughter's 5th birthday. Because of the circumstances (ie, much much drama) I don't get to see or talk to the kids while he's gone. So because I couldn't physically spend her birthday with her, and neither could my husband, I sent her a big box of gifts I thought she'd like. Without getting too much into the specifics, what began as a disagreement about a birthday gift turned into one of those knock down blow out fights where I'm thinking "Why the hell did I get married?" and I've completely stopped caring what it is that he's thinking or saying because he's resorted to insults and disrespect. It was bad. We've only been married for a year but this is one of many many fights that we've had just like this. Except this time, I think, we identified the problem. My husband finally admitted that he doesn't know much about me in the way of those things that you typically learn about a person when you first meet. Favorite color, foods, likes/dislikes. Now this is partially my fault and partially his. He never wants me to talk about my past and because of his job, the fact that he's never home, I tend to go along with whatever he wants when he's home. I make his favorite dishes, we go to his favorite restaurants, I basically go along with whatever he wants. I don't feel obligated to do this, I just figure that he's never home so when he is home, he should be able to enjoy it. In the process of making sure he's taken care of, certain things never came up. What is my favorite color? Answer: White. Why? Because it's clean and I'm nothing if not anal retentively clean, yes even with a newborn my housekeeping doesn't suffer (more on my OCD later). The problem is, well he's deployed. How do you get to know someone (yes even your spouse) when you're in another country? Ironically, the longest nap my screaming son took all day was when we had gotten past the yelling and being mean and were actually "discussing" our problem. I guess something about hearing mom and dad's voices had a soothing effect on the kid who refuses to sleep even though he's exhausted. Another one of our major issues is that my husband tends to treat me like I'm one of his soldiers. Often, when he calls, I feel like he's giving orders and checking up on me, not calling to see how life is going and to hear about my day. As far as parenting goes, he offers me solutions to problems I've already identified and honestly I don't want him to tell me what to do. I just want him to hear me out. I guess it's difficult to switch from being in charge to being a husband again but an effort should be made. Also, my birthday is coming up. In the seven months of his deployment he's sent me flowers once and that's it. No cards, no letters, nothing. Maybe this isn't a big deal to some people, but it is to me. I like those things. I appreciate the effort. You know especially when I'm here alone all day with my screaming kid and I am pretty sure I haven't washed my hair in at least a week.
I don't know. It's the little things that count at this point and if he can't be here physically, I feel like he should try to have my back in other ways. I'm sure we'll get through this. At this point though, I just feel like the deployment is winning.

On Being A Single Mom....

Tricare called me yesterday to see if I have post-partum depression. Really? Does my insurance company care? They also wanted to know if my husband made it home for the delivery. Answer: No. My husband got here nearly a week after I gave birth to our son, but more on the actual delivery later. According to the representative from Tricare nearly 10% of new mothers have a spouse who is deployed. Isn't that a little ridiculous? How many wars do we have to fight? How many lives have to be sacrificed before enough is enough and we can have some peace? How many husbands and fathers have to miss not just the birth of their son or daughter, but also all the many milestones in the lives of their children? I thought being married meant I wouldn't have to be a single parent. I never considered the fact that I would be a single parent when my husband was deployed. And yes, I am doing it alone. There is no live-in help, no baby nurse, just my son and me and it has been that way since our first night together in the hospital just a few short hours after an unscheduled c-section. I'm proud of my husband for sacrificing for his country, where I run into trouble is that he's not actually sacrificing for HIS country in this case. He's sacrificing for someone else's country. My patriotism appears to be limited to situations in which I feel like he's contributing to the protection of our freedoms not policing someone else's country. So sometimes I get frustrated. When the baby is crying and I can't console him. When I haven't eaten all day moreless showered or combed my hair. When I've finally gotten the baby in bed and I still have bottles to wash and laundry to do and yes that long awaited shower to take, I wonder, what is it that me and the other 10% of new moms not to mention every other military family with a deployed parent, sacrificing for?

First Blog...Words are Powerful.

My son was born on June 16. It's still strange for me to write "my son" almost as strange as it was when I got married and would find myself writing "my husband." I guess in the grander scheme of things, I didn't expect to ever find myself pregnant again. Definitely not pregnant and happily married and stable. Pregnant again. That in itself is also a strange phrase. Lately, reflecting on my life up to this point has been sort of a theme and these phrases come up that remind me of where I've been. I'm not the kind of person who says what I feel very easily. I often find that it's easier to write things down. Since my husband (there's that phrase again) has been deployed, I find myself writing him these long drawn out emails every night. I'm not even completely sure he reads them. I think, at times, he just skims them to see if there's anything important in there he should try to remember. Mostly he knows that I just need to work things out by writing them down because it's hard for me to say them. My husband is my best friend. I know that is cliche to say but in our case it's true. He's the only person in the world that I can say things too that I wouldn't normally say out loud. I guess that's why I send those stream of consciousness emails. I'm hoping he can follow my train of thought. I've always found the written word to be more powerful than what is spoken. Saying it out loud doesn't leave a permanent mark the same way the written word does. Try to remember the exact thing someone said to you 5 minutes ago, or 5 days ago. You can't. You might be able to paraphrase at best. Try to remember something someone said to you 5 years ago and I bet you can only remember the gist of what was said and only if it was something monumental. If it's written down, you can always go back and read it again and again. My obsession with the written word began a long long time ago so I guess it's no surprise that I teach composition for a living. In my class, I teach my students to avoid using vague words. Words like "good" and "delicious" are not allowed in my class. The point is that these words don't communicate anything. What's "good" or "delicious" to me, might not be to you, so it's important to try to write what you really mean. Easier said than done but worth the effort. My son came two weeks before his due date. In that time, I had planned to write him a letter. To explain to him all that was going on in our lives when he came in to the world. I wanted to tell him all the hopes and dreams I have for him. Everything that he can accomplish if he just sets his mind to it. There is still a part of me that wants to write everything down. I'm not entirely sure what stops me. I think part of it is a fear that the words that will come will be too much for me to handle. That my emotional barriers will be broken and that once I start I won't be able to stop. How does a mother tell her son how much she loves him? How wanted he is? How special he is? How nothing in the world could ever come between them? It's enough that I tear up every time I read or write the words "my son." And what if I find myself writing those vague words? Those words that most definitely mean something different to everyone? How will he interpret them? Will my message be lost because I couldn't communicate any more effectively than my first-year composition students? All I can do for now is say to him every day "I love you" and pray that in 5 minutes he won't forget, in 5 days he'll still my voice in his ear, and in 5 years he'll be confident in the fact that his mommy loves him and always will.