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.