Showing posts with label new mom. Show all posts
Showing posts with label new mom. Show all posts

Stop with the Mom Guilt

The other day, a friend of mine posted something on Facebook about her struggles with breastfeeding and the guilt that came along with it. It triggered something in me, as I too, had guilt associated with breastfeeding, but in a different way.

It made me realize, and not for the first time, that Mom Guilt is real. And it's so unnecessary.


The times in which I've felt guilty in the past 13 months are extensive, and for the most part, unreasonable. Here's the short list of what I've felt guilty about since I had Liam:

  • Breastfeeding
  • Not breastfeeding
  • Supplementing with formula
  • Feeding formula
  • Going back to work
  • Taking a vacation without him
  • Missing dinner
  • Missing bedtime
  • Wishing for bedtime
  • Getting frustrated with him
  • Going to happy hour with
  • Not playing enough with him
  • Cleaning, cooking or doing something other than spending time together when I get home from work
  • Looking at my phone instead of him
  • Not having family dinners
  • Not getting outside every day
  • Not enough tummy time
  • Not getting outside with him every day
  • Letting him cry it out
  • Screen time before the age of 2
  • Not making my own baby food
  • Not preparing elaborate lunches every day
  • Telling him no
  • Sometimes I use food or TV as a distraction
  • Putting him in timeout
  • Laying in bed for an extra beat when he wakes up crying to see if he'll stop
  • Not getting Liam dressed until noon some weekends
  • Wishing time away
  • Not buying organic
  • Not losing the baby weight
  • Not spending enough time with the dog
  • Not providing my husband with opportunity to spend time with Liam (early days)
  • Not "doing things" with Liam when I was on maternity leave
  • Spending too much money on Liam
  • Not spending enough money on Liam
  • Serving the same thing for dinner two nights in a row
  • Giving him Peanut Butter Jelly multiple times a week
This list isn't comprehensive, and I'm sure I will only add to it over the years. But it's just not OK.

There's enough mom shaming that goes on - I know other moms judge me, I don't need to judge me, too.

So let's stop, with the mom guilt, shall we? Or at least try to? Instead of focusing on things we do "wrong" or "selfishly," let's shift the focus. Feel your guilt if you need to, and then move on. Don't dwell. The fact that I can name all of the above instances means I am dwelling.

Anything you, or I, feel guilty about is not likely to ruin our children. And guilt is not going to make you a better parent, either. Instead, let's think about all of the ways we love, provide, teach and nurture our children.


I will if you will.
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On Your First Birthday

My sweet boy, Liam.

It seems impossible that one whole year has gone by since I went to the hospital, in more pain than I ever thought possible, and that just 10 hours later, at 7:25am on December 18, 2014, you came into the world.


It all happened so fast, and so agonizingly slow at the same time. One minute you were inside my belly, and then there you were. The moment they placed you on my chest, all legs and arms and warmth, I knew I was a changed woman.

I didn't get to hold you again for a whole 24 hours - they had to take you to the NICU for tests and then I had my own complications. Your poor Daddy, torn between the two greatest loves of his life. I urged him, needed him, to be with you. To let you know that you were not alone in this great big scary world that you had just become a part of.

From the first breathe you took, you have been a strong, alert, adaptable little boy. Every time over the past 12 months that I've been anxious or nervous about how you will react to something, you surpass any expectation.

This past year has been unlike anything I could have imagined. Watching the world through your eyes is, in a word, amazing. From your little view, two-feet off the ground, everyone deserves a smile, every day gets a belly laugh, and every thing in your path begs a name, a thought, an explanation. Everything, and everyone matters to you. I hope that always remains a part of your character.

You have a catalogue of noises, smiles and expressions, different for every person or occasion.
You have a roar that turns into a scream that turns into a giggle that turns into a belly laugh that will forever melt my soul.
You are sneaky and mischievous, too smart for your own good, knowing already how to walk the line between being naughty and cute.
You laugh in my face, openly, when I tell you No, and I will never be able to stay mad at your adorable face. Manipulation has never been more sweet.
You are messy and dirty and fearless and destructive, and my sweet little boy, all at the same time.
You still fit perfectly in the crook of my arm and in the space between my chin and my chest.
Your cheeks are amazing.
You are so very smart. Pride is a word I didn't know the true meaning of until I see you taking things that you learn from us and putting them in action.
You are so strong, "The Hulk" we call you, yet so small and fragile in the grand scheme of things.
Your hugs and kisses are addicting, and even if I got 1000 of each every day, it would never be enough.

This first year with you has been nothing short of an adventure. It's been the best of everything. It was challenging, and continues to be so, but we'll keep adapting. As much as I teach you, you are teaching me. I've never done this thing before. You are our world, but we are yours. We're in it together.


And if you ever forget, my love, how much I love you (and you will, most likely in those teenage years that I'm already dreading), know this: There is nothing I wouldn't do for you in this whole world.

You made me a mom, and I have never felt so lucky. You will forever occupy a place in my heart where no one else exists. You are my greatest joy and easily the best thing that I have ever done.

I love you, little one. Happy first birthday!

Love, Mom
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A Letter to My Pre-Mom Self

Tomorrow, our little one will have his infamous first birthday. And I'm feeling all of the feels.

One whole year. Of getting to know each other. Of loving him. Of being a mom.
At times, it felt like the longest journey. But really, it went by in the blink of an eye.

Seeing the changes in him in the past year, and knowing how in the next 12 months, he will change even more, blows my mind. Before my eyes, he will - he has - become less and less of a baby and morph, somehow, into a little boy. A talking, walking, tantrum-throwing, sloppy-kiss-giving little boy.


Getting to the end of first year has a bit of a "We made it!" feel to it. As in - we didn't have a fucking clue what we were doing. We were exhausted, anxiety ridden and clueless, but somehow, we figured it out and we are here. We have a happy, healthy boy, and holy shit - we kept him alive!

It's a definite mixture of pride at how far we've come and sadness about how quickly he's gone from "baby" to "toddler."

I've been reflecting on the past year, thinking about milestones we hit and those we didn't. (Like how is it possible we went 12 months without him rolling off the bed or changing table?!) I never thought I could experience so many emotions, and I never could have anticipated the ways life would change. The happiness, anxiety, joy, worry, guilt. The way a baby changes a marriage. The way a baby changes your priorities, and your outlook on life, and the world.

I love how much more confident I look in the picture on the right. It's a perfect way to depict the past year!

But I'm also reflecting on my first year of motherhood. The ways I've changed. The ways I am a different mom than I thought I'd be, and how I'm a better mom than I thought I'd be.

I can't say I would change a thing about the past year. But I do know that hindsight is 20/20, and if I could, I would say these things to the hugely pregnant, in-unbearable-pain, waddling, heavy-breathing, freaking-out me that walked through the hospital doors one year ago:

Your body will be different. For nearly 10 months, you grew a human. Then, you either pushed that human out of small opening, or you had it cut out of you while your internal organs looked on. So give yourself grace. Don't be so horrified when you aren't back to your pre-pregnancy weight right away. Parts of you will be bigger, other parts will be smaller. You may never really feel like you are "back," and that's OK. Be proud of your body and embrace it - it has done an amazing thing.

Ask for help when you need it. It takes a village, they say, and it's true. Ask your husband, friends, parents, siblings, caregivers, doctors - ask whomever you need, if you need something. You're not alone, and you don't have to do everything yourself.

Your marriage will be different. Inevitably, having a baby brings a slight imbalance to your marriage. The way your spouse does things will never be quite "right" at first. As a mother, you'll feel like you do everything, and he does nothing. You'll get jealous of the sleep he gets. You'll get angry he doesn't have boobs. You'll wish he understood the hormonal imbalance and anxiety pulsing through you. Date nights will be few and far between. Your sex life will bottom out for a while. But, you'll also gain a new respect for one another. You'll fall in love in a new way, marvel together at how you both created the most amazing person either of you have ever known. You'll accept that you don't have to do things the same way, as long as you're doing things with the same goal in mind. Tell him if you need help. Trust him. Do not keep score. Appreciate each other, and be grateful.

Try not to obsess so much about sleep. You will be tired beyond measure. You will be amazed at how refreshing a 4-hour stretch of sleep can feel, and also at how you wake up at every breath or movement from that baby when you used to be able to sleep through a freight train. The 4-month sleep regression will be a game changer. You will drive yourself crazy over when your baby will sleep through the night, and the things you can do to get him there. Don't. Sleep will eventually find you again. And when it does, it will probably not stick around for long. So until the day comes that you get consecutive good night's sleep, take naps when you can, trade nights with your parter and drink coffee. You will survive.

Don't Google so much. The Internet is your best friend and your worst enemy. While you can find some helpful information, many times, you'll also end up finding the worst case scenario and calling your doctor in a panic because you're sure your baby drank too much bath water and has drowned his internal organs and is going to die in his sleep. So just don't. Talk to your mom, your sisters, your brother, your friends, your Facebook groups. Find real advice and information instead of relying on Google.

Stop reading tragic, sad stories. Perspective on the world changes the moment you become a parent. The world becomes scarier. Life is more fragile. The saddest story takes on new meaning because now you imagine it being your reality. Try to focus on the happiness in the world. Pray for those who have gone through something, and embrace every precious day you're given.

Focus on what works for you. A lot of people will tell you what you "should" do. Take it with a grain of salt, and instead of overanalyzing what you SHOULD do, just keep doing what works for you. That's all that matters. Don't let all the nebulous "shoulds" out there weigh down your mothering mentality.

Breast milk is not the end all, be all. Breastfeeding and breast milk, while important, are not the only way to feed your baby. Do not stress yourself out if it takes some time to figure out how to do it. Don't feel guilty when you decide to stop pumping and breastfeeding because your milk supply is down. You do what you can, for as long as you can or want, and stop beating yourself up about it.

Don't be so hard on yourself. You will criticize and question every choice you make, from your choice to use a pacifier to whether or not you should go to dinner with your girlfriends. But remember that every decision you make is with your baby at top of your mind, and for that reason alone, you're amazing.

Stop comparing your baby to everyone else. It is so incredibly easy to look at other babies and compare your child to them. Stop. Literally every baby is different, and yours is not any better or worse for hitting milestones early or late.

Take time for yourself. You want to be there for every bedtime, every bottle, every moment. You don't want to miss a thing. And that's OK. But it's also OK if you do. Time for yourself will take a backseat, but do your best to take time every now and then to have dinner with friends, happy hour with co-workers, or a pedicure on the weekend. Take a weekend getaway if you can. You aren't a bad mother for doing this - in fact, you'll be a better mother because of it.

About maternity leave... It's OK if you don't "do anything" with the baby all day. It's OK if you take a shower and leave babe in his crib. It's OK to wear the baby around the house. It's OK to put him down for a nap. It's OK to lay in bed all day nursing and sleeping and watching DVR. It's OK to take walks and leave the house. Remember that to your brand new baby, every ray of light, every dust particle, every movement is new. Don't put pressure on yourself or your baby to get everything figured out in the time you have off work. Don't freak out about getting baby on a schedule. Just relax, and enjoy your baby. The weeks will go incredibly fast. And also, know that going back to work will be horribly hard, but will get easier with time.

Always remember, this too shall pass. There will be so many hard moments in your journey as a mother. And each time you encounter one, it will seem horrible and never-ending. But try to remember, in every moment, hard or not, good or bad, this too shall pass. You will get through it and figure out.

You will be different. Suddenly, the eyes with which you view the world are skeptical and worried. From this point on, you will forever see the world through the eyes of a mom. You will long for parts of your former self, and try to find a balance between her and this new person you've become. You'll long for time alone but when you get it, you'll miss your baby. You'll be super overprotective, but think that you're actually pretty laid back. And over time, you'll realize that you can't control anything, and that expectations have no place in parenting. You'll surprise yourself with the things you care about now. You'll wonder what you cared about before.You will grow. You will adjust. You will re-adjust and adjust again.

Know that you are enough. Do not compare yourself to other moms, especially the ones on Instagram whose babies are dressed in adorable outfit every day, whose babies are always smiling, who share pictures of 24 oz of breast milk in one sitting, whose babies are sleeping peacefully. Do not start or end sentences with "Mom Fail," or "I'm a bad mommy," or "I'm a lazy mommy, " or any similar phrasing. You are a GOOD mommy. The best mommy. Nothing more and definitely nothing less.

More than anything, I'd want my pre-mom self to know this:

You will be filled so much love you won't know what to do with it. You'll feel like you're spilling over with it. You'll feel it all the time, and it will find you at random moments. While you're watching him take his first steps. When he first smiles at you. When he gives you a slobbery, open mouthed kiss. When he shares his food with you. This kind of love can feel paralyzing, but embrace it. Embrace all of it. Find humor where you can, and smile, because you are the luckiest to be this child's mother. And he's the luckiest to have you.
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Parenting in One Word

Momentous occasions are always met with required follow-up commentary and questions. When you get engaged, people ask how it happened. When you get married, people ask if it feels different. When you get pregnant, people wonder how you're feeling, when you're due and are you excited?

Having a baby is no different. Along with congratulations on your child's beauty and asking if you're getting any sleep, people with kids usually ask how you're feeling, And people without kids ask:
What's it like being a mom?
Is it possible to sum up what it feels like to be someone's entire world in one sentence? Or one word?

When people ask me what it's like being a mom, my short, one-word answer would be this: Overwhelming. In every. single. way. you can possibly imagine.

You are overwhelmed with responsibility. With happiness. Overwhelmed with gratitude. With anxiety, and hormones. Overwhelmed with fear. And more than anything, with love.

Overwhelmed is not (always) a bad thing. It is just to say that everything you feel after having a baby is amplified. Bigger, sometimes heavier. You're at your most vulnerable, and suddenly, every choice you make directly affects more than just you.

So when people ask me what it's like to be a mom, or how I feel, the long answer I'd give, is this:

I'm overwhelmed with joy when I walk through the door and his face lights up like he has never been, will never be, happier than he is at that instant, at seeing his mama walk through the door. At the distinct "Mama," followed by a slur of jargon that only a parent could understand. Joy can be overwhelming.

I'm overwhelmed with guilt, at times. For not being the mom who makes all of her baby's food or buys only organic. For being the mom who buys frozen meatballs and serves Spaghettio's. For feeling like I'm never giving enough but knowing I can't give any more. For buying him things that I know in my heart he doesn't need, and for not buying him everything despite that. Guilt is overwhelming.

I'm overwhelmed with pride when he takes wobbly, hesitant (yet confident) steps, one hand holding on to his ear like he's holding a boombox, while the other is extended, like he's from The Walking Dead.

I'm overwhelmed with options. What is the difference between the convertible car seat that costs $100 more than the other model by the same brand? What is the difference between natural and all natural? Should his diapers be sensitive or cruisers or baby dry? Choices are overwhelming.

I'm overwhelmed with awe when I think I about how just one year ago, my baby was growing inside my belly. With the idea that my husband and I created him. With the way my heart feels when he looks up at me and in his eyes I can see happiness, wonder and love. To be constantly in awe of something or someone, is overwhelming.

I'm overwhelmed with fear. That something terrible, tragic and horrible is going to happen to me, my husband or my baby. Overwhelmed with grief and sadness when I read about other mothers, ones who are diagnosed postpartum with cancer or rare diseases. Parents whose babies died, for no reason at all or for the most unimaginable reason in the world. Isn't any reason unimaginable? Fear is crippling.

I'm overwhelmed with relief that right now, in this moment, me, my husband and my baby are alive, healthy and thriving. Then again, I'm overwhelmed with guilt at feeling this way at another family's expense.

I'm overwhelmed with information, about everything from when to start solid foods to how to wean off a bottle or pacifier to how to get the baby to sleep through the night, right down to what shoes are best when baby starts to walk. Knowledge, and my lack of it, is overwhelming.

I'm overwhelmed with nostalgia, thinking about my own childhood; traditions and memories with my parents and family, and the desire to create those same moments with my new little family. Nostalgia at my "old" self, and the notion that doing anything on a whim is no longer possible and that getting drunk on date night is not as fun when you know you still have to wake up and be a parent. (Hello again, guilt, at longing for a time of life when the baby wasn't here.)

I'm overwhelmed with time, both the sheer lack of it and the pace with which is moves by, so quickly.

But mostly, I'm overwhelmed by love. Incredible, all-encompassing, take-your-breath-away love that is shocking, really. A kind of love so great and so big, it's frightening, but wonderful...and indescribable.

Parenting is overwhelmingly hard. Overwhelmingly rewarding. And if you ask me what it's like to be a mom, or how I'm feeling - I'll tell you the short version.

And I'll hope that someday, you know just what I mean.
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10 Things I Was Before I Was "Mom"

As most any mom will tell you - they love being a mom. But I think we'd all be lying if we said we didn't think about, miss -- sometimes even long for -- the period of life before we lost a bit of our former selves.

Times we didn't appreciate. Times my kids will likely never know about, and if they do, never believe. Times that I'm willing to bet, our closest friends didn't appreciate, either. (My friends LOVE drunk Rachel. And they miss her.)

So kids, if you're reading - here are some things you should know about your Mom:

1. Before I was a mom, my Instagram featured something other than you. I know it's hard to believe, but "Mom Me," my Instagram looked like anyone else's: Poorly "styled" food photos, snaps of the alcoholic beverage I was consuming, overused hashtags, my dog, and trips from travels.

But then I got pregnant and my baby bump took over the feed. And then you actually arrived and I totally became the mom that I swore I never would be on social media. #BLESSED (Just kidding, I have never and will never use that hashtag.)

2. Before I was a mom, I used to sleep. On the weekends, you could find me going to bed between the hours of midnight and 4am. I'd rise for a quick hangover fix between 10-11am and then go back to bed and stay there, drifting between states of consciousness, before I got up and did it all again. I napped when I wanted to, woke up when I wanted to and that's right, went to bed when I wanted to.

3. Before I was a mom, I wasn't annoying. Not AS annoying, anyway. I certainly wasn't doing things like talking baby talk, making up songs about stinky diapers, dancing like a fucking idiot to make you smile, and following people around saying "No thank you!" as politely as possible when I really want to say "Don't touch that, god dammit!"

4. Before I was a mom, I used to be kinda cool. That's right.  I was COOL AF. Nevermind. I wasn't cool. I'm still not.

5. Before I was a mom, I judged other moms. Kids throwing tantrum in public? Kids wearing mismatched clothes? Moms in public looking disheveled? Helicopter parenting? NOT ME. NEVER.

6. Before I was a mom, I used to party my ass off. Oh, the stories I could tell. The stories my friends could tell. I got five underage drinking tickets before I turned 21-three of those were in one week, and two were in one night. (No drinking until you're 21, kids!) The night I did turn 21, I took 21 shots to celebrate and lived to tell the tale. I was voted to have the "Best Party House" in high school. I passed out before noon on St. Patrick's Day, woke up three hours later and STILL went out to party the day away. Know this.


7. Before I was a mom, I was athletic. Well, kind of. I worked out on a semi-regular basis. I ran (a) half-marathons. I did a Tough Mudder. I was pretty much a badass.


8. Before I was a mom, I cursed like a motherfucker. I'm trying to get better at this, especially while I still have the luxury of you not really being able to talk. I'm sure hearing you mutter, "God Dammit" will not only give me the chuckles, but I will think it's adorable and impossible to scold you. That is until you start dropping F bombs. (And even then, let's be honest...)

9. Before I was a mom, I was put together. I curled my hair. I straightened my hair. If I styled my hair one way and didn't like it, I'd try the other. I had time for these things. I did my makeup.  I wore jewelry. I tried on multiple outfits, worried about parts of my body other than my post-baby mom pouch. Now that I go to work, I am a *little* closer to being put together, but if you bet on my outfit on any given day, if I were you, I'd include "hoodie" and "yoga pants" in your wager.


10. Before I was a mom, I never knew how much how much I wanted to be one. Most of us spend our life trying NOT to get pregnant. We're scared of it. Even when we decided we wanted a baby, it was terrifying. But that moment you, my first baby, entered the world, you took it over. Life split into two halves: before you, and after.


Life before you was wonderful. I'm grateful for it. But I wouldn't trade one moment of this "after" life with you.
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To The: Huffington Post Edition

As many of you know, I recently had the privilege of becoming a blogger for the Huffington Post. What that means is, I have my own platform on the back-end where I can submit blogs for them to say "yay" or "nay." I've been lucky to have three blogs published so far, all of which were previously published here.

My most recent blog, "The Parenting Cliche I Cannot Stand," generated quite a conversation. I knew it would, but didn't anticipate the reach. The first time it was posted on Facebook, it got 3,421 likes, 759 shares and 237 comments. The second time, it was 328 likes, 83 shares and 25 comments. On the actual article, it got great engagement, too:


So, all in all, lots of likes, tons of shares, and lots of comments. Of which I read every single one.

And I've got to say - the comments were fascinating. Majority of people sharing and commenting on it were saying "THANK GOD SOMEONE IS TALKING ABOUT THIS!" or "AMEN!" or "Thank you for making me feel like I'm not alone." All sentiments that tie back to why I love to write.

But everyone else? What a bunch of miserable people, and parents. Seriously.

I suppose me writing that only goes to support their arguments that if I don't want to hear what other people have to say, I shouldn't have a blog or "post my shit on Facebook." 

But, honestly - why does parenthood have to be so polarizing? Why do people feel like their way is the right way? Or feel like it's OK to put other people down? Or just be plain mean? And judgmental?

I don't get it.

As much I would have liked to tell many of the commenters to "Fuck off" directly, I figured that'd be poor form. So I'm going to passive aggressively tell them to fuck off here, where they likely won't see it.  

To this genius:
"35 weeks? How about your child is almost 3 years old."
I'm not the best at math, but I'm pretty sure there are about 52 weeks in a year. I hope you don't have to use math or simple, every day knowledge to get through each day.


To this insightful lad: 
"I feel like this author needs more sleep. Geez." 
Ummm, yep. Pretty much the gist.

To this dumbass: 
"This is just plain stupid and obviously written by a first time mom of a still a baby. My daughter was such a hard baby. She woke up every hour screaming at me for an hour then would make me bleed. She didn't sleep through the night until 1 year. And age 3 was the worst. And my boys were 18 months apart. My middle son was colic. Now my daughter is 11 and my middle son is starting kindergarten. And I know with a blink of an eye they will all be adults. I wonder where the time went and if I could do it all over again even without the sleep. I would love to snuggle my crying baby girl at night again. I would in a heartbeat. And imagine a mom of all grown children reading this or one who has lost a child. So I agree with the comment not this ridiculous petty blog post from someone with little experience. What a bad attitude on parenthood. Sheesh."
So many things. The first being, I'm willing to bet that when you were in the thick of those experiences - YOUR experiences - you were not enjoying it all. It's easy to look back on those times now that your kids are older and say you'd "snuggle at night again in a heartbeat." That's the way hindsight and perspective works. But at the time I wrote this, I wasn't there. If I get there on my own journey as a parent, I'll let you know. But your feelings/experiences are yours, and mine are mine. 

As for the bit about imagining a mom of grown children reading or one who has lost a child - first, many mothers of grown children did read this and comment and agree. So there's that. And for the women who read who had lost a child - I'm so very sorry for their loss. But that loss and experience is not the same and can't be compared to what I was experiencing at the time I wrote this.

Finally: I have a bad attitude on parenthood? Did you read your comment, or? 

To this moron: 
"Get a life- there are people in the world with real problems." 
Why don't you get a life, and spend your time doing something better and more productive than writing nasty comments on a blog, you troll! 

To this kind mama: 
"I wish I could dissolve the negative comments and tell you that your post really hit home. I shared it on my wall and it was doubly irritating when the people who commented clearly missed the point. We love our children with every ounce of our being. But it doesn't mean we love musical beds at night, especially when we have to function the next day and the days after that. I squeeze all the hugs I can get now. I bring them into bed with us just so I can spend more time with them even if it means while we sleep. I will miss so many things, their smell, their laugh, their cuddles, etc. The poop running down my leg, the over tired toddler who slaps me in the face, the baby who dips his hand in the food only to immediately grab my newly washed hair (ok that one maybe a little), the crying fits in the car when we all just want to reach our destination, etc....... I will gladly look in the rear view mirror on those. Thank you for writing this and letting me know I'm not alone. Hugs to you!
Thank you for this. You are the kind of person I hoped I would reach, and the kind of feedback I hoped I would get. You hit the nail on the head, and thank you for your support.

To this ass-hat: 
"Sounds like your in need of counseling, if not for you then for your Baby!"
Thank you for the laugh! I needed it.

To you, my friend:
"Thank you for writing this. I too cried as I read the final lines because you have described motherhood exactly as it is."
I cried when I read your comment because it made me feel so good!

To you, Negative Nancy:
"Maybe you shouldn't post shit about your kid on Facebook. No one wants to read it anyways. Problem solved."
Which part of a FB status that reads "For Lent I'm giving up sleep, #newmom" references anything about my child? What's that? It doesn't? It only talks about my own lack of sleep? K, thanks, bye!

To you, Mommy War advocate:
"Babies can't manipulate you our use you as a pacifier. That's a cliché. And a myth. Put forth since formula feeding became a norm."
You're the reason that "mommy wars" exist. I didn't say a word about being manipulated, and the bit about using my boob as a pacifier? You bet your ass that my baby would at times only sleep if my boob was in his mouth. He was not eating. So, sorry, but to me, that's the same effect as a pacifier. Take your judgement and move along.

To the most miserable person ever:
"Another in an endless tirade of victimhood by parents who take offense at every interaction that they themselves haven't pre-approved or scripted. Why write a blog if you don't want people to comment? Go through life and grade every social interaction as not good enough and be miserable all of the time. That's your choice."
I love this comment so much. I don't really have much to say in response, except that the post and it's entirety went completely over this person's head, and if that's what she picked up, then I'm guessing it's a reflection of her own feelings of parenthood.

To this ignorant ass:
"What did she think before she became a mother...that the baby was just going to be this cute little person that lies around in a onesie all day? Boo hoo she loses some sleep - she is supposed to be molding and a life...losing a little sleep should be the least of her problems."
While I admit my version of being a mom was slightly romanticized, I was not naive enough to think that I would be getting a lot of sleep at the outset. I certainly underestimated how hard it was going to be though. Good news for you, asshole, I am molding a life and doing so while getting a full night's rest these days. Fuck off.

To this jackass:
"Get over it. Stop writing a blog. You are not the first woman to have a baby."
WHAATTT!?? Stop it. I don't believe you.

To Peggy:
I think if there are 'many days and nights' where you are breaking down and crying you should ask those around you for help. It should not be this terrible. Good Luck
You must not remember the complete hormonal imbalance that your body goes through after having a baby. I won't apologize for being supremely emotional in those early weeks of being a new mom, and being overwhelmed with happiness, responsibility and with love. Sometimes my "break downs" were crying out of pure joy. Other times it was because I was clueless. Never because it was terrible. I have a tribe of help around me that I go to when I need it.

To Miserable Melvin:
You made them, deal with it. In a few years that kid won't be able to stand the sound of YOUR voice. By the time they are teens, you will be the dumbest most worrisome person on Earth. 
So what you're saying is, your kids really like you, huh? Worry about your your own relationships with your children, and don't prophesize what mine will be like.

But mostly, to this woman:
"I think it is time we all stop judging ourselves based on other's opinions of how motherhood should look. If you are loving your child, caring for your child, providing for all of your child's needs, and doing your best to contribute positively to their life, then you are doing exactly what a parent should. I am sure there are and will be some who comment negatively and often downright nastily, just let those go. Your words are true for you and so many others and it is refreshing to read them."
Thank you. That is perspective that I can appreciate, that is support, which is what so many other comments were not.

Ahh, hate mail. Gotta love it.
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Slow Down

At the end of each day, after I've kissed my sweet baby good night, have cleaned up the toys, and settled in for what is finally a full night's sleep, I often marvel over how we got this far.

Generally speaking, parents have no clue what they are doing. Especially the first time around. It's amazing our abilities to intuitively know what to do, and figure things out as we go.

I've made no qualms about the fact that I thought the first 3-4 months were a bear. Those months were more intense than anything I could have anticipated, or could accurately describe to anyone who hasn't been there.

In those difficult moments, I wished time away. I wished for moments to vanish. I wished for milestones to come and go. I wished for days, and often nights, to pass more quickly.

Now that we've gotten to know our little man, and he us, we've settled into such an enjoyable groove. It feels like we've only just gotten to a point of pure enjoyment. A time where we can laugh through (most of) the hard moments, because we know it will all be fine. We're know we're going to blink and this time with our boy will be gone.

The other night, I was holding Liam's hand while we rocked before bed. I rubbed his ring finger on his left hand, thinking about how one day, there would be a ring there, a symbol of promise to be the keeper of his heart. And it wouldn't be me.

I pat his little bottom after bath time and watch him giggle, thinking how in just a few short years, loving pats on the bottom will be met with an eye roll and, "Mooomm!"

He makes hilarious noises and sounds to communicate, and I wonder what his little voice will sound like when he learns to talk. How he'll blush when I tell everyone how roaring was his communication method of choice.

He snuggles into my chest when we're rocking before bed, his little head a perfect fit in the space between my jaw and my shoulder, and he feels so small, so yet so big, in my arms.

I read him stories, the same ones over and over and over again, knowing that one day, sooner than I expect, repeating myself will be one of my least favorite past times.

Time is a thief, stealing moments and hours. Time lies, making me think there is more of it in a day, weekend, month. Sometimes, time feels like my enemy, seeking revenge for the times I wished it away, by making the best moments pass faster than the not-so-great ones.

So, I apologize, Time, for wishing you away. I promise never to do it again if you could just slow down.
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To the New Mom Walking

Hey, you.

Yes, you - the mama at the intersection looking nervously in every direction to make sure all the cars are stopped before you cross the street with the baby stroller you are gripping for dear life.

You, the one pushing your new travel system, which you have covered, but keep peeking under to make sure your brand new, beautiful, most precious piece of cargo is still alive - and sleeping.

You push the stroller back and forth, back and forth, a quiet "shhhh" crossing your lips - unconscious movements and noises. You hope, wish, pray that you can make it to Starbucks and back without the baby waking or screaming.

I know you. We've never met. But I'd recognize you anywhere.

You're self-conscious out here in broad daylight. You wonder if people around you think you look fat, or like a slob in your yoga pants, or if your breasts are leaking. You subconsciously tug your shirt down.

You walk gingerly, still sore from the trauma of delivering a human.

I see you, sneaking your phone under the car seat cover to snap a picture of that sleeping beauty. You're making sure to get some of the sidewalk or sunlight in the photo, to make it known that you're outside, and that you're brave enough to leave the house.

You have a venti coffee in the cup holder, and as you walk, you do so carefully, so as not to spill a drop of your precious caffeine. You're already thinking about when you can have a second cup.

Beneath your sunglasses, your eyes are tired and bloodshot. They still sting from this morning, when for no reason at all - yet for every reason in the world - you burst into tears when your mom called to see how you're doing.

Your hair, piled high in a pony tail, is wet from the shower you took this morning. The first one you've taken in days. The one that lasted a whole three minutes, because even though your little one was sleeping in his Rock 'n Play just outside the bathroom door, you still stuck your head out of the shower every 30 seconds because you swore you could hear him crying.

You're confident from taking a shower. This small victory made it easier for you to put on fresh yoga pants - not the ones you've been wearing the past few days. Cleanliness and accomplishment propelled you out the front door with determination to seize the day.

I know you, Mama. I was you. I am you.

You're tired in a way that you've never known, never knew, was possible. You're overwhelmed, in every sense of the word - with love, responsibility, amazement, uncertainty. You're scared. You have no idea what you're doing. You question every single decision you make. Your Google history would show me everything from "how long can breast milk sit out" to "why is my baby crying." You cry for no reason, sometimes just because you love that baby more than anything.

But outside the walls of your home, being a mom doesn't seem as hard. The day ahead of you, filled with feedings and crying, shushing and soothing, dirty diapers and spit up, doesn't seem as daunting.

You look forward to that baby opening his eyes, so you can talk to him, kiss him, snuggle him. You don't feel like bursting into tears when someone asks you how you are. You don't feel scared at the prospect of taking care of this baby, whom you've only just met and are still getting to know, all by yourself - at least until Dad gets home. In the fresh air and sunshine, you feel like you've got this.

And you should. Because you do. I promise you, despite how unfit for it you feel, you are the best person for this new job you hold. You will find your groove. And while I can't promise you it will get easier, I can tell you on good authority that it does get better.

So keep walking, Mama. You're doing great.
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An Open Letter to My Boobs

Well, girls. What can I say?

I guess I'll start with thank you. Thank you for allowing me to nurse Liam. I know how hard that can be for some women. I was worried before he arrived that you might fail me, but when the physical part of nursing came easily to us, I was so proud of you, girls! I knew that some day, your ridiculous size (a quality I've never liked about you) might come in handy. You didn't let me down.

Speaking of let downs, I have a bone to pick with you, Boobs. When Liam went on a nursing strike a few months ago, which caused me to have to pump exclusively for going-on three months now - why did you girls insist on being so stubborn? Why have you put me under so much stress, making me freak out and stress over clogged ducts, no let downs, my inability to empty you and lack of supply?
I know it was a sad day that fateful morning when Liam screamed at the sight of you. It made me feel bad, too. But that's no reason to just give up, is it?

For months now, Boobs, you've been playing mind games with me. "How much milk should we give her today?" I can just hear you both snickering to each other as I hook myself up to that damn pump for the umpteenth time, hopeful that for a let down (or two).

At least four times each day, I sit down, looking forward to our time together, confident you'll work hard for me, for the baby. And each day, ladies, especially lately, you disappoint me. I sit, and I pump, and I speak to you kindly. I give you warmth, good food, lots of vitamins and supplements, and plenty to drink to keep you full.

And still, you give me the silent treatment. (Except for those times when the only noise you make is a boob fart.)
I'm starting to think you really just like the intense massages I have to give you for the entire 30 minutes of our sessions together, since that seems to be the only way to get you do anything at all.

And hey, left boob? Why are you so damn lazy? Your sister on the right shows up to work every day, doing about twice, sometimes three times the work you do in a 24-hour period. Get it together, would you?

I'm sorry for everything you've gone through the last 9.5 months. I know it hasn't been easy, what with all the clogged ducts, engorgement and bleeding you've experienced. I'm sorry for those times when the baby reared his head back during a feeding session, and didn't let go of the nipple first.
I'm only asking for a couple more months of this. Less, if you can start to work harder. Can we do it? Can you just work with me a little while longer?

After that (and after the next kid...and maybe one more after that...), I cross my heart and hope to die: I will pay for the nicest face lift money can buy. You've got my word.


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37 Times You Know You're a Parent

Parenthood changes you - physically, mentally and emotionally. Priorities shift, emotions intensify, marriages evolve.

And tolerance for bodily functions increases tenfold.

After just seven months, I’ve gone from an aversion to blood and vomit, to now deciding whether or not to shower or change clothes based not on IF I was pooped, peed or puked on, but on the amount that is still on me. So there's that.

Note the vomit on my shoulder. #dontcare

Whether it’s catching puke midstream with my hand before it hits someone in the face, or recognizing the warm (yet not fuzzy) feeling spreading across my stomach while nursing – these are the moments where I think, "You're definitely a parent."

I asked other parents when they had this same revelation. Their answers left me equal parts entertained, horrified and frightened.

Spoiler alert: Being a parent involves a lot of poop. Can you relate?

Photo Credit: lifecreations via Compfight cc
You Know You're a Parent When...
  1. You'd rather stay home on Saturday night than wake up at 6am to nurse a baby AND a hangover.
  2. You celebrate bowel movements with a "poop dance."
  3. You don’t think twice about pushing on your boobs in public to see how full you are.
  4. You want to kick the person’s ass that coined the saying, "Sleeping like a baby." It should be switched to, "Sleeping like my 80-pound Labrador Retriever on a Tempur-Pedic bed."
  5. You accidentally tell your co-workers you'll be ready for lunch after you go "potty."
  6. You institute a "no bodily functions" rule at the dinner table.
  7. You find yourself alone in the kitchen at night softly singing "Old McDonald" as you do dishes.
  8. You find yourself saying "Oh, good, it's just vomit."
  9. Your husband asks if you want to have a "quickie," and you think he said "cookie." You’re disappointed because you would prefer the cookie.
  10. You learn to shower with people watching you.
  11. You sniff your baby's butt multiple times a day and think nothing of it.
  12. You leave the house and find pacifiers in your pockets.
  13. The 10pm showing of a new movie is too late for date night.
  14. You use the restroom with a kid in your lap.
  15. You know the pain of stepping on a Lego.
  16. You and your spouse create a swear jar just so your kiddo doesn't repeat that four-letter word to his Sunday school teacher...again.
  17. The most revered object in the household is the hairdryer. Not because you give a damn what your hair looks like, but because it's the only thing that can get your baby to stop crying and fall asleep.
  18. You poop with the door open.
  19. You're singing along to the Frozen soundtrack, then realize you're in the car alone.
  20. Getting poop on your hand—or anywhere else—doesn’t faze you.
  21. You know precisely how to "extract" a hard poop ball from your child.
  22. You have groceries in the cart, and you're totally okay with leaving them in the aisle, so you can assist your screaming child out of the store.
  23. You find yourself swaying and rocking, no matter where you are—or if there is a baby in your arms.
  24. Food falls out of your bra when you undress at the end of the day...and it wasn't food you ate.
  25. You find boogers on your curtains.
  26. You learn to bribe your children with everyday tasks. "If you pick up your blocks before bed, you get to brush your teeth!"
  27. You keep watching kid shows after the kids go to bed.
  28. Going to work on Monday sounds like a vacation.
  29. You buy clothes for yourself based on how easily puke will wash out.
  30. You hear a baby cry in the store and instantly start rocking your shopping cart.
  31. You hide to eat a snack because you don't want to share.
  32. Your trip to the gynecologist is your idea of "girl time!"
  33. You make up songs… for everything.
  34. You consider 7AM sleeping in.
  35. You pretend to use the bathroom just so you can play on your phone for a few minutes without being bothered.
  36. You know where all the drive-thru Starbucks are in your city since you frequent them daily driving baby around for nap.
  37. You can fall and stay asleep in almost any position.
When was a moment that you realized you were in the thick of parenthood?
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Give Yourself Grace

Lately I've found myself in a bit of a negative funk. It comes and goes, but when it comes, it's intense. It infiltrates every part of my brain. 

I just feel like there are so many things to juggle right now. Everything is only getting half my effort or attention - nothing gets 100%. It's a shitty feeling.


I've made a concerted effort lately to change my perspective. To try and not be so hard on myself.

People tell me this all the time - that' I'm too hard on myself. I always have been. I'm that girl who brings herself down with more negative thoughts than I'd ever admit to anyone who asked. 


Nothing I do is good enough. I don't exercise enough. I am too forgetful. I am so clumsy. I am too this, too that, not enough this and definitely not enough that.


Now, as a mom, those "flaws" morph into anxiety or worse, guilt. 


Over having to go to work every day and leave Liam with a nanny. 

About not yet having started a college savings account for him. 
About looking forward to bedtime some nights, even though I've only spent a total of 3 hours with him that day. 
Still about not exercising enough. 
About not being able to get done all the things I used to be able to get done in a day. 
About not producing enough breast milk or drinking too much wine. 
About not losing enough weight fast enough.
not saving enough money.
spending too much money.
not waking up early enough.
not going to bed early enough.

I have anxieties about bad things happening to people I love - mostly, my family. everything feels more fragile now that I'm a parent. Probably because it is.


It is so easy to get bogged down in all of the things I'm not doing good enough, instead of focusing on the things I am doing well. Or to think about the areas in life where I'm doing the best I can. And why. 


I am working because the money I am earning will allow us to give Liam with a life where we can provide for him.


I am also working to pay off debts so that someday soon, we can start putting money into savings for Liam instead of into credit card payments.


Although I might look forward to bedtime so I can get some things done, those 3-4 hours I am spending with Liam, I teach him, love on him, play with him and I'm all in.


I may not exercise enough, but I am exercising when I can, and that has to be enough right now.


It's natural to not want anything bad to happen to our loved ones, but worrying about things not in our control is a waste of energy. Not to mention morbid and toxic. Instead. I must be grateful, and hold every day a little closer to my heart.


I can't do everything in a day - no one can. But I do what I can.


And isn't that the most important thing? That as moms, and parents, we do the best we can? 


There is just so much judgment out there in the world - so many ways to compare ourselves and so many ways we don't measure up. 


We don't make enough money, live in a big enough house, take enough family vacations, eat enough healthy food, save enough money, sleep enough hours.


When is "enough" actually enough?


I allow myself moments, sometimes entire days to feel overwhelmed and consumed by these negative emotions. But before I go to bed at night, I try my damnedest to remember what is most important: I'm doing the best I can. I am enough for Liam. I am enough for my husband. 


I give myself grace.
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Why I Hate This Parenting Cliche


A couple of months ago, when Lent started, I published a Facebook status that said, "For Lent, I'm giving up sleep. #newmom."

Funny, right?

It got 45 likes and several comments from commiserating and empathetic mommies and daddies, saying "Amen!" or "Piece of cake!" They got my joke. They understood that as a parent, you have to try and find the humor in pretty much everything, or you won't survive.

But then I saw this comment:

I know it sounds like total BS, but you really will miss the late night snuggling once he gets older. So although it sucks now, try to soak it up.

I 'liked' the comment, but actually, I fucking hated the comment. Like, it really pissed me off. 

"Soak it up," along with "Enjoy this time" or "Embrace the moment" have become my most hated pieces of parenting advice. (I hate even more that I have said this cliche to other expecting mommies.)

Why, you ask?

Most of the time, this instance included, I get this advice after a comment about some of the less-desirable parts of being a mom to an infant. Here, it was about lack of sleep. But the well-intended advice pisses me off because for one, I didn't say anything that would imply that I am NOT "soaking it up." I didn't complain about the lack of sleep. I didn't say "No sleep sucks," I didn't even mention late-night snuggles. 

(Side note: No sleep for mom does not always equal "late night snuggles." Sometimes, it equals a screaming, writhing baby who does not want to snuggle, he wants to cry/scream/play/eat/chat, etc.) 

So to tell me that I should be "soaking it up" in the middle of the night when I'd rather be sleeping? No thanks.

Quite simply, I was making light of the fact that, as the mom of a then-8-week-old, I wasn't sleeping, and therefore, giving up sleep for Lent would be easy peasy. HA. HA. HA!

For another thing: Not all moments in motherhood are enjoyable or precious. In fact, some of them are quite literally, shitty. Just because I don't particularly enjoy having bloody nipples and I don't cherish every dirty diaper I change and I don't like waking up every 45 minutes to receive a pacifier, doesn't mean that I'm a bad mom. At least I don't think it does. It also doesn't mean I won't do those things. Of course I will. It's all part of the gig, so I'll grin and bear it.

And finally, perhaps most important: Things are hard enough as a new mom, or even a veteran mom. I don't need the added pressure of feeling like I absolutely have to enjoy every moment of parenting. There have been nights and days when I break down and cry at the enormity of it all, of this job being a mom. I think selfish thoughts like, "I want to sleep," or "I can't do this," or "I just want to be alone." 

And my next thought is always, "But you should enjoy this time, everyone says to enjoy this time!" And then the guilt floods my veins like a drug. Oh, the guilt. It's overwhelming.

Yes, I know, and I agree: Motherhood is precious. Babies are miracles. Time goes too fast. The days are long, but the years are short. But here's the thing: I will choose to "embrace," "enjoy" and "soak up" the moments that I deem deserving of such emotion. 

And for me, those do not include nights where I only get an hour or two of sleep. Days where I have to sit around topless because my child has decided he will only be placated by my breast in or near his mouth. Moments when I'm late for work because my baby puked on the first three outfits I had on. Times when my child is in hysterics and I have no fucking clue what is wrong or how to make it better. Visits home when I want to cuddle up and play with my nieces and nephews like I used to, but I can't because there's someone else who needs me more than them. 

For me, it's these hard moments that make the others so enjoyable. 

With each passing day that Liam has been a part my life, I am learning. I am growing. It is getting easier, as everyone told me it would. I am "enjoying" a lot more these days, and even now, it's hard to dig deep and remember just how hard those first few weeks were, for all of us. 

I know he won't always need me. I know he won't always be small. I know that the toughest phases of parenting won't last forever. I know I won't be able to cuddle him forever.I know this.

I snuggle Liam as often as I can, and savor it, because even though he's only 20 weeks old, he is already too busy discovering the world to sit still with me very often. 
I inhale his baby smell and kiss his chubby cheeks, thighs and belly a hundred times a day. 
I tear up when I'm rock him, overwhelmed by the all-consuming love I have for him. 
I grieve when he outgrows clothing or goes up a size in his diaper. 
I melt when I see him light up when his Dad walks in the room. 
When he smiles at me, I think, "my heart cannot take any more emotion." 
When he "talks" to me, providing all of the facial expressions and dramatic pauses of adult, I laugh so hard, and my cheeks hurt from smiling. 
When he relaxes in my arms, I breathe a sigh of relief - he needs me and I can make it, whatever 'it' is at that particular moment, better. 
I am crying as I write all of these things, because my heart swells thinking of all the fun we've had, and have yet to experience.

So, I am enjoying it. Most of it. 

But just because, for one night, I might want to lay my baby down to sleep instead of holding him in my arms, does not mean I am not soaking it up. It just means I'm tired.

Many of you reading this probably disagree with me. You're probably shaking your head, thinking that I couldn't know what I'm talking about. How could I, my baby is only 4 months old! You sit there,with your toddlers, tweens, teenagers or adult children, and think, "No, I really do miss those hard moments, honest." I'm sure you do. You're entitled to. And maybe someday I'll look back on this post and I'll laugh at my naïveté, and I will miss EVERY moment, not just the snuggley ones.  

But that's my journey to go on. You went through it, now let me go through it. Let me feel what I feel, enjoy what I enjoy, and not embrace what I don't want to embrace, and please don't tell me to do otherwise. I'm embracing, enjoying, soaking in everything, as best as I can, just like you and every other mommy or daddy out there.

Anyone else feel like this, or am I a Negative Nancy, party of 1?
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Sleepless in Chicago

As per my Instagram,  the 4-month sleep regression is not only REAL - it is a real motherfucker.

Sorry for my lack of presence. I have about 10 half-written blogs in my drafts, but have just been busy with work, life and being a mom, that  I haven't gotten a chance to finish them or write anythign new. But, as writing is my therapy, I need to visit my corner of the world today to get some things out.

Before we went home to Iowa for Easter (which I have yet to blog about. SLACKER!), Liam was sleeping from 9pm -5am, at which point he ate briefly, and went back to sleep until 7:15-7:30am. For the most part, he was sleeping in his crib. We usually had to go into his room to give him back his paci, but for the most part...we weren't complaining.

Since we got home...things have changed DRASTICALLY.

I've heard and read horror stories about a 4-month sleep regression. Not wanting to create a self-fulfilling prophecy, I had it in the back of my mind, but again - just wanted to "wait and see."

It started with a couple nights of Liam waking up around 11pm-12am in his crib, inconsolable, and we'd usually end up putting him in his rock 'n play. We'd have some intense rounds of Paci Pong, but just figured he needed some time to re-adjust to his crib and being in his own room, (the transition was new, and while traveling, he was in his rock 'n play, in our room). It has since become multiple wakings, every few hours, always starting after a few hours in his crib. We went from being able to soothe him by returning his paci or rubbing his belly, to nursing, having to rock him, walk him, bounce him...or any other tactic to get him back tot sleep. He falls asleep during said soothing measure, but the second we put him back in his RNP or crib...eyes open, not having it, rinse and repeat. We went from 7-8 hour stretches, to 5-6, to 3-4 and now we have been sitting pretty at about 2 hours. THAT IS NEWBORN STATUS.

Last night, Liam woke went down at 8pm, and was up 9:45pm-10pm, 11:15pm-11:30pm, 1:25am-3:30am, and up for the day at 6am. My hubby has also been out of town, so it was just me.

I have said many times, there is a reason sleep deprivation is a form of torture. You become desperate. In the past two weeks, due to our lack of sleep, I have done nothing but read about this "regression," research "remedies" and stress myself out about all the things we're doing right and wrong, healthy and unhealthy.

Here's the thing about children and sleep: It is one of those polarizing parenting topics, where there are so many schools of thought. You just want to SLEEP and your baby to SLEEP and so you try anything an everything.

Today, after soliciting advice from my best friends, family and fellow mama's, I came to this conclusion: Parenting is a mind-fuck. It's so ridiculous that I feel guilty for nearly every moment of the past couple of weeks. I feel guilty for wanting him to spend so many hours asleep, when I miss him and long for him so many hours of the day. Then I feel guilty for putting him down earlier in the night, even though all I've been asking him to do is sleep. And then, I feel guilty for wanting him to stay up late. I feel guilty for telling him to go the f to sleep. I feel guilty for making him cry it out, I feel guilty for nursing when he wakes, I feel guilty for not nursing when he wakes, I feel guilty for getting upset when he wakes up during the night. I feel guilty for taking his pacifier. I feel guilty for wanting sleep, I feel guilty for not "enjoying this time." The list goes on.

So, after an afternoon of crying in my office, guess what: I am retreating to the parenting school of thought of "Do what's best for you." I am going to try to reinforce/continue the healthy sleep habits we've established. I'm going to try and not stress out about creating or reinforcing unhealthy sleep habits or crutches during this difficult time. I'm going to change my perspective: Instead of hoping for sleep, I'm going to expect to wake up. I'm going to take things one day at a time, and try to I'm going to remember my Mommy Mantra of, "This too shall pass." Most of all, I'm going to give myself grace, because I'm doing the best I can. 

And now, I'm going to sleep.


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