Browsing Tag

motherhood

Guest Posts, motherhood

Sequestering the Mother

May 12, 2019
mother motherhood

By PJ Holliday

“The mother is glass through which
You see, in excruciating detail, yourself.”
“The Mother” – Maggie Smith

Becoming a mother has divided my body in portions, passing out small pieces at a time to my child, husband and self.  I’ve been stretched to a capacity I formerly did not think possible and from there, have to learn to surrender my control of the unknown. I don’t recognize myself, and when I catch a glimpse of what was familiar, it vanishes like pools of water on hot asphalt. When I try to write, I am torn between comforting my child whose eyes are fixated on whatever I am doing. I try to catch some work between naps, but who wants to work when there is a moment for quiet reflection made available for the first time in the morning. I feel the pull of many children, my creative explorations and my boy, who undoubtedly should take precedent. Continue Reading…

Guest Posts, motherhood

Is Motherhood the Loneliest Time of All?

April 9, 2019
playgrops

By Claire Fitzsimmons

“I need new friends.” That’s what I was thinking as I sat in a café in San Francisco in the middle of the afternoon. I was on my own. Soup and salad. And my two month-old son on my lap.

I expected to feel a lot of things when I had a baby, but not lonely. My childless friends were all at work. My family was all the way in the UK where I’d left them a few years before. It was just my husband, myself and our son, Sam.

I needed mummy friends. But how to do this when my boobs were leaking, I was grumpy from no sleep and I had nothing to say that didn’t begin with my child’s name? I’d tried a couple of things already that clearly weren’t working. I walked through my neighborhood smiling clumsily at new mums. I sat in the playground looking approachable, hoping I’d get picked up. A local playspace had the prospects of a nightclub; tea had replaced vodka tonics and circle time the dance floor. I made eye contact, feigned interest, but it wasn’t happening.

As I was in the United States, this was clearly the moment to be proactive and to join a playgroup, which have become as necessary here to modern parenting as baby yoga, birth announcements and Bugaboos.

I’ve never been on a blind date and I’m not a natural joiner, but I found myself turning up, late (as I always am now), to a playgroup formation convened by my local mother’s group. Faced with a room of 60 women, some with babes in arms and each filled with the bubbling expectancy of new relationships, this was speed-dating, mummy-style. Continue Reading…

Guest Posts, Miscarriage

Letters to a Lost Child

March 26, 2019
baby

By April Vázquez

June 23rd

Dear New Baby,

I’m writing this within days of your conception, if it’s worked. We had talked about trying for another child next year, I’d thought in January or so, but something just came over me. It’s exactly like when we tried for Dani: we had a plan (to wait until Daisy was a year old, in July), but I felt something indescribable, in February of all months, and just knew it was time. And it was. Dani came along the first time we tried. Then this month it happened that way again; if anything, I’d been slightly nervous about having THREE little ones. But then boom, I just knew. And I was able to convince your daddy, I suppose because it all worked out so beautifully last time, with healthy little Dani. You’ll come in the spring, March if it worked on the first try. And if not, well, then later, in April or May…

I put my Virgin Mary necklace on again, the one I wore through my previous pregnancies, and I’m going to do a test around July 10th, the day of Daisy’s birthday party. You’ll be Scarlett Fiona or Saul Francisco, and I think I’ll call you Cisco if you’re a boy. Cisco Houston is one of my heroes. Continue Reading…

Guest Posts, No Bullshit Motherhood

Poop, a Story

January 8, 2019
poo

By Hannah Shreim

Once upon a time, in a Home Depot parking lot, my nephew had a poo. No, this was not a ordinary poo. This was a poo of nightmares. The yucky, sticky, awful color, way up the back poo. He was 4 months old at the time and this was mine, and my sisters first experience with a nightmare poo like this one. As we gathered the appropriate equipment to handled the nightmare poo, the crying begun. And you guessed it, this was not the sad whimpering sound  of a poor child covered in a normal poo. This was a howl, a I’m not ok, scream your bloody head off kind of cry. The kind of cry that makes people stare, and judge and the situation much worse.  And this is where the other crying started. Not from my nephew, from my hard as nails big sister. She’s was a new, first time mom sitting in the trunk of her car, with a screaming poo covered baby. This is where the laughing started. Not from my sister or my nephew. But from me. The single, care free, in charge of nothing human. This is where my heroism kicked in and took hold of my poo covered nephew to finish the job and offer useless information to my sister about not caring what others people think, and how you need to get more rest. And how the situation wasn’t that bad, and how we were grown woman who could handle anything. And of course that crying was stupid.  Continue Reading…

depression, Guest Posts

When Depression Gets Too Heavy

November 5, 2018
depression

CW: This essay discusses ideation and/or suicide. If you or someone you know needs immediate help, please call 911. You can also call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at: 1-800-273-TALK (8255) or contact the Crisis Text Line by texting HOME to 741741. The world needs you.

By Kari O’Driscoll

There’s a reason darkness is used as a metaphor for depression. In my worst moments, I felt as though there was a black spot in my head spreading like an oil spill, creeping outward, sinking in to the valleys and crevices of my brain and obliterating any possibility of light permeating. Perhaps the most shocking thing about it was how tired it made me. Never had I known that depression was so exhausting.

There is a television advertisement for an antidepressant medication whose tagline is “Depression Hurts.” The first time I saw it I felt right, like the ad writers had seen me in my natural habitat and sussed out something nobody else had noticed. I remember curling myself into a fetal position, rocking back and forth, feeling a weight and a soreness in my ribs – between them, an accordioning of my chest around my heart and lungs. My limbs ached as though I’d just climbed 4000 steps, my head hung low with fatigue. A fog settled over the top half of my brain that made focusing a chore. Depression was heavy. It was effort. It was draining, physically, mentally and spiritually. Continue Reading…

Guest Posts, motherhood

The Hardest Choice

October 27, 2018
mothers

By Moira Sennett

Tethys, they say, is the mother of multitudes: rivers, lakes, streams, all the fresh waters. But look closely, and she tells a different story. As she passes by you, her arms are empty. The only child she was ever given to hold was not her own. She protects her dear ones with a fierce mother love. She will lie and rage and move entire seas to protect them. But when you really look at her, you will see that the goddess of childbirth trails her like a shadow, a whispering voice: “Mother of none.”

***

The ultrasound pictures set side by side are proof of a dream realized. In the first, he is tiny. His head and body seem squished together, bearing a striking resemblance to a gummy bear. In the second, his baby shape is more clearly identifiable. In the third, his perfectly defined little features—nose, mouth, and reaching hands—belie the fact that anything is wrong.

My fear for him is a tangible pain in my chest, as real as the joy I felt from the first moment I knew of his existence. I would lie and rage and move entire seas to protect him. I love him with a love that is fierce and true and bittersweet. Bittersweet because he is not mine. Continue Reading…

Guest Posts, Miscarriage

How To Lose A Pregnancy

May 6, 2018
ultrasound

By Susan Moshofsky

I birthed my second pregnancy into a toilet. Cramps came in waves, crested, doubled me over until I’d hunch my way from my bed where I’d been grading papers to the bathroom a few feet away where, bare feet on the cold linoleum floor, I sat and turned the toilet water red. I bled fetus, tissue, death, 12 weeks of anticipation, trip after trip, bed to toilet: bright red blood filling the bowl, plus a shaggy clot or two, every other trip. Flush and repeat.

The OB’s office said they were sorry, there was nothing they could do. Don’t exert yourself. Take ibuprofen. Lie down. Don’t soak more than a pad an hour, or you’ll have to come in.

This, then, became my task: do this right, this miscarriage. Oh, and grade 164 essays in between trips to the toilet. Quarter grades were due in two days. Two deadlines. Dead lines. I’d wait as long as I could, lying on the bed while I graded so as not to overexert. I lay next to my husband as he kept me company reading Annie Dillard’s The Living. Continue Reading…

Guest Posts, No Bullshit Motherhood, parenting

Modern Motherhood: A Sisterhood of Enemies

April 24, 2018
picture

By Callie Boller

Last week I was at the pool for my boys’ swim lessons. My husband was picking up the babe from daycare so I was enjoying the quiet time, giving the boys an occasional wave and thumbs up, but mostly just zoning out. After three kids, I’ve stopped feeling guilty about ME time, and instead, try to soak up the moment. No screaming, no fighting, no whining. Amazing how 10 minutes of alone time can restore your sanity and feel like a weekend getaway to a five star resort.

Suddenly, from the other side of the pool I heard a little girl start to cry. She was sitting on the steps, surrounded by the others in her lesson – and she just started losing it. I watched as her mom (who was carrying a very small newborn) walked over to the girl and quietly whispered something into her ear. The girl started screaming louder, and I painfully watched as her mom desperately tried to calm her. It was your typical toddler meltdown, we’ve all been there. Long story short, it quickly escalated and the next thing you know the mom was trying to pick up the slippery, wet, screaming toddler – while holding her other baby – and trying not to lose her shit.

I immediately looked at the other parents that sat around her, and noticed that they were all staring in disbelief. Judging. Shaming. Some even whispering to one another. My heart broke for this fellow momma – not because I thought she was a bad mother or that her child was misbehaved. But because in a time of need, in a place we’ve ALL been, not a single person went to her rescue. I knew I had to help her. I got up from my spot on the other side of the pool, and I wish I could tell you that I swooped in and saved the day, but another mom beat me to it (bless her heart). My heart felt proud and inspired as I watched this stranger gently tap the mom on the shoulder, give her the “I’ve been there” smile, and offer to hold the baby so she could hog tie her now hysterical daughter.

As I reflect back on this, my eyes fill with tears as I think about how lonely and overwhelming motherhood often is. Having and raising little humans is something no one should face alone, we weren’t meant to – motherhood is the ultimate universal connection. We are a tribe. A sisterhood. A family. If anyone should know and understand the magic and messes that accompany raising children it’s a fellow momma. We have an unbelievably unique opportunity to support and lean on one another, but instead, we are too busy measuring one another up and tearing one another down.

Unfortunately, I feel like the new moms take the hardest hit, especially during those first few weeks postpartum. For some reason, we’ve created this ridiculous expectation that moms have to have their shit together – you know: shower daily, keep a clean house, and get their body back – all with a grateful smile on their face. Let’s be real…those first few weeks are painfully hard. Adjusting to life with a newborn, adult diapers, crotchsicle ice packs, running on little sleep, breastfeeding difficulties, recovering from BIRTHING A HUMAN BEING – the list goes on. For whatever reason, nobody talks about how DAMN HARD it is. Instead, we all just continue to post the perfect pictures and reinforce the unattainable expectations for the next generations of moms to come.

So I beg you – let’s start talking about the ugly…the shit we pretend doesn’t exist on social media. Instead of posting pictures of our super advanced children, playing nicely, while eating their all organic homemade meals…what if we allow ourselves to be vulnerable and post about the tantrums, the messes, and the bag of MSG packed cheese puffs I just gave my five year old to get him to shut the hell up for two minutes so I could finish grocery shopping. Instead of shaming one another, why not support and lift one another up?

Do me a favor, next time you are about to delete that unflattering picture that shows your mom belly covered in stretch marks, or your messy house at the end of the day, post it on social media instead. Next time you see a fellow mom with a tantruming child at Target, give her a smile and let her know you’ve been there too. Talk to other mommas about the hard stuff – the days that test your patience and break your spirit, the time your child went through that nasty biting phase at preschool, or the time your 3 year old said FUCK at the dinner party. Compassion and humility go a long way. Let’s build confidence in one another by being real about what motherhood really looks like.

I will be the first to admit that my life is not perfect. Far from it actually. I’m not always a good mom or wife. I lose my temper and yell too much at my kids. Sometimes I’m so tired at the end of the day that I cruise Pinterest instead of reading my boys bedtime stories. I turn into a total raging BITCH and take everything out on my husband when I’m lacking sleep or stressed. But that’s just it. We all have our faults. There are things we fail at daily. Every single one of us has skeletons in our closets, and ultimately, these imperfections are what make us human, and most importantly – relatable. Let’s start talking about it. Let’s give ourselves and other mommas a break. Let’s stop pretending that our shit doesn’t stink – we all have baggage, let’s own it…hell, let’s celebrate it even!

Callie Boller is a wife, mom of three, and the ringleader of a traveling circus show. She swears too much, runs to stay sane, and loves hard on her little tribe (even though they leave trail of complete destruction everywhere they go).  She writes about motherhood. Writing provides Callie a space to process all the crazy that goes along with raising three children; but she also hopes to use it as a reminder not to take this motherhood gig too seriously! She can be found on Facebook, and has a blog. She is also on instagram as: mylittletravelingcircus.

 

Donate to the Aleksander Fund today. Click the photo read about Julia, who lost her baby, and what the fund is.

 

Join Jen at her On Being Human workshop in upcoming cities such as NYC, Ojai, Tampa, Ft Worth and more by clicking here.

Guest Posts, Mental Health, No Bullshit Motherhood

But, What If…?: Confessions of an Anxious Mother

April 4, 2018
anxious

By Catherine Jones

I suffer from anxiety, which is debilitating at times.  I have suffered for as long as I can remember, both mentally and physically.  And while I’ve tried many methods that help to alleviate my symptoms, I know my anxiety will never completely go away.  It only got much worse after my child was born.  I had a lot of time during my maternity leave to come up with some truly unreasonable, completely invalid fears.  One of my biggest issues with anxiety is that I know I’m being silly, but I can’t help it.  I know there’s no reason to be afraid to ask for help finding an item at the grocery store and there’s definitely no reason to contemplate all the awful things that may happen to my child.  I hope some anxious mothers out there can relate, or at least be relieved that they’re not nearly as imaginative (cuckoo) as me.

When my son was first born, he hardly slept, or if he did it was for maybe an hour at a time.  He was always hungry and wanted to be nursed for hours and then be nursed again after a short catnap.  He never seemed particularly tired, but I was getting loopy from a lack of sleep.  When he did manage to sleep at night for a few hours at a time, I kept getting up to check on him, straining my eyes in the darkness to make sure his little chest was still rising and falling.  When he switched to formula and actually started to sleep through the night, I was terrified.  Why was he sleeping so much?  Was something wrong?  Infants are supposed to sleep for most of the day, but not my baby!  I slept on a cot in his room for months. Continue Reading…

Activism, Grief, Guest Posts, motherhood

“17”- A Poem Plus an excerpt from “Good Cop, Bad Daughter” by Karen Lynch

March 14, 2018

By Karen Lynch. 

17

When you were born, I nestled you in my arms and nursed you on demand to help build your immune system and keep you safe from disease.
933 breast feedings

When you were 18 months old, I cut your grapes in half to keep you safe from choking.
3,406 grapes sliced

When you were 2, I bought you the bicycle helmet ranked highest by Parenting Magazine.
5,327 miles peddled

When you were five, six, seven, I let you watch only PBS kids to keep you innocent of the violence in the world as long as possible.
1,273 episodes Mr. Roger’s Neighborhood watched.

When you were 12, I let you ride your bike across town and prayed for your safety as I waited for your call.
17 petitions offered up to the universe.

When you were sick and no one knew why, I took you to a faraway clinic and found a doctor to heal you.
522 miles driven, 4 doctors seen, 18 bottles supplements purchased.

When you were 16, I found the best driving instructor in the county. I told you to call me for a ride anytime, no questions asked.
2 speeding tickets, 1 fender bender, 0 calls for pickup.

When you left for school today, I gave you an organic Fuji apple with your whole wheat almond butter sandwich. I reminded you to eat fruit and veggies in college next year.
2,367 Fuji apples washed and sliced.
1 Valentine slipped into your backpack.

When the deputy called this afternoon, I was selecting your senior picture.
17 dead. 15 wounded. 152 shots fired.

Continue Reading…

Guest Posts, Miscarriage, motherhood

Just a Miscarriage

February 9, 2018
miscarriage

By Jill Goldberg

When I finally felt well enough to venture outside, after many months of self-induced seclusion, I took a short walk to the drugstore around the corner. I was hoping I wouldn’t see anyone, but Carla was there. I didn’t know her very well. She was older than me, with grown children close to my age. She knew I had been ill for a long time, and when she saw me she put her arm around my shoulders in a way that should have been comforting. Carla then pulled me aside and asked with great condescension, “So really, what was the big deal? I mean, a miscarriage is just a miscarriage.” Suddenly it was hard to breathe. I felt as though I’d been hit. I reached out for the wall to steady myself and mumbled to her that there were complications. Then I walked home and cried. I didn’t go out in public again for several more weeks.

My first miscarriage nearly killed me. I bled for weeks, not realizing how dangerous that was and how much blood I was really losing. My doctor kept telling me that some women bleed for a while after miscarrying, and I didn’t understand that she meant light spotting, not passing large clots that looked like small placentas and soaked the sheets every night. I had planned to have an intervention-free birth, and now I wanted an intervention-free miscarriage. My doctor honored my wishes and trusted me. She didn’t have me come in to see her, we only spoke on the phone. Then finally, nearly a month after it began, I fainted in the shower. I’d lost too much blood from weeks and weeks of continuous heavy bleeding. I remember being so cold in the shower, so, so cold, and I was dizzy, and crying, and confused. I reached back to turn the water hotter, though I knew it was already so hot that I should have felt it burning me. Continue Reading…

Guest Posts, No Bullshit Motherhood, Racism

Blue Blazes

November 27, 2017

By Jane O’Shields-Hayner

“It’s hot as blue blazes!” I said, wiping the sweat from my face with a faded, red bandana. I wet it under the garden hose and lay it, cool, around my neck.”

“Can we get more ice cubes, Mommy?” Rebekah asked.

“We’ve used them all. They go fast when it’s a hundred and six.” I answered, stepping into the soupy water of the plastic pool where my daughters sat with squirt toys, dolls, and blades of grass bobbing on the surface.

Rachael hugged my bare legs and lay her cheek against my knee. “Can we go to a real pool, Mommy?” She begged. “…a big one with a divey board and everything, … please?”

“I think it’s time we found one…” I said, …but let’s eat first!”

Both girls stood up in the tepid water and began to dance. “Swimmy pool, swimmy pool!” they chanted.

I stepped out, brushed the green cuts of grass from my legs and headed for the house.  “You-all play in the sprinkler while I make lunch!” I called back.

“OK, Mommy!” shouted Rebekah, dragging a hot hose with a sprinkler ring spraying behind it.

I walked up the back steps, where three air conditioners roared from windows in our rented home. The one near me sounded a loud boom and the walls and wood floor lurched, as the thermostat switched it off or on. I had learned to sleep through it, in fact, it comforted me; for I was born and raised in the blistering heat of North Central Texas. Continue Reading…

Guest Posts, No Bullshit Motherhood, parenting

A Temporary Amnesty

September 18, 2017
amnesty

By Lisa Werhan

I wear the mottled flesh of a person too long submerged in the agitated waters of tribulation, fingertips colorless and puckered, my lips the unmistakable blue-gray of a corpse. No, no, I exaggerate. My lips are naturally pale except for my blanched-white scar, lower lip, y-shaped, the one spot that I keep biting, compulsively; this feels like the slap and sting of the surf that erodes and eats away the ash-gray sand. I can’t not nibble at it, gently, gingerly, the faint tang of blood washed away by salty saliva.

I linger over the dinner dishes a bit too long, scrubbing the tiniest bits of detritus from the supper skillet, scratching away metallic flakes with my too-short nails. Yes, yes, I obsess. I am too long at the sink, all that water having gone to my head; my brain swirls with foamy thoughts, my-child-is-suffering, that slosh haphazardly, forming angry eddies which drain away into the abyss of my broken heart. All things lead to my broken heart these days. Continue Reading…

Guest Posts, No Bullshit Motherhood

Keeping It Real

May 3, 2017
nursery

By Amy Howard

Let me start off by saying I don’t begrudge anybody their opinions or issues. If you are posting, writing about, and living your truth, then amen. No matter what you’re going through, you shouldn’t compare it to anyone else’s. Your shit is your shit. I’m no hater. Peace be with you.

Now.

I know you don’t know what you know until you know. And granted, I’m not a “new” mom, so I might be a little more piss and vinegar than I am sugar and spice. But I have to say that lately, so much of what I read regarding parenting is teetering on the edge of being the written version of stock photography. It’s all cookie cutter subjects, white-washed to capture a large readership. Maybe I’m reading the wrong headlines (point me to better blogs!) but there seems to be a craze around grabbing a trending topic and writing about it. Like: What I Learned At Mom’s Night Out. Tantrums and Fussy Eaters and Potty Training…Oh My! Yoga Moms vs Running Moms: Who’s Winning The Race? How To Raise A Vegan-ager. What Nobody Tells You About Having A Three-Year-Old.

Really? Continue Reading…