So you think you know me, right? I’m that home birth mom. You think you’ve got me all figured out: I shop at Whole Foods, I wear my baby, and I don’t vaccinate my kids. Well, I do love me some fresh organic artisanal delights from Whole Foods. I do own a sling, a Bjorn, and an Ergo, and I loved using them all. But you got that last one wrong.
I AM a vaccinating mom and I’m proud of it.
Opting out of vaccinations is a wildly controversial topic, and I’ve heard and seen both sides of the subject from my friends, my Facebook feed, and my own research. Vaccination rates among home-birthing parents are typically lower than the national average, but the two are not necessarily linked. Just because I made one choice that falls outside of the mainstream does not mean there is some parenting domino effect. Each of my choices has been measured, well researched, thoughtful, and individually chosen so that my children’s health and well being comes first.
My husband and I are very careful about making thoughtful decisions for our children. Our home births were the best decisions we made, and we would choose another home birth in a heartbeat (but don’t hold your breath, Mom!). A home birth is a safe choice for moms who want to honor birth as a natural experience, not a medical event. I was thrilled to not have the unnecessary interventions that often occur during hospital births, and I stand by my choice. And when it comes to vaccines? My husband and I did our due diligence here, too. We read many books, spoke to our pediatrician, and figured out what felt safe and right for our children — which is to vaccinate them against diseases that could harm or kill them. I chose home births for my children because I believe it was safest and best for them and for my family, and I choose to vaccinate for the same reason.
So please don’t think you know me — yet.
We are in this parenting thing together. I am all for being supportive of you and your choices, and I hope you will be of mine. So please don’t think you know me until you’ve asked, because I (just like you, mama) am more than meets the eye. So wanna grab some coffee and talk?
So, we’re halfway through summer — cue the tears — and it’s time for an update on my first summer CSA. (Here is my first post about what a CSA is.)
Let’s cut to the chase: I’m in love! The CSA has been wonderful so far. We haven’t missed a week yet. The kids and I generally do pick-up after naps, that way they are able to help me choose what we are going to eat for the week. My 4-year-old has taken an interest, and the 22-month-old enjoys a snack while we pack our basket. The kids enjoyed the “u-pick” strawberries in the fields, packing bags with snap peas, and, this week, shucking corn.
Has it been perfect? Of course not. There has been some food that has gone to waste, but, for the most part — and thanks to Google! — I’ve been able to use most of the fruits, veggies, and herbs we have picked up. It has definitely forced me to be more creative with dinner. Think bok choy in a crock pot, smoothies for the kids, and making homemade pesto to freeze for the winter. We’ve cut up veggies as a family to freeze for stews in the fall, and tonight we are going to enjoy the first corn of the season from the farm! It has been a very positive experience thus far.
Every week I have been a little bit braver, and there are more options as the farm season continues. I have also been able to pass along some food we haven’t been able to use to our extended family and share the benefits of our CSA. It has been fun to incorporate more veggies and fruits in our diets and introduce the kids to things they never would have tried before (my almost 2-year-old loves beets now — thank you, CSA!).
At the end of the season I’ll share my final thoughts on the CSA, and I’ll throw in some of our favorite recipes as well!
I read a blog post the other day about how to choose a bathing suit for a “mom bod.” It was written by a fellow mom who suggested the most flattering colors and cuts, plus ways to camouflage those parts of our post-baby bodies that are now apparently subpar. Since when did our bodies become unacceptable for public display simply because we have perpetuated the species?
Yes, parts have shifted, parts have stretched, and parts have sagged. But I’ve fought a long battle to reach the point of body acceptance, and there’s no way being a mom will change that! In fact, I love my mom bod!
As a teenager, I had a horrible time with my body. I thought my breasts were too small, my thighs were too big, and don’t even get me started on my stomach! I put my body through hell with diets aplenty and a stupid amount of exercise. The things I said about my body were things I would never say to my worst enemy.
When I got pregnant, I was ecstatic. My husband and I had been hoping and praying for a baby, and now my dream was coming true. Despite all the grief I gave my body over the years, it really came through for me. It was now home to a precious little embryo. As excited as I was, I worried about what would happen to my body. Society and the media taught me that pregnant women are fat, sexually undesirable, and need to lose the baby weight before it’s even put on. I didn’t buy into this. I loved my belly bump. I loved what it represented — the hope for the future, the completion of my family, the beginning of new adventures. What I didn’t love were people’s comments. But that’s for another time…
With every ounce I gained came an ounce of pride. I was doing this! I was growing a human! How cool is that? When I gave birth to my daughter, I truly understood what being a woman was and what my body was designed for. With each push, I was delighted as this baby human I had carried and nurtured for the past nine months came closer to being in my arms.
Once she was born, I realized that the size of my breasts really doesn’t matter. They feed her just fine. After all, that is what they’re there for, despite the Secret that Victoria is keeping. My stomach? Yes, it’s not the flattest it’s ever been. I could spend my time doing more crunches or trying the latest diet fad. But I’d rather spend my time with my daughter. I’d rather teach her that food is for enjoying, not for obsessing over. And I’d rather teach her that exercise is for fun and good health, and not for torture. And besides, she likes my belly just the way it is. Just like I love hers. And I hope she loves her belly and her cute little thighs forever.
You know what the most flattering bathing suit is for your mom bod? The one that gives you the widest smile. And guess what? That’s the one your kids will think is the most beautiful, too.
Mason jars make great vases, piggy banks, soap dispensers, toothbrush organizers, drinking glasses, lanterns, and a whole host of other things. But did you know they can also be used to store and preserve…
FOOD?!
The possibilities with these things truly are endless! Believe it or not, way back in the way-back, this was the true purpose of the mason jar. I know. It’s crazy. No Mod Podge. No raffia. No scraps of lace necessary.
But seriously though. I keep a stockpile of these puppies in my house because I love to create my own sauces, condiments, and other goodies, and mason jars are the best way to store them. (And, yes, I do occasionally pop some M&Ms in one and throw a pretty bow on it as a little gift, because it does look oh-so-cute!)
One of the best ways to keep our bodies healthy is to eat real food and make as much as possible from scratch. I like knowing exactly what is in my food — to me it just tastes and feels better that way. I do use canned items when necessary (you’ll see some of that below), but I try to stick with fresh or minimally processed foods as much as I can. Here are some of my favorite ways to use these handy little mason jars.
I keep these staple recipes in my refrigerator pretty much all the time:
Homemade Ketchup
1 can tomato paste
1 can tomato sauce
1/3 cup maple syrup
1/3 cup apple cider vinegar
2 tablespoons onion powder
1/4 teaspoon allspice
Whisk it all together and heat over medium-low heat until desired consistency is reached. It’ll keep for one to two weeks in the fridge. This one is consistently a crowd pleaser.
Coconut Coffee Creamer
1 can full-fat coconut milk
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
Maple syrup to taste
Blend it all up and pop it in a jar in the fridge, ready for the morning. A yummy and healthy way to start your day!
Chipotle Enchilada Sauce
1 yellow onion
1 green bell pepper
1 can tomato sauce
1 tablespoon chipotle spice
1 teaspoon cumin
1 teaspoon onion powder
1/4 teaspoon cayenne pepper
Saute onion and pepper till soft, add in tomato sauce and spices, and blend it up. If you’re sensitive to spiciness, go easy on the chipotle. Great on veggie enchiladas, chicken enchiladas, pork enchiladas, nachos, beef enchiladas… you name it. Delish
Basic Balsamic Dressing
1 cup olive oil
1/2 cup balsamic vinegar
1-2 tablespoons garlic
2 teaspoons sea salt
2 teaspoons pepper
Blender, jar, enjoy.
Avo-Cashew Dressing
I almost don’t want to share this one because I feel like it is one of my best-kept secrets. It’s another one that people always love, and it doesn’t hurt that it packs a big healthy-fat punch!
1/2 ripe avocado
3/4 cup avocado oil
1/4 cup white wine vinegar
1 handful raw cashews
Juice of 1/4 lemon
Sea salt to taste
Throw it in the blender (you need a pretty good one to get the cashews 100% mixed in there), mix until smooth. I always end up tasting this one and adding more lemon or salt depending on my mood. Sometimes the vinegar can taste a little overwhelming when you taste it without a veggie, but it’s perfection over a salad.
I hope you enjoy making and trying these recipes! I’d love to know some of your favorite recipes!
My son Aaron is hilarious, snuggly, sweet, energetic, beautiful, and all boy. He has eyelashes people would pay thousands for and a mop of thick, heavy hair. He wakes up ready to go, but he also loves to curl up and read or be read to. He loves exploring new places and being a doting big brother. He loves all animals and superheroes. He is very much a boy. My little boy.
Except he’s not so little.
Aaron was born a respectable 7 pounds, 1 ounce. He grew at a normal rate and always fit into age-appropriate baby clothing. But around his first birthday, the growth spurts started — and they haven’t stopped! Aaron began to tower over all of his friends. He grew taller and taller. His pants got too short. His shirts became belly shirts. We went shopping for more clothes. Again. And he keeps on growing. My husband and I aren’t exceptionally tall people, yet Aaron is off the charts for height and has been for years. At the age of 4, he’s wearing clothes made for a 7-year-old.
There are no concerns from my doctor, thankfully — he’s just a big kid. But I’m starting to notice that Aaron sometimes can’t quite find his place. He loves his friends in his school class and at camp. LOVES them. They are his peers and are socially and emotionally his equals. Except he is a full head taller than some of them!
It’s where Aaron isn’t an equal that things get a little tricky. For example, at the playground older kids will want to play with him because they think he is their age. Aaron can’t quite hang, though. They use words and expressions he doesn’t understand and play games with rules too complicated for him. A volunteer at the aquarium will approach him and attempt to explain things way beyond his comprehension. He doesn’t quite get it, but they assume he’s older — and therefore a little wiser.
Parents look at me with concern and questions in their eyes when Aaron can’t maneuver the bigger kids’ playground with as much ease as kids his size. I find myself defending him — “Well, he’s only 4.”
When adults speak to Aaron and he doesn’t respond the way an older child should, I get those looks. “He’s only 4 years old,” I say.
Those times he’s a bit confused by directions that are a little too advanced, I find myself saying, “Aaron, did you tell this nice lady how old you are?”
I don’t know why I care. He’s big — so what? To me, he’s just my little boy. My really tall little boy. One day the growth spurts will slow down, and he’ll be the same size as his friends. He’ll know where he fits in, and he won’t have to question whether he can or should play with certain kids, or which playground is a more appropriate fit. Until then, we’ll do our best to make him comfortable in his own skin. He’s proud to be “really, really tall,” and we hope he continues knowing how special he is, no matter his size.
We have officially hit the peak of summer! Hot days, warm nights, drippy ice cream cones, and a definite need for swimming. I’ve read plenty of satirical posts about kids and beach days, and man, they are pretty hilarious. I’ve also seen lots of moms reaching out for advice on how to get through a beach day or asking if they’re crazy for even attempting one. Sadly, the responses are mostly negative. I’m surprised at the number of people who believe a beach day is worse than a visit to the gyno. When did this New England pastime of playing in the waves and sand become such a nightmare?
If you, like me, grew up going to beach, you probably looked forward to making salty memories with your littles. I’m here to tell you it’s not an impossible dream! Will it be relaxing? Not likely. Will you be able to read a magazine or a book? Maybe? Will you have fun? I hope so! Heading to the beach as a family definitely has its challenges, but it’s also a great opportunity to see your little ones explore new territory. If you’re looking for ideas on how to tackle a beach day, here are some tips that I hope will help you not only survive a day with your crew, but fall in love with the beach again!
Invest in a decent beach tent
These are easy to find. Ours was gifted by my mother-in-law, and we used it so much we completely wore the thing out! A tent was an awesome addition to our gear, especially when my guys were infants. We could allow the baby to sleep in his car seat under the tent and avoid major sun exposure. It’s also a great place for toddler naps, your cooler, and other gear you don’t want sitting in the hot sun.
Bring your own snacks and lunch
I highly recommend making your lunches and setting out your snacks the night before. We are often lazy about this one, but it’s a major time saver. Try to bring snacks that don’t ned to be kept cool to allow for a smaller cooler. Bring things they love, and don’t stress about them being super healthy — it’s a beach day, so leave the carrot sticks for another time! Place water bottles in the freezer the night before — that way they become solid ice and will stay cool until you’re ready to offer them to the kids. If all is prepared the night before, the only stop you should have to make is for a bag of ice and an iced coffee at Dunk’s!
Go early and leave early
One of the hardest parts about a beach day is the heat, the sun, and the potential for interrupting nap time. If your kids are like mine, and 6 a.m. is the new 9 a.m., go with it! Pile them into the car and get them moving when they’re at their best. Grab some Munchkins when you make your coffee run or hand them granola bars on the way — whatever gets you out of the house quickly! You’ll make it to the beach before traffic gets crazy and the sun is at its highest, and you’ll be ready to leave after an early lunch. For us, it’s just in time for naps, which means a quiet car and another coffee run!
Sunscreen them in their car seats
Lets face it — no kid wants to be sun screened. They will scream and squirm until you want to cry. But if they’re in a car seat, they can’t run away! You’re supposed to apply 30 minutes prior to being out anyway, so once they are in the car, bust out the goods. This makes application on the face and ears sooooo much easier! You also avoid the inevitable dart to the water/avoidance of the sunscreen ritual when you arrive.
Store your beach toys in your car at all times
We have a pre-packed bag with pails, shovels, sand molds, and trucks so we can avoid the “pick out which toys you want to bring” battle. They’ll want to grab a couple of last minute things on the way out, but the basics are already packed. We also keep our chairs in the van so they’re always ready to go!
Bring dry clothes, diapers, etc. for after the beach
As soon as we’re done for the day, everyone gets changed out of the wet stuff and into cozy dry stuff. I wrap towels around the kids, stand them up on a beach chair to avoid the reapplication of sand, and get them in exactly what they would wear for a nap. And here’s a tip I have yet to try: If one of your lovelies decides to plant himself back in the sand? Baby powder! Supposedly, you dust some on and the sand falls off. I keep forgetting the powder at home, but it’s an awesome tip and I intend to put it to the test before this summer fades away.
It can be done, and at the very least it’s worth another go if you’ve been unsuccessful so far. Some kids simply don’t like the beach, and that’s OK — you gave it your best shot! But don’t avoid it just because you think it’s impossible! You can have a fabulous day if you plan ahead, keep it simple, and remember to go with the flow and have fun!
A few days after I moved to Massachusetts, my in-laws brought my 6-month-old son and me into Boston to play tourist in our new city. As is the case with many babies, my son needed to nurse several times throughout the course of the day, so as we rode around in the back of the trolley I had no choice but to throw on my nursing cover and feed my child. He ate while I enjoyed the scenery of the North End.
It was at that point that I thought, Wow, I really should keep a list of all the crazy places I end up breastfeeding. You know, the same way people keep lists of the states they’ve visited, landmarks they’ve seen, unique places they’ve, ahem, “made whoopee.”
At a Long Island vineyard, post-breastfeeding my 3-month-old.
Thanks to our Boston trolley tour, I breastfed at Boston landmarks like Cheers, Boston Common, and Boston Harbor. I’ve also nursed my child in eight different states from Texas to Indiana (home of Leslie Knope! She would be so proud.), and three different state capitals. By far, the most picturesque place I ever breastfed was at a vineyard on the Long Island Sound — gorgeous scenery.
In thinking about my own list, and in honor of World Breastfeeding Week, I polled my friends over social media and called for the most unique, interesting, or exotic place they’ve nursed their little ones. And I must say, I had several good laughs with the responses:
“During a planetarium show.”
“15 different airplane rides.”
“I pumped in a limo during a friend’s bachelorette party. It was my first and last time using a manual pump!”
“The storage room/closet in the back of the science lab at the school where I taught.”
“Nursed all through the home-buying process — at the realtor’s table signing offer forms and again at the title company for closing.”
“I remember nursing while baby wearing with my Moby Wrap (kid two) and my Mei Tai (kid three). Interesting places where I did that: the toy aisle of Walmart, while walking around the Houston Zoo, during an exercise class for moms (my son was in the carrier right next to me; he woke up, so I grabbed him, he latched, and I kept doing squats).” (This mama is hardcore!)
“The UPS guy got a sighting when I opened the door with my boobs hanging out all hooked up to the breast pump.”
“I attended a friend’s wedding reception on Long Island Sound, and I wore a long, fitted dress. I had to wait far too long to nurse, and when I finally did I had to unzip the back of my dress and drop one side to expose my breast. There were mosquitoes everywhere, which my husband tried to brush off me and my son while he nursed. The other breast ‘let down’ and flooded my dress. I had to go say goodbye to the newlyweds with a soaking wet dress.”
“Most precarious was at a fondue restaurant — no molten cheese dripped on the little guy!”
“On a stranger’s porch in Nashua, New Hampshire, while listening to a President Obama rally. Also, at the cemetery after my grandma’s funeral. And one time I nursed in a moving car (baby stayed buckled!)” (Our BMB managing editor, Ashley, has a really good list, too!)
“Hooters.” (My personal favorite.)
“Chicago O’Hare Airport, waiting in line to re-book my flight after it was cancelled.”
“The beach.”
“On a boat while whale watching.”
“Central Park in NYC.”
“New York subway.” (All my NYC mama friends are thinking, “Yep, been there, done that!”)
“The Carousel of Progress ride at Disney World. Also, while waiting in line to meet Goofy.”
“On the Mass Pike in Thanksgiving traffic while my husband was driving and my son was screaming at the top of his lungs! He was safe in his car seat, and I somehow leaned in to let him eat with my cheek pressed against the window!”
“At a hot air balloon festival in Stowe, Vermont, and at multiple spots around Disney World.”
“Walking in a cave!”
“Under one of the famous Chinese magnolias in the San Francisco Botanical Garden. I thought it was a quiet corner of the park — turns out it was the highlight for the large tour group that stopped and stared for 10 minutes.”
“My living room is far from exotic, but I have to keep reminding my 7-year-old son to ask before parading in the neighborhood kids.”
“The middle of Old City, Jerusalem.” (Our BMB owner, Morgan, definitely wins for furthest location!)
Several women shared places where they felt uncomfortable breastfeeding, such as at church, at a funeral, or at a school, and those responses make me especially sad. I hope you’ll notice that in the language of my post, I didn’t ask for the most “awkward” places these women had breastfed — breastfeeding your child should never, ever be awkward. It’s only awkward when you nurse your child at restaurant, and a stranger takes a picture of you and posts it on social media. It’s awkward when you ask to nurse in a store’s dressing room, and the employee sends you out into a back alley. It’s awkward when your place of employment doesn’t give you an adequate space to pump, and you end up pumping in a supply closet. Breastfeeding is not awkward; if you ask me, it is a God-given miracle that should be celebrated, not shunned.
So for all my nursing mamas out there, if you ever feel awkward nursing in an unusual situation, don’t! Just read this list and know that from Jerusalem to Long Island to Boston, so many of us have been there, too!
What is your most interesting breastfeeding story? Be sure to check some more posts from BMB about breastfeeding!
Last week our nation was split once again. Though this time it was not Democrats versus Republicans or Coke versus Pepsi. This time it was the owner of Marcy’s Diner in Portland, Maine, versus the parents of a 21-month-old girl.
We all read the articles, and most of us formed some sort of opinion. I decided to check out the comments sections on a few Facebook posts and articles, and wow! The comments were either calling for the diner to be boycotted or, more prevalently, stating what horrible parents these people must be to let their child scream that long in a public place.
Those complaining about the diner owner were understandably parents, but the girl’s parents were being attacked by both non-parents and parents alike. Most comments started with “I would never let my child…” or, “If that were me…” I fully admit that my gut reaction was along the same lines: “I would have taken my child outside.” I am sitting here calmly reading the article, so of course that’s what I would do. Case closed, opinion formed.
A day or two passed before I came across an article in the Washington Post written by the mother of the now-famous toddler at the center of the controversy. She explained her side of the story. And that’s when I realized what I’d done. I was guilty of one of my own pet peeves. I judged another parent. The parents were in a stressful situation and were likely doing their best. We’ve all been there.
Judging others without all the facts is extremely common, but I have found that it is especially rampant in the realm of parenthood. It usually begins shortly after you tell someone you’re expecting. You’re delivering at the hospital? You’re planning a homebirth? You aren’t finding out the sex? You are finding out the sex? You’re planning an all-natural birth? You want an epidural? And these kinds of questions don’t seem to stop when you become a parent. (You let your kid stay up past 8 p.m.? You aren’t enrolling her in soccer?)
Parenting advice is great, especially when it is sought after. But going forward, can we all add some sort of caveat before it is given? “This worked for me,” or “this may not be universal, but…” Something like that. Too many parents act as if they have this parenting gig locked down. They know what to do to get a fussy infant to nap or to take a bottle. They know how to potty train a toddler. They know how to teach a 4-year-old to do calculus. Are any of us that perfect of a parent? My wife and I are pretty good parents (pat on back), but, like most of you we are just doing our best. We love our kids, we are intelligent people, and we were raised by great parents ourselves. That’s all we have to work with. No manual— just trial by fire for us moms and dads. Parenting is a really hard job that is never finished, but the rewards can last forever.
I am going to continue my effort to abstain from judgement. Every kid is different, and they all have different needs. What worked for my kid may not work for your kid. This past week was a good reminder for me.
Andrew Gelles is the proud father of two girls, one welcomed in August 2011 and the other born in April 2015. He has been married to his wife Jessica since July 2008. Andrew is a Boston-lifer. Born in Boston, raised in Newton, educated at UMass Amherst (which is as far away from Boston as he has ever lived) and now resides in Natick.
Andrew has been in the Sporting Goods business since 2000 and is a Boston sports fanatic (especially the Red Sox and Patriots). He enjoys playing golf, great food, music, movies, the beach and spending as much time as possible with his family and friends.
It’s harsh, but it’s true. We are ruining our children and, in the process, contributing to the downfall of society. If you and I exhibited the same behaviors we let our young children get away with, we’d be put in jail for theft, fired for insubordination, or arrested for extortion. Yet we let these tiny dictators rule the day, oftentimes with few consequences. Using the following perspectives as our guide, let’s stop the madness.
Perspective 1: Requiring toy sharing on demand
Child scenario: Madison wants the doll Emma is playing with. Both sets of girls’ parents get involved and tell Emma she must relinquish the doll immediately to appease Emma (aka share).
Adult equivalent: I walk up to your car and say, “I want that. Give it to me NOW!” and your passenger says you have to give me the keys.
Sharing on demand just doesn’t happen in the real world. Stop forcing it to happen to children. Move on, Madison (and parents), and find something else to play with until Emma is done with the toy.
Perspective 2: Misbehaving in a restaurant
Child scenario: For nearly 15 minutes, Jack stomps around on the booth seat, periodically touches the head of the diner in the adjacent booth, and screams “NO!” when his parents ask him to sit down. He also nearly takes the waiter’s eye out with a flying crayon.
Adult equivalent: I stand on top of my desk at work and throw staplers at coworkers while yelling, “you’re fired!” to everyone who walks by.
This just doesn’t happen in the real world without consequences (unless you’re Donald Trump). Start reinforcing social norms in public.
Perspective 3: Constantly bribing
Child scenario: Michael doesn’t want to sit on the mat and wait for story time to start. His parents say he can have a lollipop if he sits on the mat. Michael sits, gets the lollipop, and immediately jumps up and runs around. When he finishes the lollipop, Michael refuses to sit again unless he gets another treat.
Adult equivalent: I demand my husband give me $50 to join him in spending the weekend with his college buddies and their wives. We get to the college buddy’s house and I say I need another $50 to go inside. We get inside and I say I need another $50 to be friendly. Then I need another $50 to stay the whole weekend and not go home right now.
While it would be nice it this happened in the real world, extortion only works for the mob. Stop bribing children (especially with food) to do basic activities.
Yes, these adult equivalents sound ridiculous. But, sadly, they really aren’t that far off from what we let our children get away with and what they might come to expect is normal if we don’t stop the madness now. The future you (and me) will thank you… that is, if a civilized society still exists in the future.
Until recently, I had never seen a positive home pregnancy test, yet my son was about to turn 2 years old. How can that be, you may wonder? Nearly six years ago, when we first decided to stop using birth control and subsequently discovered that I have polycystic ovarian syndrome (PCOS), I peed on countless sticks and never once saw that glorious plus sign. Instead, time and time again over the course of two years I experienced heartache when I was met with just one line or a blank panel.
By the time I was finally seeing a fertility specialist, I had developed a serious phobia of home pregnancy tests (I’m sure there’s a scientific name for that — pregnancytestaphobia, right?) and refused to pee on any more sticks. I figured my HMO was paying for my blood tests, so there was no need to spend the extra money. Three years ago, I learned I was pregnant from a voicemail left by my fertility nurse.
Even after I was able to get pregnant with my son, I had pretty much given up hope of ever seeing a positive home pregnancy test — I assumed I would experience secondary infertility. But people warned me that I could have an easier time getting pregnant the second time around. Now that the system was working, they said, my body would know exactly what to do, and getting pregnant again would be a breeze. It’s not that I didn’t listen to them. It’s that I never believed getting pregnant on my own — without the aid of doctors or medications — would be possible for me.
Last November I stopped breastfeeding my son and got my period a week and a half later — my first since my son was conceived. For most women, this is highly unusual, but considering my PCOS, which prevents me from menstruating, going two and a half years without a period was the norm for me. So when I missed my cycle a month later, I wasn’t terribly surprised. I knew I should take a pregnancy test, but only to rule out the slim possibility that I was actually pregnant so I could then move on with my life. In fact, I figured a negative result would be the ammo I’d need to receive quick treatment from the fertility specialist during our next pregnancy attempt.
But my pregnancytestaphobia was still very present. Even though I wasn’t totally ready to have another baby, I was even less ready to see that one single line again and feel that crushing disappointment. It took me a week to gather the courage to face that dreaded stick again, and on New Year’s Day — I guess as a sort of New Year’s resolution — I finally took the test. I looked down, expecting to see the result I had seen dozens of times, and… oops.
Many people don’t like the term “oops baby,” the implication being that a child is an accident or a mistake. I will admit that I cringed when someone referred to my current pregnancy as a “mistake.” (No sir, God does not make mistakes.) However, as a woman who had to overcome infertility for her first baby, I loved the term “oops baby” — mainly because I wanted to have one so badly! To me, an oops baby meant no Clomid. No ovulation prediction kits. No internal sonograms multiple times a week. No blood draws, no humiliating exams, no IUIs, no disappointing negative pregnancy tests. All I wanted was to go about my life and let God choose the perfect time for a child to come. As it turns out, I just had to wait five years to get my heart’s desire.
Now that I’ve been on both sides of the coin, I can say that having an “oops baby” was not the sunshine and rainbows I expected it to be. The clouds did not part, angels did not sing, and a warm light did not shine down on me from heaven into my bathroom. Instead, I was filled with an abject terror I had never felt before. I stared and stared at that plus sign for what felt like an eternity. I didn’t believe it could possibly be true, and I was sure the universe was playing a cruel joke on me. It took four more pregnancy tests and a solid month for me to really come to terms with the fact that yes, I was going to have another baby. Only then did my fear give way to happiness and the realization that what I prayed for so long ago had actually come true.
I’m always happy to talk about my struggles with infertility because I want to bring hope and encouragement to fellow women who also bear this burden. In this case, not only could you get pregnant, you could get pregnant without even trying! So many people told me I would get pregnant if I relaxed and just stopped trying. Much easier said than done, of course, but it certainly proved to be true… the second time around. As I wait now to deliver my second little boy, I can’t help but marvel at how miracles come to us in various ways. And while we may not be expecting or trying for some miracles, that doesn’t make them any less amazing.
When I joined a sorority my freshman year of college, I never thought it would help me prepare for motherhood. Much to my surprise, sorority life and mom life are very similar on so many levels.
1. There are T-shirts and loot FOR EVERYTHING
Case in point: Every time we held an event at our sorority, there was a T-shirt or some commemorative item for it. Recruitment, “bid day,” philanthropies, social events, you name it. Same thing with kids. There is a onesie for “my first Valentine’s Day,” a bib for “my first haircut,” a diaper cover for “my first day at the beach.” And of course you have to take pictures, which brings me to my next point…
2. You take pictures… of EVERYTHING
And not just one picture — you have to take 10 to make sure one is perfect. And just one camera won’t do. You throw your iPhone, Canon Rebel, whatever you have out there. And so does everyone else in the picture.
3. You learn to get ready in five minutes flat
I shared a house with 50 girls. Yes, 50 women in one house. Needless to say, primping time in the bathroom was a luxury. Fast forward 10 years, and nothing has changed. My daughter is using my bronzer brush to clean the toilet and my son is leaping off the counter into the tub like Superman. I have my routine down to a very quick science.
4. Singing and cheering
During recruitment we had catchy cheers we would chant while potential newbies walked into our chapter house. There were choreographed dance moves. There was clapping. The whole nine yards. We had songs we sang during meetings, ritual events, etc. With children, you find yourself cheering for everything. First time eating solids! First steps! And nevermind potty training — we break into an all-out riot after a successful trip to the toilet. Same thing for singing. We have to sing to my daughter during every diaper change to distract her, no matter the location. (Yes, I am the creep singing in the Nordstrom bathroom. Oh well.) You do whatever it takes!
5. Event planning
My sorority planned the largest, most successful philanthropy on campus (ah-hem). This took tons of work and ridiculous attention to detail. Did you know it takes hours to make one of those silly balloon arches? Well let me tell you, they look much easier to build than they are. So when it was time to celebrate J’s first birthday, everything seemed like a walk in the park after planning some of those college events. And I’ll save you the suspense: I did not repeat the balloon arch.
6. Sisterhood
I joined my sorority to meet new people and make friends, and those women became a second family to me. No matter the circumstances, my sisters had my back through thick and thin. I have been lucky enough to meet a group of mothers about whom I feel the same way. Knowing they have both my best interests at heart and will stop my son from jumping off the top of the jungle gym while I am tending to my daughter also helps.
These days, I may not have my mommy letters emblazoned across my chest (although my diaper bag and minivan make it crystal clear), but I certainly wear them with pride.
Motherhood comes with a host of choices about what is best for you, your family, and your children. We at Boston Moms Blog are a diverse group of moms who want to embrace these choices instead of feeling guilty or judged for them! We are starting our “Parenting Perspectives” series with a look at the heated topic of birth and birth plans. Two or more of our contributors will share their experiences of choosing their particular birth plan.
When I found out I was pregnant, I knew I wanted a midwife to deliver my baby. But this decision surprised me; I had always assumed I would be seen by an obstetrician — that’s just what women do, right?
I wasn’t a fan of my OB, and during graduate school I had read about the vital role midwives played in saving the lives of mothers and babies, and how midwives had higher success rates and used fewer medical interventions than doctors during delivery. Granted, I was reading scholarly articles about women in the 1700 and 1800s, but I was intrigued. Was there something to this? Did midwives today have a higher success rate of safe deliveries? Or would I be putting myself at risk by seeking an alternative to the norm? I knew I wasn’t interested in a home birth; could I deliver in the hospital under a midwife’s care?
After reading extensively about midwifery (I am a history teacher, after all; reading and research are my passions), I learned that midwives have lower rates of delivering premature babies, higher success rates of vaginal births, and they’re less like to use an episiotomy or medical instruments, such as a vacuum or forceps. Reassured in my decision, I settled on a small certified nurse-midwife practice in Wellesley. After meeting one of the midwives at a meet-and-greet, I fell in love. She was personable, engaging, funny, and compassionate. I came home that night completely aflutter, telling my husband I felt empowered by my decision.
During my first appointment, which lasted over an hour, my midwife took great care to get to know me. Feeling a personal connection, and knowing that my low-risk pregnancy would be treated like a natural occurrence and not a clinical event, I knew I was in good hands. It’s not that I don’t believe in medical interventions; I wanted the reassurance that a medical intervention would only happen if it was an absolute necessity and not because it might be the easier option.
My pregnancy went along swimmingly. Every appointment felt like a social gathering with my dear friends. And then I hit 35 weeks. My fundal height measured more like someone at 28 weeks. When I began to panic, my midwife calmed me down. She explained that there could be simple reasons why — the baby had moved, or the baby was on the smaller side. An ultrasound revealed that I had low amniotic fluid. I was told to drink fluids like Gatorade and that I would need non-stress tests multiple times a week, additional weekly ultrasounds, and other monitoring. The goal was to keep my baby in utero for as long as possible, but minimally until 37 weeks.
This had not been The Plan. Each time I went to the hospital for my NST, my blood pressure was off the charts and I was near tears. But as soon as I headed back to my midwives, I immediately calmed down in their presence. I was soothed, comforted, reassured, but always given a very realistic picture of my options. They listened to my fears, gave their advice, and I felt like I was a part of the team, included in each decision. And at this point, I was grateful for the minimalist approach my midwives had taken earlier; I knew if they were concerned, there was truly a reason to be concerned, and I knew my daughter and I were in good hands.
When I hit 38 weeks, my midwife decided an induction was necessary. After some interesting twists and turns (my birth story would be a whole other blog post!), my baby was not responding to the Cervidil, and her heart rate kept dropping. At one point, my midwife, Colleen, took my hand and calmly told me a C-section might be the only way to bring my daughter safely into the world. Surgery had been my biggest fear, but I felt oddly calm. If Colleen told me it was a necessity, she meant it. She brought in an OB for a consult, who wanted to give me an epidural immediately, in case I had to go into surgery. I was confused. I was barely dilated, and I wasn’t in any pain — an epidural just didn’t make sense to me at that point. I asked her at what point a C-section would be deemed necessary, and she offered to wheel me right in to the OR. I was floored. Why would I elect to have a surgery I didn’t need? Colleen saw the look of panic on my face and determined that surgery was not essential at that moment. I was relieved; Colleen had stood up for me as her patient but took my situation very, very seriously.
While my elaborate, well-organized birth plan had been completely thrown out the window, Colleen helped me safely deliver my daughter vaginally — eleven hours after the exchange with the OB. My baby handled the birth well, and I was relieved and grateful. Still, I wonder how different her birth might have been if Colleen hadn’t been there.
Ultimately, it might not matter who a woman chooses for her prenatal care; a midwife might not be the best personal choice for another woman, just as an OB didn’t feel like the right choice for me. But I learned through my childbirth experience that a woman needs to feel comfortable with and confident in her provider. I had a vision of what my birth experience should have been like, but I quickly learned that it doesn’t always happen that way. The takeaway from my daughter’s birth is this: Because anything can happen, every woman should have a provider she trusts.
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