mom jeans.

Look at us! Aren't we cute? doesn't this picture just scream..."happy, happy, happy!"

When I was just barely 20 years old I had my first daughter. I remember being ecstatic the entire time I was pregnant with her. I was barely ever nauseous and in a great mood. I just knew that when this little baby came everything would be perfect. I knew if I loved her enough and worked really, really hard our lives together would be bliss. The moment she was born was a huge and breath taking awakening (breath taking as in you fall from great heights and get the breath ripped out of your lungs and you curl up in air-less, gasping pain).

The moment I held her I was overcome with fear. I had never held a newborn. EVER. I just barely was old enough to go to the bathroom without asking for permission from an "adult". What the hell was I doing having a baby? I was so young, so uneducated, so unprepared, and completely and consumingly terrified.
That first 6 months was so dreadfully hard. First off I figured out that my body didn't know what the heck was going on and decided to practically shut down; which sent me on a emotional roller coaster called Postpartum Depression. I also figured out that although, God (or whomever made us) did intend for us to make fluid to feed our offspring the whole process was a little less than natural. I didn't know proper ways to have my little girl "latch on" or that latching on improperly would lead to deep bruises and bleeding in my most tender "areas". (OUCH!)

I remember being in the nursery in the green rocking chair and S was trying to nurse and she was so hungry and I was so tense from pain and I was trying to relax so I could have a let down. My mom was with me, trying to help through those first weeks and she was trying to give pointers (but she had never nursed either), and Little S was so frustrated, and I was so frustrated. It was no use. I was a total failure. What kind of mother can't feed her baby. All I wanted to do was bury myself in warm blankets, fall asleep and never wake up. But that wasn't an option. I kept trying and kept trying. Eventually I was in so much pain that tee-shirts and warm damp cloths made me cry out from pain. Nursing was officially off. I had completely failed. Then came the pumping. I tried to pump with a hand pump for a bit and finally invested in a good breast pump (I highly recommend spending the money if you will be pumping frequently.) The pain was still unreasonably high but I hung in there. It helped that S was getting full and becoming much more content, a full belly will do that to ya. Later I started using birth control and my milk completely dried up. I was so stupid. After the deed was already done I did some googling to find out that the b.c. was the reason I wasn't producing milk. I was so sad and guilt ridden, thinking I had failed to do my duty as my little girls mother and food source.

Then it was time to teach S to sleep without being rocked. Haha. This time I did a ton of research and found the Ferber Method. Yep, there is actually a man who put his name on the action of letting your child "cry it out". I wish I could say that doing all that research made it all a piece of cake...nope. In our tiny house there were not a lot of places to hide from the sound of your sweet little baby's crys. So down stairs I went stuffing my ears with my fingers and checking on her to soothe and cover her back up every 5 mins then 10mins then 15, 20, 30mins...etc. You get the idea. But it did work. It was so hard to hear her cry and cry and cry but it did work. After about 5 days she would fall asleep on her own in about 5 minutes. She to this day sleeps like a champ.

When S was about 18 months old her completely delightful self decided to go through the terrible twos. One minute she'd be a ball of smiles and sunshine and the next she'd be sprawled out on the floor screaming because her graham cracker broke. Then after more research and refusing to physically discipline her, I turned to a friend and my friend lent me to this book "The Power of Positive Parenting" by Glenn I. Latham. I didn't read the whole book because I needed to get it back to my friend but what I did read helped enormously with that stage in our lives.

Then S was 21 months old and I have another daughter and she has a sister and this little human is completely different than her sister. I remember thinking I was just going to have another S to bring home from the hospital but instead, from the first moment I saw her, she was different. S was slender and black haired with olive skin and almond eyes. H was chubby faced, red headed and light skinned, and had an adorable round nose. There temperaments, likes and dislikes, fears, giggles, habits, and mannerisms were all completely different. What made S laugh didn't always work with H. Everything needed to be tweaked and molded just for her, or really for all of us, because WE were all a little different now. I nursed H with complete ease. It was a wonderful experience (I did A LOT more research too). When H came along I was already used to packing a bag with diapers and wipes, drinking enough fluids to stay hydrated, preparing snacks for little people, unfolding the stroller with one hand..or well pretty much doing anything with one hand. I was just different. I had grown. I had changed. I was experienced in motherhood, I was experienced in adulthood...at least in was experienced in "my mother/adulthood".

Fast forward a couple of years. Life happened. Days went by. Birthday parties, easter hunts, naps, tantrums, dinners, life. Our family dynamic changed. Life changed and I was a single mother. I was in complete inner chaos and I was constantly trying to hold myself together and constantly trying to make everything seem okay that I actually did the opposite. I was wrecked with stress and grief and more stress that I just completely went into survival mode. "Just get through the day with smiles on the girls faces and everything will be alright." That was the goal for a while and then it started to become a habbit. But sometimes making everyone "happy" doesn't make everyone really happy. I was letting things go that should have been addressed and I was making a big deal out of things that didn't matter. I was so scrambled that I didn't know which way was up.

Fast forward, yet again, and things got a little better and then a little better still. Again, we all grew. We started to get used to our new lives, our new routines, and our new selves. I met a wonderful man who I fell in love with and chose to marry. He is a wonderful friend, husband, and step-father to me and my girls. As our lives got more routine we seemed to be more content and become truly happy again.

I still have a lot of growing left to do. My sweet little S and I butt heads more than I would like, I am still trying to work through negative feelings from my past, and I'm trying to figure out how this whole "parenting-step-parenting-work together as spouses/parents" thing is supposed to work. Sometimes I go to bed with a huge smile on my face and sometimes I'm awake racking my brain to figure out what to do to make things better, to make my parenting better, to make my co-parenting better, to make my "wife-ing" better.

I know that I still have the habit of trying to "make everyone happy" when I know that I need to just put my "mom jeans" on and make the hard decisions that, although don't make me all that popular, are the choices that need to be made for the better good. Sometimes I loose my temper and I so often see my flaws reflecting back at me in the actions of my children. But just like I did before...I will continue to love my girls sooo sooo sooo much and I will work really, really hard; I will never cease to research and grow and change, because that's what parents do. That's what adults do. We mold ourselves to become what our families need most, what we need most, what will make us happy...what will make us truly happy.