Being a Working Mom

I hear the term "mom guilt" thrown around a lot. I understand it to mean working mothers struggling to balance children and their careers, and constantly feeling like they're failing at the mom part. I've struggled a lot with having to work but I don't feel guilt. I'm actually proud. Proud to say that by living simply and within our means, I'm able to support our family while Mike gets his nursing degree. He's home with the bird and they're able to build a wonderful relationship while I take care of the finances. All our needs our met and our life is filled with family and love and in the end that's all that matters.

Angry

I'm angry. I'm angry that we did the right thing when we sold our house. We didn't walk away. We shelled out our hard earned savings to pay back our mortgage. To give our house away to someone who felt entitled to the very frames on our walls. Who didn't relent until there was nothing left to give. We moved in with family to rebuild our nest egg. How naive we were to think it would only be a few months. We worked and waited. We focused on more important things.

The time has finally come. But we're finally moving home. Our house is ours waiting to be filled. I've found a job. So why am I angry? Purchasing a home is expensive and I feel we've once again had to shell out our hard earned money. With one income at around half our current income, we're forced to compromise our values in order to afford to live. Our philosophy is quality over quantity. Living minimally with nice things. Paying extra for food and items that are gentler on the planet. Living in our means has led to compromising our ethics. 

We've cut back as much as we can and are still just getting by. It's humbling to have to check your bank account before making purchases. Could we have saved better? Maybe. We had some unforseen expenses with Gemma in the NICU and my own stay hospital stay and rehabilitation, and moving has brought about it's own expenses. New license plates, more expensive car insurance and the like. I just feel like we can't get our feet underneath us. Don't misunderstand, I'm not upset that we've have to tighten our belts around here. We're home and that's what matters. I have a good job with health insurance and we're making it. It's the "right" thing we did by paying back our drowning mortgage that has led us to where we are. And that's what makes me so angry.

Season

I put mascara on before work the other day, forgetting that my commute is usually wrought with tears. I have so much trouble leaving my sweet baby at night. Being unable to do our nightly nursing ritual is heartbreaking. Not to mention my husband's troubles with an overtired baby, which usually ends after a few hours with hiccupy, crying breaths and a tense husband. There are so many days that I just wish we could go back to Mike working full time and me home with Gem. I never wanted to work full time. I dragged my feet on job applications; was unnecessarily selective about which positions I applied for. I kept thinking that he would get something and I would get what I wanted. We argued about it. Mike tried to get a police job, but stopped short of the certification course. He didn't want to be the police anymore. He didn't want to deal with the shit people, that I didn't know what it was like to have someone spit in your face, to deal with alcoholics and domestic abuse. He never seemed very unhappy when he was doing it. Sure I heard about the bullshit. The people of the town, the brass, the awful 6 day a week schedule, and the petty office drama. But there was also the signal ones, the training classes, laughing at other people's idiocy, the friendships. It never seemed that bad. We argued some more. I cried more while exclaiming that apparently one of us has to be unhappy, and apparently it was me.

Mike is an amazing husband and father. He knows how I feel about having to work and does everything he can to make it easier. He makes and cleans up dinner for us, makes my lunch, prepares my bottles for pumping, does laundry, takes care of the dogs and Gem while I sleep all day in preparation for night shift. Packs them all up and goes to his parents, my parents, so the house is quiet. He brings Gem in to nurse and when she's done rocks her to sleep and puts her in her crib to nap. I appreciate those things, more than he knows, but I'd still rather be the one doing them.

We've decided Mike is going to start preparing for nursing school by taking the countless science classes required for the 18 month accelerated nursing program. He's registered to take his first classes; during the week while I work the weekend shift. Our goal is for both of us to be in fulfilling careers, with flexible schedules, a comfortable income, and the ability for one of us to always be home with our children. My head knows that this is the right decision. It's planning for the future, and allowing us to live the lives we want. My heart can't get past walking out the door each night. 

The funny things is that no matter how hard it is for me to leave her, I actually enjoy what I'm doing. A far cry from my previous experience as as nurse, I actually get true fulfillment from helping women learn to become mothers, from latching babies, from watching them stare into their babe's eyes. The belief about postpartum nurses is that they don't do much and that working in this area will cause you to lose your skills. Though not titrating drips, I'm still hanging blood and administering antibiotics to babies. We work with patients on a completely different level. Elation, fatigue, love, anxiety, and hormones make for a more intimate and intense experience as a nurse. It's what I'm supposed to do. 

I mentioned to one of the nurses I work with how hard it is for me. She's one of those truly sweet, genuine people whose been a nurse her whole life. She said "I know it's hard for you now, but know that this is just a season in your life, and you'll be better for it"

Moments 2014

It's so easy to look ahead that I always struggle to live in and savor the moments. If I don't make a conscious effort those moments can quickly fade from my memory. These are some of the things I want to remember.

When Gemma was in NICU, there was a night where she had to eat every 3 hours on the dot because they were monitoring her blood sugar. If it was too low they would give her formula. After waking up so many times that night, I sat in the rocker pumping while Mike held Gemma. There were dividers up around us, but I could hear the day starting and see the sun filtering in through the always closed blinds. I was beyond exhausted but the hormones from pumping were relaxing me and I managed to doze off.

One of our last mornings in NICU, I was sitting in the rocker nursing Gemma and I could see out the small window in our semi private room. I had grown to love these early mornings and watching the stars ebb to daylight.

I went to visit my 95 year old grandpa with my parents. Gemma was with me and Grandpa was elated to be holding sweet Gemma Lorraine, the latter which was named for his wife. She started fussing and he asked if I had a bottle. I smiled sweetly and said, "nope, just me". "You nursing her?", he asked. I replied yes and took her into the bedroom. As I was getting her on I heard him say, "she doesn't have to be concerned about feeding her child in front of me, I've been down that road many times." I never knew my grandma nursed her babies and I was grateful for the surprising support from my sweet stubborn, old grandpa.

I was swimming with Gemma in my parents pool. I was holding her tight and letting her get used to the water. I was smiling at her and she was smiling back at me from underneath her eyelet sunhat when this song came on.

Back when all my little goals seemed so important

Every pot of gold fill and full of distortion

Heaven was a place still in space not in motion

But soon

I got you

I got everything

I’ve got you

I don’t need nothing

More than you

I got everything

I’ve got you

We went walking through the hills

Tryin’ to pretend that we both know

Maybe if we save up

We can build a little home

But then the hell storm came and yelled, 

“You need to let go, you’ve got no control. No.”

I got you

I got everything

I’ve got you

I don’t need nothing

More than you

I got everything

I’ve got you

This weight’s too much alone

Some days I can't hold it at all

You take it on for me

When tomorrow’s too much

I’ll carry it all

I’ve got you

And when tomorrow’s too much

I’ll carry it all

I got you

I got you

I got everything

I’ve got you

I don’t need nothing

More than you

I got everything

I’ve got you

I woke up to Max having a small seizure in bed. I stared into his eye and told him he was ok, that he was safe and I was with him. The fan blew my hair around his face and I could see my face reflected in his eyes. 

September

Gem and I were in her rocker nursing. Max finally figured out he could lay on the ottoman and we all sat that way dozing. Gemma looked up at me as I was looking down at her, she gave me a sleepy smile and we both closed our eyes and napped.

I often nap with Gemma during the day. She comes into bed with me and nurses to sleep. She reaches up to play with her hair and holds onto my hands.

Thing I've Learned about Motherhood

Things I've learned about pregnancy and birth

It's crazy

It's the most amazing thing in the world.

Everyone has an opinion.

You're female coworkers may not have a lot of sympathy.

Enjoy every milestone. 

If you're very particular in your aesthetic. Don't have a baby shower. You'll get many things that other people like. 

Multipurpose and gender neutral is a good idea.

You cannot control the birth of your baby. Planning isn't a waste of time, however. Being educated helps you tremendously, but know you must be fluid. 

Things I've learned in my past 6 months as a mother.

Be as you wish to be as a parent. Raise your children the way you want. 

Take advice politely and consider it. It may not be something you care for, but it might be.

Stand your ground. 

Even if you don't feel it right away, you will feel a love you never thought possible.

Your husband loves your child more than you can imagine. 

Babywearing is a good idea.

If something doesn't work, try something else.

You are the perfect mother to your child

A Certain Kind of Woman

I wanted to be a certain kind of woman. I became that kind of woman. - Diane Von Furstenberg

I constantly find myself split between two ideals of self. I find myself wanting to be a lady, loosely following traditional gender roles and striving to be a respectable, mannered woman. I believe in dressing for yourself and your husband, maintaining some of the 'feminine mystique" if you will. Some may find this old fashioned, and self deprecating even, but I believe find this to be my own form of feminism. I expect respect from all but especially men, who should hold doors and act like gentleman to me and other women around me. This view extends to my views and intentions of raising children. Although I have no plans to quash individuality and expression, I expect my children to respect my authority and learn to become properly dressed, well mannered and respectful people.

The other ideal is of the more natural type. The one who tries to save the world from waste and obsolescence. The one who prays to the moon and loves the smell of fresh flowers. I often wish I could  break my tether to technology and be fully present in nature. Again this side of me extends to my goals for motherhood. I want to wear my babies and clothe them in cloth diapers, for them to fall asleep in my arms around a bonfire after a day of playing in the water under the warm Michigan sun.

The point of this is that there is no one type of person, although I find it hard to comprehend. We are all products of our experiences. Our families, friends, education, and careers shape who we are and who we strive to be. I am everything I've experienced, enjoy, dream about, love, and find solace in. This is the kind of woman I am.

The Power of 29

I read this article the other day about The Power of 29: An Ode to Being Almost 30. This article talks about how around this age, my age, we "give fewer fucks" and start feeling like we're living the lives we set up for ourselves. We also learn to accept the truths about ourselves and our lives. Sometimes it's hard to give up your ideal self and live with your real self. A couple of things I've recently accepted about myself.

My nails, rarely, if ever, will be painted. You're lucky if my toes are painted.

I'll never wear a lot of makeup. If it's a choice between sleeping in and getting up early enough to put on makeup, sleeping in will always win.

I love fashion but hate spending money.

I'm a night owl and will NEVER be an early bird. 

I fucking hate exercise.

I am a homebody. 

I'd rather drink with friends around a fire than drink with friends at a bar.

I'm happy to be middle class with a modest home.

I simultaneously love and hate being a nurse.

I'm sometimes self righteous

I swear. A lot.

There's a lot of power in accepting yourself. I think it actually allows you to focus on your real priorities and living your best life, even without painted nails.