“Pregnant.”  “Two pink lines.”  As soon as you see those little markers of confirmation on a pee stick, I think you should get yourself a “Veteran Mom Sponsor.”  By Veteran Mom Sponsor, I mean, a friend who is very similar to you in temperment, a person who you and she can be completely honest with, and a person who will tell you “as it is” without sugar coating.  (Kind of like an AA sponsor… and I promise you, I’ve only been to one or two of those meetings in my college heyday years.  Ahahahah.)  But the most important characteristic you should try & find in your sponsor would be that… she should be 100 % crazier than you.  Why you ask?  Solely for selfish reasons, YOU WILL FEEL A LITTLE BIT MORE NORMAL!!! ahahah.

After I got pregnant through God’s good grace, I became an incessant worry-wart.  I’m sure I possessed that characteristic even prior to becoming pregnant, but it became expontentially heightened afterwards.  I like to blame it completely and 100 % on hormones.

Once you get pregnant, especially for those who had a more difficult time conceiving, you start giving yourself markers like… “ok, just until I see the heartbeat,” or “just until the 14th week.”  Then, when those milestones are met, it becomes “just until they are viable,” or “I’ll stop worrying once the baby is out.”  Well, what the heezack, my baby is out!… but I’m still worrying.  I worry about a gamut of things such as:  whether or not she is bored; if I’m doing enough to stimulate or not stimulate her; where she is going to preschool, etc.  But the worrying doesn’t stop there… my little brain’s hamster is rapidly spinning its wheel and firing other thoughts as well.  For crying freakzilla, when will it end.  According to other momma’s… freaking NEVER!!!

I also sit and ponder whether my husband is doing well and about the effects of childbirth on our relationship.  Luckily since Olivia’s birth, we have learned to communicate our needs more efficiently.  But before she came into our lives, I’d be a little spoiled, juvenile, punk and just shut down and tune him out when my feelings would get hurt.    Because I am very prideful… I would put him through hell and back.  And in order to make myself feel better and to mask my insecurities, I’d lash out at him with angry, hurtful words…when, in reality, all I wanted him to do was tell me “it would be ok, to hold me, and to tell me he loves my crazy ass inspite of everything.”   Yet even when he would try, I would just continue to perpetuate the situation, because I didn’t know how to just say… “ok, please help me or please forgive me.”   But he’s human too… and I had to learn the hard way that one can only take so much before his mental well-being gives way too.  He’d call my bluff when I would tell him, “I’m leaving.”  Then one time, he said “then leave.”  I was like… “what the freak-a-zoid!!!  Oh no, what do I do now.”  Then, my fear would kick in and we’d be at it again on this evil vicious cycle.

Fortunately, I FINALLY realized what my issues were… and we have worked out some major quirks.  So our major blowouts over childcare issues and what not has seized for the moment and hopefully from now on.  But boy, some of our battles were not pretty.  Hence the need for a sponsor who is more insane in the membrane than you; the better for your peace of mind. =)  Let me say though, it was not easy at the beginning to commit to change and really begin partaking in an adult relationship.

I hate… no, I immensely dislike those couples who want to be picture perfect… (and if you are one of those… so sorry!!! but in my mind, those don’t really exist to me).  Life is hard.  Some are better at rolling with the punches than others, but still difficult nonetheless.  So, a sponsor who is honest about the blowouts in their household and just about life makes you feel less isolated and alone.  Even something as simple as not making a donkey out of you because you want to have a guilt-free glass of wine or coffee while you are breastfeeding.  Because sometimes I just want to scream out to those judgmental eyeballs… “Screw you and your extremist views on the rules & regulations for breastfeeding Slores, cheers!  A double shot please!”  Because 99.9 % of the time, we all have felt this way at a given time.  And unfortunately, we all have that one friend who makes us feel like sheeznits about everything we do.

Anyhoot, I didn’t realize I had postpartum until I was way into my 3rd, almost 4th, month of postpartum.  I just felt burnt out and kept having this nagging feeling of not being a good mother and believing my little angelface and husband deserved better than what I was providing or felt I could provide to them.  (Now looking back, I have to say sleep deprivation is truly a killer… I never needed much sleep… but the broken sleep had taken it’s toll on my sanity.)  I would just cry and cry and crazy thoughts kept haunting me.  I felt so horrible my little girl always saw her mommy crying.

So one day, I reached out to a friend I hadn’t seen in over a decade but a person I had always needed in my life.  And to my surprise, she came and sat by my side to teach and listen.  She told me all the things she went through, that I was normal, and that I’d be alright.  I remember when I was pregnant, my friends would tell me to call them if I needed anything, but for me, it’s not that easy.  They told me it would help to talk to other moms… and truthfully, I didn’t believe it.  But it was my saving grace to have someone be honest with me and just give me the encouragement I needed to get some perspective and sanity back.  I felt like Charlotte from “Sex and the City,” the episode where she got herself back together after suffering a miscarriage… reborn!

Anyhow, this was a long one (that’s what she said… hahaha!  Couldn’t resist.  My husband finds it embarrassing when I say stuff like that!  Oh well.).  But from this point on, I will refrain from boring you with such long entries.   But I hope it gives a sense of relief to new mommies and daddies out there.  I wish I had read something like this from someone I knew well.  And for those who can’t deal with my honesty, STOP READING THIS!!!

Toodles my noodles.

Advertisements