Just Stop…


So, I am one of those people who hates giving advice unless asked.. therefore, that also makes me one of those people who hates GETTING advice without asking! I definitely don’t mean to sound like a total bitch, but if I did not ask you how long it’s advised to keep a newborn in it’s bassinet, then I really don’t want to hear from you how it ‘messes up their independence when they’re adults.’ Nor do I want to hear how sliced deli meat if the # 1 cause of stillborn, AS I’m finishing the last bite of my Subway.. Or how sleeping on my back could make my ears explode, or washing the kids clothes in regular detergent could scar them for life….BLAH BLAH BLAH… I DO NOT want to spark a debate with you unless I provoked it! Yet some positive, reassuring advice is always welcome… Needless to say, I am about to give one piece of advice that I feel is extremely useful to know, aaannndd could potentially save your relationship…. and it’s out of pure, ass hat crazy experience..

phone JUNE 14 2012 062

One thing I have always and will always tell people who ask ” any advice you have??” right before the baby comes…is..

“You will hate your husband.”

Pure and simple. And not everyone may go through this, but it’s from feedback and experience that moooosttttt women feel it at some point. It may be for a day, a week, a month (or a few)…. but it will happen and my advice can hopefully help you deter it from becoming anything bigger than what it truly is… and what it truly is, is very captain obvious.. Hormones. Hormones will make you CRAZY… they will make you cry, yell and freak the f out, daily on whoever is closest.. and for some reason, they REALLLY hate your husband. I have mostly found, that within about a day or two of being home, a series of events happen and it’s extremely opposite of the sunshine and daisy’s it’s supposed to be when bringing a new baby home.. Yes, there are times ( a lot of them ) where you and your husband will find yourselves looking at each other with the newest, sweetest love you could ever feel, HOLD ONTO THESE FEELINGS. Hold on with dear life so that your not telling Big Jo Jo on block 9 about how your husband asked what you wanted to eat for dinner and found yourself on the next episode of Snapped.. ( true story ). Ok so I didn’t wind up on snapped, but it was the first time that I started to feel those oh so hateful feelings. And poor Chad, I have to re-iterate ( seriously not spelled right I know ) that he is one of the most supportive, sweet, and wonderful men I’ve ever known. I am extremely blessed to have him in my life, yet some how after each of our children, I found that every time I looked at him I saw Red.


The interesting part of all this is that, as you are screaming at him for “shutting the door too hard” or “washing your clothes in hot on purpose” , you are hearing the words your saying but have absolutely NO idea where they are coming from because in your head, you know your being crazy.. But it feels so good just to let it all out…and I honestly think our hormones choose our husbands because they know they can handle it. They know that deep down in there blessed hearts, that their wives are somewhere in there, and that Satan himself will soon be afraid of her too, and set her free…Ok it’s not that bad.. but that was my experience with hormones…! I, nor Marina, nor Chad will ever forget the time I DID in fact cry over spilled milk… So, first experience breastfeeding I found out that when pumping, and one breast let’s down, so does the other…Well have you ever seen a manual breast pump?

there ya go… That there beaut, was my savior during my first go at breast-feeding. Although I said that a side effect should state that you will have massive guns from pumping the SHIT out of that spring loaded thing, and that it will make a COMPLETE mess when the other breast let’s down because you only have 2 breasts and ONE bottle…I had this little guy given to me because my electric pump was on back order and I had to wait 2 weeks for it to ship.. It works great but, like i explained before, when the other breast let’s down, you lose a cool 1 1/2 of that ‘liquid gold’, and I’m sorry my friends, but THAT was just NOT acceptable to a woman who pumped every 2 hours for 20 minutes and only got like a total of 2 oz. each time… Nope, not gonna let ANY extra hit the floor over here.. SO tapping into my creative genius, I fixed up a plan on how to score that extra ounce every time.. low and behold… the Tupperware.. perfectly square in shape to fit perfectly in the crevice of arm and elbow… Yes, I did, every 2 hours pump one breast with that guy, while balancing a Tupperware under the other so that i got every last drop of whatever my body could produce..I know, talented right? Well, needless to say I worked SO very hard for so very little out-put and I stressed myself to the max thinking how awful it was that I couldn’t even make enough milk for my own child, and that I had to supplement with formula. This was all in midst of already being hard on myself for not being able to breast feed because although I have a really high pain tolerance, I could not stomach the constant twinge of not getting a good latch, ON TOP of feeling horrid after the delivery about my body, and what it was going through after labor.. so , poor Chad, it all got taken out on him. Every move he made already he was in the shitter.. He couldn’t chew, breathe or sleep right and I was harping at him. I am truly surprised he didn’t have me committed, but there too will come a time, that you are rocking that sweet baby at 3 AM going on 45 mins of sleep all night glaring at your tucked in cozy looking husband sound asleep, wishing the plague upon him… 😉


So with knowing all the hard work and effort I put in into being able to produce enough milk for each bottle for Stella, imagine ‘ the day I spilled it.’ Um, let’s just say that,[ (Chapter 5 of WTEWE) say that you CANNOT and must not microwave a baby’s bottle because even if it doesn’t scald there mouths, it most definitely will break down all of the nutrients making it a nutrition-less, wasted effort,] we used to soak the bags of cold pumped milk in a (different) Tupperware of hot water for, oh let’s just say the longest minute of your life, until it was at perfect temp to feed. So one afternoon, Chad asked me to make a bottle for him and he would feed Stella while I could pump and rest if I wanted to, (what an ass-hole , right?? 😉 Anyways, in the bathroom, I went to pour the bag of milk into the bottle, and in slow motion, as I watched helplessly , the bottle tips over into the sink, and I witnessed a little tiny piece of my die as it swirled down the sink.. FULL BLOWN PANIC MODE… OMG I worked SO damn hard just to keep like 4 extra oz in the fridge and now because of my carelessness, we are no longer up one extra bottle every day, and my breasts don’t produce enough milk to even be able to get back on track, so here I go, kicking and screaming at Chad, It was definitely his fault because if he would have just made the bottle like always it wouldn’t have gotten spilled and we wouldn’t be in this predicament/end of the world shit storm.. I literally, made another bottle, gave it to him and pick up my pump and Tupperware and was screaming curse words, prayers, songs, and whatever else could fly out of my mouth, just because.. (of hormones ). I should also mention, that the entire time Chad fed Stella I chased him around, all the while pumping my little hear out to try and produce and produce more and more. But one thing you should know about my friend the manual pump is that every single piece of it detaches so you can thoroughly clean it, and that big funnel piece, that detaches from the actually spring pump, comes a part the easiest.. So mid, curse word , I realize just how furiously I was pumping because I pulled the whole handle right off the funnel and low and behold dropped my Tupperware, and there was now milk squirting out of the open end of the funnel… kill me NOW.. It was easily one of the most horrific and yet hilarious points in our relationship because I had to come to terms with not being able to breast-feed anymore, and it also helped me let go of a couple things..


This is where the “Just Stop” title comes into play, and this will also be where most of the meaning of this post is… STOP BEATING YOURSELF UP.. Just stop.. I beat myself up with every birth/child over the most minor, little things..my body, my ability to parent, my disability to breast-feed, my lack of motivation, exercise, energy, ANYTHING to beat myself up over.. Again, I saw people of Facebook and Twitter with kids that were dressed to a T, and houses spotless, and going on vacations etc, and all of the sudden, I was worthless, and pathetic… Until I realized that, when I STOPPED comparing other peoples lives, and I started to realize all of the things I was good at, and that each mark on my body meant that I was blessed enough to be able to grow a child, that it’s ok if breast-feeding wasn’t for me and it DID not make me any less of a wonderful mother and that I in fact started to let myself believe the encouraging and beautiful words that Chad was saying to me, that I AM worth it, that it’s all just a part of the process of going through hormonal and life changes, that it CAN be beautiful for your whole entire body and life to change and become one of your greatest achievements. That its OKAY for your house to be messy and for the laundry to pile up, because it means your living. You are creating memories for your babies, you are creating their ‘inner voice’ that says it’s ok to have fun and get dirty as long as we know that at some point the mess will get cleaned up. So STOP, stop beating yourself up, stop letting your thoughts become your life. Change it every day, see the beauty in your messy living room, it means your kids are happy. See the beautiful person in the mirror that now has a gray hair and a smile line or 2, it means you’ve made it this far in your life to be blessed by another day.. We have to stop comparing, stop blaming and stop arguing… Believe your compliments and receive your blessings.. because Pink said it best… “Your fucking perfect…” 🙂



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