Saturday, May 11, 2013

Because Even Good Moms Have Really Bad Days

I had to use the bathroom. God forbid I actually have to poop in the middle of the day! Of course, all hell has broke lose in those few moments that I took for myself. 

The big kids are fighting.

"Gracie pushed me down!"
"But he took my baby!"
"I had it first!", he pushes her right in front of me.
"BOTH OF YOU IN TIME OUT, NOW! No pushing, stop looking at each other, face the wall. Timer has started."

I smell something. I know this smell all too well. Ugh - SHIT. Literally. "Paisley Ann! Where are you?", I holler out. The giggle comes from the playroom. Upon entering the playroom that was spotless this morning, I find it wrecked beyond recognition. There sits Paisley in the middle of heaps of blocks, naked, brown nastiness on her hands, a bare, dirty bottom on the floor, soiled diaper face down beside her. Stay calm, Marissa, I tell myself.

Take control of the situation. Send Gracie to get three Wal-Mart bags. Bag up blocks at the scene of the crime, set aside. Bag up dirty diaper, wrap it tight, place wrapped diaper into another clean bag, set aside to take to the outside trash later. Grab baby, place in bath, scrub down.

Mid-scrub down, screaming ensues. Gracie & Reilly are fighting again. Holler out for both of them to go to each of their rooms and sit on their beds until I'm done. Not that they'll listen to that. Finish washing Paisley, get her out and diaper her. Reach into her drawer for shorts to ensure another diaper fiasco is avoided - empty. Crap. Laundry! Set her free with only a shirt and diaper, praying for the best.

I tell Gracie & Reilly they can color at the table as long as they share crayons and play nice. Yeah, right. I dump the bag of blocks into the sink filled with warm water and bleach, clean up and Lysol the playroom floor where Paisley's dirty bottom once rested. WordWorld temporarily distracts Paisley while I grab a basket of clothes and head to the garage to toss them into the washer. 

"Mom! Paisley's going outside!", Gracie screams. I peek my head out of the garage door to see my freshly cleaned baby sliding her body down each dirty step, heading toward her outdoor toys. Abandon the clothes, wrangle Paisley back inside, entice her back to the playroom with Goldfish and a fresh cuppy of ice water.

I walk back into the dining room to see crayons scattered across the table and floor - no big kids in sight. "Gracelyn! Reilly! Come clean up the crayons now, please!" No response. I set out to look for them. "Reilly, Mom's gonna be mad at you!", I hear Gracelyn in her room, I think. Walk into her room, they're not there. Peek into the kids' bathroom. There sits Gracie on the potty with Reilly standing next to her, three toilet paper rolls stacked on top of each other...soaking wet. Stay calm, Marissa, I tell myself once again. Toss the ruined toilet paper, talk to Reilly, take away his new Iron Man toy, then notice his clothes are also wet. Reach into his drawer for fresh clothes - empty. CRAP, the laundry! I knew I was forgetting something.


This is an hour, probably less, of a typical day in the Peterson house while Daddy is at work.

I'm not a perfect mother, not by a long shot. I've yelled at my kids; I've let five too many curse words escape my lips in their presence; I've bribed them with sugary snacks to get ten minutes of peace on many occasions.

Do I get stressed out? Not yes, but HELL yes. All the time.
Do I feel like a failure? Every single day, almost.
Do I sometimes beg for a break? Oh, yes.
Do I still love my kids, even when it gets "bad"? With every ounce of my being. Say or think otherwise and I'll make your death look like a freak accident.

Every mom out there has had a bad day, a bad week. That doesn't make them a bad mother.

It's not all rainbows and butterflies. It's not adorable Pinterest crafts and sweet, smiling photo shoots every day. Do those beautiful moments happen? YES! Those little terrors that wreak havoc have good days, GREAT days, wonderful moments where I wish I could freeze-frame time. But, that's not the 24/7 reality.

I know I am blessed. I KNOW. I would not trade one horrible, tantrum-filled, poop ridden, sanity-taking day with them for a million amazing days without them, and that's the God's honest truth.

Motherhood is a beautiful privilege denied to many deserving women, this I know. I have never and will never take my children for granted.

When I talk about a bad day or when I make a sarcastic remark about my children, that doesn't mean that I don't love them, that I don't cherish them. I am well aware of how lucky I am to not have one, but THREE, great kids. Humor, even if sometimes in bad taste, is my way of coping with the stress of motherhood.

I may want to hang them upside down by their sweet little toes on a clothes line while I sneak away inside for an adult drink and gummy candy, but that doesn't mean I'd actually do it. Get a sense of humor, people. If I had to be straight-faced serious while parenting my three kids, I'd go a week before I'd need to be admitted into a mental institute.

There are some women, a lot of them mothers themselves, that love to tear into other mothers. Degrading you. Dissecting your every word. Pointing out all of your parenting flaws, all while claiming to "not judge". It's them with the problem. Not you. If they've taken time out of their perfect lives to criticize you, you've already won. Don't give into their attention-seeking antics.

Do your best. Hug your kids, kiss their noses, smell their hair after a bath, read them books, tickle them, tell them you love them, tuck them into bed, turn on their princess/super hero nightlight... then run like hell for the kitchen and pour yourself a drink. You deserve it.


Thursday, April 4, 2013

Secret Subject Swap: Letter to My Kitchen

Welcome to Take 1 of April's Secret Subject Swaps. This week, 12 brave bloggers picked a secret subject for someone else and were assigned a secret subject to interpret in their own style. Today we are all simultaneously divulging our topics and submitting our posts!

Secret Subject Swap

My Secret Subject was submitted by Karen @ Baking in a Tornado! Here it is:

Write a letter to your kitchen.

Well, here goes nothin'! Hope you enjoy the real life stories from my kitchen!


Dear Kitchen,

My gag reflex is already going crazy just bringing this up. I think you know by my gagging, almost crying, and non-stop bitching that the other day was not my idea. How was I supposed to know that he'd bring in his latest kill and tell me to clean it in our kitchen sink!? Never mind the fact that they were still warm and nerve-twitching. 'It's the circle of life, baby.' is the only consolation I got after yelling, 'YOU KILLED THE EASTER BUNNY, ASSHOLE!' But, let's face it - dirtier things have happened in that kitchen, no?


Miss Kay's Protege


Dear Kitchen,

Breakfast for dinner always rocks. Despite the fire alarm cheering on my pancakes, we ended on a strong note. Besides, I don't think anyone ever gets the first pancake perfectly perfect. It's either undercooked or burnt like hell. Plus, you know what they say: "Pancakes are like husbands; there's no shame in throwing the first one out!"


Chef Mom


Dear Kitchen,

Don't act like this was the first time and we both know it's certainly not the last. He kissed me, Kitch! On my neck. Like that. We both know what that does to me. I was jello in his hands, I couldn't help myself! Quit judging me - the kids were in bed! Ok, ok, so maybe they were thrown fruit snacks and threatened if they stepped foot outside the playroom for the next ten minutes. (pssh, we all know it doesn't even take that long, but I can't call my husband out like that.) But c'mon! It was a natural act with a few unnatural noises. It's not a big deal and at least I cleaned the scene with Clorox wipes after!


Busy Momma in the Kitchen


As much as you may think that these letters to my kitchen only came from my imagination, I think we all know I'm not that creative. All statements made were complete facts straight from the Peterson Kitchen. No judgment, right?! :) I wish I could say that no bunnies were harmed in the making of this blog post. But we both know I can't.

Here's a list of the other fantastic bloggers taking part in Take 1 of SSS:


Check them out! I'll definitely be checking in on all of them to see who got my secret subject and to see the creativity all of them put into their prompts!



Saturday, March 16, 2013

And Now You Know For Sure: I'm Crazy.

Before I begin this post, you'll need to know a couple things:

1) The property that we just moved onto is owned by a very rich (and somewhat famous) doctor whom I will refer to as 'Doc' from now on. Close friends and family know the identity of our amazing landlord, but in order to protect his privacy, I will not publicly disclose his actual name.

2) I believe in a lot of crazy things. This post will address my belief in ghosts and the like. Beware! :)


When we finally got the official news that Doc had decided to rent to us, despite us feeling like there was just no freakin' way that we'd actually landed such an amazing deal, we started telling people. Everyone was happy, especially us, considering that our new home was literally one mile from the only other home we'd ever known as a family. It's even on the same road! It'd be an easy move and we're able to stay in my hometown that I love so much.

When we told my Grandma, who has lived in this town for well over 30 years and knows everyone and their dog, she said, "Oh, you're moving into the old Phillips' house?"

" We're moving into [insert Doc's surname]'s old house.."

"Yeah, and he bought it from the Phillips' a long time ago.", replied my Grandma.

"Oh, you know them?"

"I knew them - they've passed on."

Wait, WHAT?!

This is the part where my dramatic personality comes into play and at that very moment I decided in my mind that the place was freakin' haunted. No ifs, ands, or buts. Someone that used to live there died? Yep. Haunted! It's a no brainer.

We moved in without a hitch. "Well, it doesn't feel haunted...", I told myself the first night we stayed. And, lo and behold, with the exception of a few noises that I passed off as 'old house creaks', we made it a whole week living there without our bed being elevated or dishes flying everywhere like I originally feared when I decided the place was haunted.

But, it didn't take long before things started happening...
My parents came over the Sunday after we moved in. Raymond & my Dad had left to go do something at my Grandma's, so it was just my Mom, me, and the kids. We were in the main living room when we heard a loud knocking on the front door. I got up to open the door, thinking it must be the guys. Before I could make it to the other side of the house, they knocked again, so I hollered out, "I'm coming, hold on!" When I made it to the door and opened it, there was no one in sight. I went back over to the other side of the house and my mom asked where the guys were. "It wasn't them.", I told her, "No one was there."

My Mom thought the guys were trying to mess with us, so she called my Dad and to our surprise, they were still at my Grandma's house, more than a mile up the road. Now, if we lived anywhere else, I'd think someone had, like, ding-dong ditched us or something. But, for one, we live way out in the boonies. Two, there's a coded gate to get on the property. Three, we're in the dead center of a 450 acre ranch - there's our home, the Doc's mansion, and three cabins (that are about a 1/2 mile away from our home and vacant at that time) that he rents out to people that want to enjoy the amenities of the ranch. Not exactly the prime spot for a ding-dong ditcher.

So, conclusion? GHOST.

Just last weekend, my parents, grandparents and one of my cousins came over to go fishing. Later that evening, my parents left. The kids were getting fussy, so my Nana, my cousin, and I decided to head back to our house and leave Raymond and my Papa to fish.

Our front living area is one giant room - the living room is right beside the dining room, which opens up into the kitchen. We were in the living room and I had just finished telling my Nana about the weird noises we hear. A few minutes passed and I walked into our kitchen, leaving my cousin, my Nana, and the kids in the living room, when all of a sudden there was a loud crash - we all looked up, startled, and saw that one of the chairs at the dining table had completely fallen over. It's a good, solid wood dining set. Nothing around it, no one beside it and it just fell over.

Conclusion? A GHOST!!!

The latest 'ghost story' happened just this past Wednesday. This is the first incident that my husband has witnessed and he's the biggest skeptic, thinks anything like this is a crock.

The door that leads into a second living room that we have turned into a playroom does not close all the way. We've tried to push down on the door handle as we close it, thinking that would do the trick, but the house settling has made it impossible to close all the way.

Raymond and the kids were outside playing and I was in our bedroom getting dressed. I had just peaked out the window to see what they were up to, before going about trying to find a pair of undies in the enormous piles of clean clothes that I had yet to fold and put away. Elbows deep in clothes, I practically jumped out of my skin when I heard a door slam very loudly. "QUIT SLAMMING THE DAMN DOOR!", I yelled out, sure that it was one of the kids. Moments later, I heard Raymond banging on the playroom door, hollering, saying he couldn't open it. I grabbed a nightgown, slipped it on, (still hadn't found undies!) and walked out to the playroom door. It was shut. Completely shut. I turned the knob, pushed but it didn't budge.

 "Why in the hell would you close it?!", Raymond shouted through the door. WTF? I didn't close it! Finally, after a couple minutes of banging on the top of the door to get it un-wedged from the uneven door frame, we got it open.

"Marissa, why in the hell did you slam the door that hard?"

"UH, I DIDN'T slam the door, Raymond. I was in our room! Are you sure it wasn't one of the kids?"

He said that all of the kids were outside with him when they all heard the door slam. He thought it was me. When we both realized that it was none of us, and knowing how hard it had to of been slammed to get it shut all the way, we both shuddered. We didn't even have to say the words to know what we were both thinking.


The next day I decided to ask the overseer that has worked here for a while about it, expecting for him to laugh it off and call us crazy. All he said was, "I was waiting for y'all to say something, to be honest. My wife and I have witnessed some very odd things around the entire property since we started working here, the main place being that house."



Do you believe in ghosts? Have any stories? Tell me about it!


Thursday, February 21, 2013

My Blog Voice

I've been in a blog funk lately. I wrote a blog last week but it was just... forced, I guess? I felt like I had to write something for my followers to read, but I just wasn't really feeling it. I feel a little bit like that with this post, too.. but I'm just going to keep rambling and hope that it comes out right.

I keep asking myself, Why am I Blogging? What do I hope to get out of it? The truth is, I started blogging just to blog. I wanted to be able to ramble (like now), be myself, and just kinda sorta chronicle whatever is happening in my life. Then, I started and didn't realize what all came along with it. All the rules, the hops, the follower gain/loss, trying to 'sell yourself' to other bloggers and/or readers. It's all exhausting! It's kind of what has kept me away for a bit.

I do want people to read my blog. I want followers. I want people to like me, my blog.

But, I won't pretend to be someone I'm not to get there. I won't change my writing style or constantly write 'crowd pleaser' type posts all the time.

I'm not always funny. I'm not always positive. There are days when I will have a great post that flows from these fingers, that sends all of you into belly laughs or maybe even tears. More often than not, though, this will just be a sort of diary for me. I want to write about my family, our days together - good and bad - our everyday happenings in the Peterson home. My random, all-over-the-place thoughts, my opinions. I do not claim to be a writer, because I'm not. I don't want this blog to be strictly one way or another. I'm going to post what I want, how I want.

I'm well aware that I won't get 'big' by writing like this - but, I swear on a pile of Skittles, I do not give even one ounce of a crap. That's not my intention, and considering how often these funks come along, I don't think I'm cut out to be a 'big' blogger. I just want real followers that can relate to me - and I've found some. I love reading their posts and I hope they feel the same.  

These are just a handful of the amazing women that I've been able to connect with, thanks to blogging:

Your Daily Dose of Damn!
Diapers...or Wine? 
A Grace Full Life 
Momma Candy 
The Insomniac's Dream 

Out of the 100 or so blogs that I follow (and I LOVE 'em all, LOVE LOVE LOVE), these are the women that I've been able to connect with outside of my blogs, whether it be Twitter, FB, etc. And I hope to connect with many more! There's so much beauty in being able to get a real piece of a 'stranger' through their writing, to be able to say, 'hey! I can relate to this!', to feel a sense of community, friendship.

I've said it before, I spent so much of my adult life trying to be someone that I thought everyone would like. I lost myself to the crowd. I won't let that happen again. What's the point in people following, commenting, liking my posts if I'm putting on a front? I want people to like the REAL me. I want to feel all warm and fuzzy when someone tells me that they can relate to what I've written, because I'll know that it's all real, it's all me.

I've made friends, lost friends, drifted away from friends, and repaired some broken friendships in this past year. Surprisingly, I have more friends now, as the real Marissa, than I ever did as the people-pleaser (and-sometimes-fake) Marissa. And, get this, it's not just the quantity, people - the quality is amazing. I have friends now that I love so much, that I trust implicitly, that I can be myself around without fear of judgment or behind-the-back talking.

I started blogging right at the point when all of this new-found 'realness' was at it's peak and I'm so glad that I started.

So, I guess I don't need to really find my 'blog voice', because the only voice I want on here is mine. The real one. And that's what I've given so far.

Just hang in there with me, will ya? Read on through the boring, love me through my funk(s), and anticipate the funny.. I promise it's in here somewhere!


Monday, February 11, 2013

Moving, Monster Trucks, & Why I Need More Maternity Jeans

I feel so out of it. It's been more than a week since I've been on Blogger/Facebook/Twitter for more than five minutes - which, I'm not complaining about that. But, I've never in six years been this busy. I've ignored phone calls and texts from dear friends, not because I don't want to talk, but because I'm either busy when they call/text or because I'm that freaking exhausted that I just don't want to get off my hind end and grab my damn phone.
Not to mention, my body thought it'd be super awesome to kick me while I'm, my uterus decided to tear down her walls while I'm tearing down our home's walls.. Nice.

Update time? I think yes!

We're moving. We've lived in our home since 2007. This is the home that we experienced all of my pregnancies in. This is the home that we brought all of our babies home to. This is the home that all of our children took their first steps in. Every mark on the wall, every scuff on the floor.. they all have stories, memories. And now we're leaving them all behind.

We are happy with this move. It came suddenly, we were heartbroken, but through every tear and prayer, we've stayed strong. And, new opportunities have presented themselves to us - opportunities and blessings that we never would have dreamed of. When we tell people, it sounds like we're lying because it truly does seem too good to be true. But, true it is...

Now comes the OMG, I WANT TO RIP MY HAIR OUT part. Packing and moving is the PITS. I never realized how much crap we had accumulated until I'm going through each room thinking, Why in the hell do we even HAVE this?! And, we not only have to pack up a 3 bedroom, 2 bath home with over six years worth of furniture/toys/clothes/tools/random crap with three kids, but we're moving to a home that is already fully furnished. Fully. Furnished. So, the things that we don't want in the new house have to be packed up and moved to our landlord's storage (by us); we have to pack/move the stuff from our home into the new home; decide what of our things need to be stored and then pack/move those things into storage. Then, after all that is done, we have to deep clean and repair things in our old home and THEN we can finally settle in to our new home.

Good thing is that our new home is on the same road, less than two miles down from our current home. Cool, huh? We have amazing friends and family that have offered to help us. And, this isn't a hurried move - we have the entire month of February to slowly pack/move things between houses. So, it could definitely be worse!

We are ready to take on this new chapter in our lives and take full advantage and give many thanks for the new opportunities we have stumbled upon!

Excuse the blurry picture!

Monster Trucks. Heck freaking YES. This past Saturday was our third year taking the kids to see the Outlaw Nationals in Austin, Tx. We had a blast, like every year. My parents, brother, sister-in-law, nephew and grandparents all went, too. This year, they were going to attempt to do a flip in a Monster Truck. A FLIP, Y'ALL. It was a failed attempt, but still pretty cool to watch a huge truck land upside down.

We got there way too early, though, and Reilly did not find it very entertaining to watch Sgt. Smash drive around the dirt track. He wanted to climb the bleachers, he wanted something to eat, he wanted something to drink, he had to go potty again and this time 'it's really pumming out!', he wanted to ride Sgt. Smash again, he didn't want to sit by Daddy, he wanted Papa, now he wants Daddy again, wait Meme has candy, now he wants her.. And, literally, the SAME deal with Paisley! She didn't want to be held, but then she did. She didn't want her earphones on, she wanted Meme, Meme had to go smoke and she wants to go with her but I won't let her, now she needs her diaper changed... goodness! Gracelyn just kept begging for more food, but nothing like the other two. All in all, though, it was a great time. Truly. I love doing things as a big family and even if it wasn't all perfection, we left there with smiles on everyone's faces and way too much sugar in our bellies.

Maternity Jeans. If you know me in real life, you know I'm not shy about the fact that I still wear maternity jeans. They're comfortable and I like them. Plus, I'm terrified to know what size jean I'm really in. I had babies in '08, '09, & '11, so I pretty much lived in maternity jeans for three years. I started out my pregnancy with my first baby in a size 7 jean. I'm positive that I've WAY more than doubled but not quite tripled that size..and I'd really rather not know. I've been too lazy to do anything about it diet/exercise wise, so it's totally my fault. And, as soon as I get off my ass and do something about it and feel comfortable, I will totally venture out of the maternity section and maybe try on real jeans that button and zip! But, until then.. I need more maternity jeans.

My two pairs of jeans suffered an unfortunate case of chub rub in the thigh area, which finally wore into a hole. Now I'm down to two pairs of black slack-like maternity jeans that I bought while working at the attorney's office, and my gauchos. I've been wearing the black slacks & gauchos for the past two months and have had plenty of opportunities and a generous amount of funds to buy more maternity jeans... I just haven't. I need some jeans, STAT.

Motherhood Maternity, here I come... and if any of the sales girls ask how far along I am, I'll proudly reply, 'She's 18 months old!' :)


Monday, January 28, 2013

We All Have Our Moments

We all have our moments of doubt. Those please-go-away moments when you have so many what-ifs swirling in your mind that the negativity just consumes you.

I'm a positive person. Anyone that knows me in real life can vouch for that. I have an optimistic outlook on most things and always try to see the silver lining.

But, we all have our bad moments. Or days.

Today at a little after 3 o'clock, I had a bad moment. 
I can't, at this moment, disclose the exact source of my worry. ( I will SOON!) But, I went from all smiles to pressing tears after just one simple thought: What if something goes wrong?

That one thought sent five million horrible scenarios and daunting what-ifs straight to my already overwhelmed brain. I sat there, thinking about everything that could go wrong, reasons why we didn't deserve this, and how it was just too good to be true. 

Why, oh why, do I do this to myself? My stress level went through the roof, I couldn't hold the tears back, and I just laid on the couch, pressing my face into the couch pillow. I tried so hard to just calm down. Was I seriously just laughing and smiling three minutes ago? I have a problem.

As I was wallowing in self-pity and creating an unimaginable amount of unnecessary stress in my own head, I heard my almost-five-year-old daughter calling my name.  

Great. She's not going to nap again and she's going to wake the baby up. My sour mood was not making me a very patient or nice Mom. 

(Before I go on, a little piece of info: Gracie has imaginary friends. She talks to them a lot. She also has a wonderful light in her heart and ever since we talked to her about God, she grasped the concept and ran with it. Now, she absolutely loves 'talking to God' and we often hear her late into the night and during naptime talking.)

I stalked down the hallway, sighing and ready for a battle with my rarely-takes-a-nap daughter. I opened her door and saw her sitting up in her bed with a big smile on her face. The smile softened me a little.

"Babygirl, it's naptime. I know you aren't tired, but you know Paisley and Reilly are. If you don't want to go to sleep, at least be quiet so that they can, OK?"

She looked at me innocently, with those big brown eyes that seem to be filled with so much more knowledge than her age should allow. 
"Momma, I just need to tell you something. He says I have to."

"Ok, Gracie. What do you need to tell me?"

"Mom, do you still talk to God?"

That caught me off guard. I didn't know where she was going with that question, but I really just wasn't in the mood for her little games. (I know, I sound horrible. :( )
"Uh....yes? Look, Sweetheart, it's really time for a nap. C'mon, get under the covers and just close your eyes for a little while."

"No, Mom, wait. He just wants you to talk to Him."

"Who wants me to talk to who?"

"God. He makes me happy when I talk to Him and if you talked to Him, you'd be happy, too."

Whoa. I was not expecting that. Her big I-know-something-you-don't-know smile and her tiny hand reaching for my frozen body to give me a comforting rub, brought out tears. Whether they were tears of joy and wonder or fear and confusion, I don't know. How did she know I needed this? Did He tell her?

Whatever the case, she was right. I haven't prayed in weeks. I've held all of this stress, worry, and even anger inside of me. It's eaten me up. I don't have to or need to carry this around with me. And, I certainly don't have to do it alone. 

I leaned down and scooped her up into a big hug. She giggled. I cried. This is not the first time she's ever said things like this in a time of need. She is always giving me words of encouragement from the Man Upstairs. Whether they're coming from her or Him doesn't matter - they help me. And she loves it.

I tucked her into bed, kissed her forehead, then went to the living room, dusted off my Bible, sat down at the table and prayed. I ignored my phone vibrating, my laptop beeping at me. It's amazing how quickly I felt the weight lifting off of my heart.

The way that I pray is just talking. We all have our own way. For me, I sit down, close my eyes, take deep breaths and then just spill. Whispering, crying, laying it all out for Him. Then, I turn to the Bible and drink in every word. 

After having my much overdue moment with Him, I checked on the kids (who are all asleep now!) and then sat down and wrote this.

Everything is not all figured out yet. There's still a lot that is up in the air with our situation. But, I know we'll make it. We always do. Until then, I'm just going to relax, resting assured that's what meant to be will find a way. And, even if things don't go as we planned, we will be OK.

Now, for any of you rolling your eyes and thinking this isn't real or that it's just stupid, PLEASE do us both a favor and unfollow, unfriend, and leave me the heck alone. 

Do I believe she's actually having a conversation with God? YES. Wholeheartedly. IS she, really? Who knows! But, this relationship has comforted her and made her happy. And, whether it's her or God saying those things, it doesn't matter.

I know this type of post is not everyone's cup of tea. I'm aware that there are many different views, beliefs, etc. You don't have to share my beliefs, but at least respect them and don't post anything negative!



UPDATE: Feb. 2, 2013 - found an awesome new blog hop & linked this post to it! Check it out here.

The Next Step

Friday, January 25, 2013

NICU Baby, Champion Feeder, & OMG, She Ate My Nipple!

It's Theme Thursday, y'all! This week's theme is: BREASTFEEDING
Head on over to Something Clever 2.0 to see what it's all about!

Anyone that knows me in real life knows that I've got some serious monsters on my chest. They started growing in 4th grade and just never stopped. Add three pregnancies to the mix and holy mammoth, I've got backaches like no other.
It seemed like an obvious choice that I'd breastfeed. It's natural, women have been doing it since forever, and it'd be a damn shame to let these triple D's go to waste. (I actually wear a DD, but I have some serious overflowing going on, so I assume if I spent more than $12 on a bra and got one that actually fit, it'd be somewhere in the DDD range. But, when you're a cheap-o and buy your bras at Wal-Mart, you've got a limited selection!)

Gracelyn Rayne:

25 hours of labor and one emergency c-section later, a 7lbs 4 oz. baby girl made me a first-time Mommy in April of '08.

Big IV in her tiny head. Numerous needles pokes on her precious hand.

Immediately following birth, she suffered a Pneumothorax and both of her lungs collapsed. After the c-section, the first time I even laid eyes on her was on a digital camera. Yeah, a digital freaking camera. My entire family got to see her before I did. (That's another story for another day, though - totally wanting to do a post on my birth stories!)

After 24 of the longest hours of my life, I was finally able to visit her in the NICU. I wasn't able to hold her until Day 3, but I was in my room pumping like crazy. That Liquid Gold came in FAST & I was happily labeling and sending it by the bottle-full. On Day 3 when I finally was able to hold her, after examining her whole body, counting every toe and finger, and a few minutes of skin-to-skin, I pulled my boob out and brought her face towards my nipple. Nothing. She wasn't trying to latch or anything. But, I was determined and did NOT give up. After about 10 minutes of trying, the nurse informed me that shift change was about to take place and we would have to leave the NICU. Feeling a little defeated and very full (boobs, not tummy!), I handed her back to the nurse and went back to our room.
The next few days went about the same - unsuccessfully trying to get her to latch and pumping like a mad woman.

When we finally got her home, I was still bound and determined to master breastfeeding. I tried and tried and tried. And tried some more. She absolutely refused. But, I kept on pumping and was able to provide her with a tummy full of Mommy milk for a full 4 months. That was when we got the news that Mommy's boobs would soon be shared. Yep, I was pregnant! Again.

Reilly Tucker:

In the beginning of June 2009, our family grew by one adorable baby boy. He weighed in at 7lbs 7 oz.

I love love love the newborn froggy legs!
Having experienced the pumping side of breastfeeding with my first born, I was absolutely determined to boobie feed my little man. There wasn't any ifs ands or buts about it! He was delivered via scheduled c-section and I made sure everyone in that damn hospital knew that he would be a BREASTFED baby and that they better keep every bottle and pacifier away from him!
He was born with zero complications and promptly brought to me just minutes after I was brought into the recovery room. Just mere minutes after he was placed in my arms, he was happily and hungrily latched onto me and feeding away. Success!
He was an awesome, champion feeder and I can proudly say from Day 1, there wasn't even one problem with him latching! I exclusively breastfed him for almost 6 months.

Paisley Ann:

In early September, a tiny baby girl made her big debut and completed our family. She was our smallest baby, weighing in at only 6 lbs 10oz.

This was her first trip to the San Antonio Zoo!

She was a perfect little feeder - at first. She would feel my bare skin and it'd take her about .5 seconds of rooting to get latched onto my nipple and boom - she'd nurse herself into a Mommy milk coma!

She fed perfectly for the first few weeks or so, when I started to notice some discomfort during some of her feedings. My nipples began cracking and bleeding and I wanted to scream every time she latched on.

I nursed through the pain until one day... She was about six weeks old. I was sitting in my Nana's kitchen, talking to her and my Mom when Paisley started fussing, signaling that it was time to feed her. That day was a particularly bad boob day for me - I was insanely sore and it seemed like the skin on my nipples was paper thin. I picked her up and carefully placed my nipple in her mouth and.... CHOMP! She pulled my nipple into her mouth with the strongest suction imaginable and I immediately cried out in pain. "MOM! Get her!! Someone! Get her off, please!" I was screaming, trying to get her off of my breast. But, she had formed such a strong suction that it was nearly impossible to get her off - she laid there unaffected by the chaos, sucking away. You could literally see the blood, my blood, pooling around her mouth. Finally, my Mom came to the rescue and carefully stuck her finger into Paisley's mouth, breaking the suction and pulling her away from me. As soon as my Mom whisked her away, blood streamed from my nipple down my shirt. She had literally sucked the skin right off of my nipple. It was raw, throbbing, and hard to even look at.

Even after getting a miracle-working ointment from my OB/GYN and receiving encouragement from my husband, I was still terrified to breastfeed her again. I continued to pump, but I slowly started producing less and less. We began supplementing a few times a day with formula when she was eight weeks old and when she was about twelve weeks old, I stopped breastfeeding all together. I still sometimes regret not trying to breastfeed her again, but I am confident in the choice I made.

Regardless of how long I breastfed or whether or not formula was given, my kids are healthy.
Healthy, happy, and mine!


Here's a shot of  Paisley Ann when she was a little over a month old. That's what you call a Mommy Milk Coma! Also, just wanted to show the baby to boob ratio! :)