The forever home

There used to be a lot of love and laughter in this home. This home meant a lot to me. I thought it was going to mean forever.

I remember having the feeling that this home was going to be right the minute I saw it online. At that point, our first house had sold and we had seen probably 30 other properties that just doesn’t feel right. As soon as we pulled up, I knew I wanted this house. The swing set in the backyard made me want to start a family here.

It has been a fairly rough road, starting a family. I wasn’t sure how it was going to go, but I felt a positive energy from this house and it felt like a new beginning. Just a month after moving in, I found out I was pregnant. I stood in the backyard in disbelief. I was joyful, scared, grateful and panicked at the same time.

This house had magic. I actually negotiated the swing set into the purchase of the house. I knew I wanted to raise kids here. The neighborhood was quiet but friendly, and there were so many great parks and playgrounds near by.

And so, in the beginning, this house had a lot of love. And that love grew boundless when I had my daughter. It was a love I didn’t know existed inside of myself. But there she was, staring right back at me. My little love.

And the house became different. It was filled with love, but less laughter, and quite a few tears. I didn’t know how to manage my postpartum anxiety. I didn’t even know I had a problem until many years later. It seems so obvious, looking back, but I was trapped inside my head, and I couldn’t see the love around me fading.

And eventually that love left. And I didn’t know it until it was decided, told to me, and moved out. I didn’t have a say. That love had met another love. And my life was changed forever.

But my daughter and I stayed in this house. This was our home. I read her stories every night in this house. I couldn’t dare imagine not living in the only home she’s ever known.

Things changed within the house. Pictures were taken down or replaced. Furniture moved around. But the love remained. Only now it was just the two of us.

I fought for a long time to keep the house. I didn’t want my daughter to lose her home. But in the end, I wasn’t able to keep it. And that devastated me. I felt such guilt for having to move my daughter.

And so the house was listed, and days later it was under contract.

And again the house has changed. Furniture and things are being sold or moved out. There are more boxes than places to sit.

It’s hard to disconnect from a house like this. It was meant to be a forever kind of home.

I was lucky enough to find another home. It’s small and sweet and a lovely couple is renting it to me. It doesn’t have the kind of kitchen or yard my daughter is used to. But damn, the new house is going to be filled with so much love. I can feel it.

I have less than a week now in this house. I’m overwhelmed and scared and panicked about all the packing left to do. I feel the anxiety creeping up when I look around at all my stuff and where it will go in the new house. I’ve had to part with most of it.

As long as there is love, I know my daughter and I will be okay. And as for laughter, well that girl makes me smile all the time.

💕

The Spark

I have had multiple people tell me that I seem happier now, that I am freer, that my spark has returned. And it’s amazing to me to really be seen again.

I felt like I was lost for so many months, for so many years. I felt like I was walking around in a fog. I was physically there, but my mind wasn’t. I was disconnected from myself, from my family and friends, even from my daughter.

I figured that this was just who I am now. And it saddens me to think I walked around like that for so long. Because that’s not me. I had forgotten who I really was. I had forgotten real joy. I had forgotten how I was playful, witty, sarcastic. I had forgotten the girl who used to write poetry, who loved being outside, who used to thrive on spontaneity, who always saw the positive in people.

It’s strange to look back now on those foggy years thinking this was normal. Thinking that I had just changed now. But really, I was just lost. Becoming a mom made me an anxious person which I hadn’t been before and I didn’t know how to navigate it. The birth trauma haunted me. It followed me wherever I went, making me scared to ever leave my child. I became so obsessed with keeping her close. I completely lost my identity.

I think it happened that night she was born and then it never got better. I know becoming a mom changes you in general, but I always felt really lonely after that. I never quite found my way out of the “normal” post-partum blues.

But all these years later, I am seeing myself again. And I’m grateful to feel like me again. I am finding true joy in moments I hadn’t before. I find that I am more present. I am finding better things to do than scroll mindlessly on Instagram.

I am thankful for my incredible friends and family who have supported me, answered every phone call, and talked me up. I am grateful to be at a place in therapy where we can stop talking about the sad stuff, and start talking about how to be the best, most authentic version of myself.

I’m happy to be finding myself again. To be accepting and forgiving of myself. To be on a journey of learning my own self worth. I think that has always been a struggle for me. I have never particularly felt worthy of a compliment. It made me feel awkward. I would immediately say something self deprecating. I didn’t know how to accept gifts as I didn’t feel worthy of them either.

But lately I am learning that my love language might be “words of affirmation” after all. From others, but also from myself. I am learning that it’s okay to be worthy. That it’s okay to accept myself for exactly who I am. To accept my body for exactly what it is.

I am learning more about mindfulness. To be present. To pull myself back from wandering thoughts. To be more confident in myself.

I am reading a book and one of the parts that stuck with me so far was “fear is a natural reaction to moving closer to the truth”. I used to hate uncomfortable or fearful moments. I think naturally most people try and get away from them. But really, those are the moments that show us who we really are and what we really need.

I needed my spark back. And it took a really uncomfortable and fearful journey to get it. But here I am. I am moving toward more joy in my life. I am moving toward a better self worth. My world isn’t foggy anymore. And I am grateful.

Birth Trauma

During one of my mindless scrolls through Instagram, I came across a page about birth trauma. I found myself looking at post after post and realizing that so many women have birth trauma. I never even heard this term before.

I knew Penny’s birth hurt me in alot of ways. It was not what I wanted for myself or for her. In the weeks that followed, I found myself unable to deal with what happened. I requested my files from the hospital to try and make sense of what happened. And even after I read every word of the doctors notes, I still couldn’t process it. I was still so sad.

Even now, more than waking up alone and confused that next morning, I am sad for Penny, who was immediately swept away from her parents after being born. I saw her briefly before I heard the shouting and before they put me under and shoved my husband out of the room. Where did my baby go in those moments?

She spent 9 months living in my body. She knew my voice. She knew my heartbeat. She knew I was keeping her safe. It breaks my heart to think that just after being ripped from that safe place in my body, that she was quite possibly alone in the nursery. And for that whole first night until I woke up. It was another day or so before I could be moved from ICU and I could only see my baby when a nurse had free time to bring her down to me.

It hurts me that she was in that little glass box instead of laying on me. It hurts me that years later, I think the doctors made mistakes. She wasn’t ready to be born and it should not have been forced. I was just so excited to have my baby. I should have questioned things.

Trauma affects people in many ways. I know I had a good life so far. I never doubted my parents love for me. I was given the best opportunities available to me. I never fell in with the wrong crowds. On paper, it all looks great.

But among the happy days, are the harder ones. I find myself closed off more than I want to be. I feel defensive. I feel stuck.

I think the birth trauma has brought up other traumatic things that I previously ignored. I think it might be time to figure out how to process all of it.

I have a lovely life. But truthfully, it is not the life I had pictured for myself before the birth trauma. I had wanted multiple children. I wanted to work. I wanted to still have date nights and go on small weekends getaways. But all of that changed that night. I could no longer bear the thought of being away from my child. I couldn’t trust anyone to care for her like I did. Only just this month, almost 3 and a half years later, did I let someone besides me or my husband put her to bed.

A lot changes when you become a mom. You lose alot of the woman you once were. But a traumatic birth completely changed me as a human. I became fearful and anxious. I barely slept for years because I would wake up at every little sound she made while sleeping. I checked the monitor dozens of times.

It seems there is no space in todays world for some of these feelings. Moms are expected to just get on with it and be happy that everything turned out okay. They’re expected to go back to work when their babies are still newborns. They’re expected to feel joyful all the time. We give so much grace to people who go through other traumatic experiences, but somehow motherhood isn’t treated the same. Where are we supposed to go? How are we supposed to process the bad stuff? Moms everywhere are asking for help and instead being told that they are “so strong” or “warriors”. Yes our bodies are amazing. Yes motherhood is something to feel grateful for. But sometimes it is lonely and dark and painful and we shouldn’t have to pretend otherwise.

I think I am still grieving everything I lost that day… the experiences, the bonding moments, the life I thought I was going to have, the possibility of more children. It is all gone.

I am different now.

❤️

Yes Mom

There are a lot of different ways to parent. I’ve found that I’ve become a Yes Mom. This means that for most of the time, I let Penny take the lead and say yes to her decisions. It has created a lot of joy for both of us.

As long as it doesn’t hurt her or anyone else, I pretty much let her do anything. I try not to tell her how to do something or put my fears on her. In turn, she is fearless, creative, happy, kind, and quite the explorer.

She climbs up to the highest slides, jumps from one thing to another, feels confident in her steps, and doesn’t hesitate to try something new.

She asks if she can mix all her play dough colors together, yes. She asks if she can mix all her kinetic sand together, yes. She wants to put stickers all over her chair, sure. These are simple things that bring her joy. Sure, it might be messy, but that’s the best part of being a kid. As long as she is safe, and it doesn’t go against any family values, then I say yes.

She drew on her legs the other day. Some people would hate this. I saw her smiling and being creative and wanting to add “more details” to her creation. It’s washable markers. The moments of joy outweigh the mess.

She picks out the most mismatched outfits every day, yes! She wants to eat pirates booty for breakfast, yes! She wants to help make dinner, yes! Another ice pop? yes! Mix the slime colors together? Sure!

Sometimes I’ll explain a simple consequence. “Sure you can mix the play dough colors, but you won’t be able to separate them once you do.” That way she knows what to expect. 100% she still chooses to mix things. And she loves it.

I like letting her be in control of her own play. I’m typically close by at the playground, but I let her discover her body’s limits, if any. I try not to say “be careful” or “watch your step” behind her. I want her to build up her own confidence and not be afraid to try something new. There’s no need for me to direct her playing or interactions.

She’s a happy kid. She doesn’t throw tantrums or have an attitude when it’s time to leave somewhere fun. I find her to be incredibly accommodating and adaptable. She will go up to any kid at the playground and ask them to play with her. They could be 3 times her age and she still walks up confidently and introduces herself.

She surprises me every day with her fearlessness and creativity.

I used to roll my eyes at the idea of parents who never told their kid “no”. But now I get it. It’s about keeping your kid safe and using “no” when necessary so it doesn’t lose its meaning. It’s about letting your kid have the freedom to explore and be imaginative. It’s about giving them the confidence to make positive choices. It’s about letting them get messy be happy and joyful and fearless.

💖

My Big Girl

A couple of weeks ago, Penny moved to a big girl bed. It was unexpected. I had planned to move her sometime this summer, between 3 and 3.5 years old. She’s been a consistently good sleeper since she turned one, and I didn’t want to mess with a good thing.

But suddenly, she started taking off her sleep sack, and climbing out. She thought it was so funny to climb in and out during games of hide and seek and within a few days of that, she would wake up, unbutton her sleep sack, and haphazardly climb out and come find me. It just wasn’t safe anymore and I was feeling anxious about her getting hurt.

So within two days, we pulled the full mattress and base down I had stored from the guest room which got converted to a play room a few years ago. I only had two hours of time to take apart her crib and get her new bed together. I was really nervous about making the switch, but it was seamless.

She was SO excited about her new bed. She loved it. She’s been sleeping all night in it with no issues, just like before. In the morning, she sits and waits for her nightlight to change to a green color before getting out. I am thankful it has gone so great. My big girl in her big girl bed.

It has been wonderful watching her grow into a small human with a personality and opinions. She likes to choose her outfits and get her snacks and drinks and cups herself. She loves pretend play. She is creative and imaginative. My big girl.

The flip side of all of this, is the parting of things. Her birth was extremely traumatic for me. I still have not dealt with the trauma of it, and instead shoved it deep down where I like to keep all the things I don’t want to deal with. The newborn phase was so hard. For me, it lasted almost a whole year. I could not find joy in a lot of it. I know that’s a weird thing to admit, because I fought so hard to conceive her. And I am grateful. And I am thankful. But man, I was not prepared for what it would do to me mentally.

So all along, I have been saying that I am one and done. Physically, I don’t know if my body could do it again after the trauma. Mentally…. well, that was a very dark place. And so I have committed myself to saying that I’m good with one. And that is true. She is enough. I don’t want to share all the love and time another. I like having a little girlfriend by my side.

One and done means not holding on to the baby items. And there are so many baby items. Aside from some sentimental clothes, I have gotten rid of everything. Either by passing down or selling, they have made their way into other peoples homes.

All I have left is the high chair, the pack n play, and the crib. I have found a home for them. An outreach program that helps homeless and victims of domestic violence has a client who needs these items and is being moved to an apartment next month.

For some reason, I am feeling sad and hesitant to get rid of her crib. I know it has better use in this woman’s new home than in my garage, but it feels very final. Like “one and done” isn’t just a thing I’ve committed myself to saying. Having the crib gone is the end of my baby being a baby. It’s a confusing thing to feel because I don’t miss having an actual baby. I don’t miss the sleepless nights. I don’t miss how sad and lonely I felt. But getting rid of the crib is the most emotional I’ve felt about getting rid of any of her things and I’m not sure what to do with it.

There are times when my brain is fried from all the pretend play and I suddenly wish she had a sibling to play with. She’s such a social kid too. She loves going up to other kids and playing with them and following them around. She loves having friends and play dates, and definitely has enough of them so I’m not worried about her being antisocial. I think she’s happy having all my attention. I hope so, at least.

Having a sibling isn’t always just having a friend to play with tho. Sometimes it’s more complicated. There is fighting and arguing. Hell, I am in my mid 30s and don’t even speak to my brother. Having a sibling isn’t always glitter and rainbows. Sometimes it just hurts.

So I don’t know why I’m feeling so sad about getting rid of these final things. I am unsure where to place these feelings.

❤

Loneliness

Lately I’ve been feeling really lonely without ever being alone.

I feel isolated within my space. I miss my friends. We are at an age where it takes a few days of group texting to make a plan that’s still a month out. And while that one evening a month or so recharges my soul in the moment, I feel alone all the other days.

I feel alone in my marriage which is a strange thing to admit. I miss being able to walk to a bar and play quizzo even though I am terrible at it. I felt happy and appreciated and seen. I miss wearing makeup and wearing clothes that weren’t made for lounging. I miss actual conversations.

It is part mental and part physical. Physically, it is mostly just me and Penny and the dogs. So technically that is not alone. But man, is it isolating. She has her activities and I do get some time to do my own thing, but mostly it is food shopping or a doctors appointment or cleaning the house for the 100th time.

Mentally, its an odd feeling to be followed around by a tiny human and two dogs, never really being alone, but feeling so alone. But also needing to get away. Isn’t that horrible? Feeling that you want to get away from the people that love you most?

I’ve been angry this week. My temper is short. I’ve yelled at Penny multiple times. In between the moments where she’s made me laugh and brought me joy, she’s driven me nuts. She knocks the toilet paper off the holder every time she sits on the toilet. She dumps all her puzzle pieces out at once. She’s peed in her chair every day this week. She stalls before going to bed. I feel all these little things boiling up inside me all day. And by bedtime, I’ve lost it. She’s not the kind of kid that deserves to be yelled at. She’s sweet and listens and is an all around good kid. But these little things here and there really get to me.

And mostly it’s because of the loneliness. I do everything, all of the time. I wake up with her, I make her meals, I play with her, I take her to all her activities, I find things to do, I sit with her while she uses the toilet, I read the same books over and over and over, I put her to bed. Every night. Every day. All the time.

I’m sure I sound like an asshole to all the moms that wanted to stay home and couldn’t. Those are valid feelings too. And I get it.

Today I felt so frustrated and drained and alone and I cried on my bed for a couple minutes. Penny came in and asked me to read her some books and play with her. She didn’t understand my sadness. She even giggled at me thinking I was making funny faces.

So I am struggling this week. I have really good moments and really bad ones. The bad ones I usually keep to myself. And then they boil over.

No one ever told me how lonely being a mom would be. It doesn’t really make sense. I have a family and I am physically rarely alone, but in my mental space, the loneliness is crushing.

❤

My patient Patient

Penny had another breathing episode the other day. It had been months since she needed to be hospitalized. Normally, she gets some kind of mild cold that quickly goes into her lungs. We had been able to manage at home with albuterol through her nebulizer the last couple times and that always seemed to help her catch her breath.

This time however, it happened out of nowhere.

We had a great afternoon at a local farm, playing games and wandering around. She had a blast. We got home, ate dinner and put her to bed. About two hours after she fell asleep, she woke up coughing, to the point that she was gagging. I went in and offered her water but she just wanted to be snuggled. I held her for awhile but she was wheezing. I figured maybe it was allergies from the farm and gave her a breathing treatment. That seemed to help and she fell back asleep. She woke often in the night to cough.

In the morning, she was wheezing again, so I did another breathing treatment. It didn’t seem to help and I was getting worried so I decided to take her to another branch of the pediatrician’s office that has walk-in hours on a Sunday. After driving almost a half hour there, the line was out the door. There was no way she was going to be seen. I turned around and drove back home. I figured I would monitor her and continue treatments. She was upset and crying and tired. I held her in my bed and she dozed off for a little bit.

But soon things became emergent. She seemed in distress. I texted an old friend who is an ER nurse down at CHOP in the city and she urged me to take her somewhere.

I called an ambulance to the house. The local hospital is only 15 mins away but I couldn’t deal with having to strap her in her car seat while so upset and breathing poorly. And I was worried we would have to wait whereas if arriving by ambulance, you are taken right back and they are advised of the situation before arrival.

The ambulance was there within minutes. They strapped her up to the stretcher and monitors and I rode with her. She was looking pale and fell asleep. She woke up and vomited all over herself before falling back asleep.

When we got to hospital they put more monitors on her and changed her into a clean gown. They did lots of tests and took X-rays. She was given multiple breathing treatments and steroids and oxygen. She kept dozing off in between doctor check ins. She vomited again. At one point, she was able to eat an electrolyte ice pop and she loved it.

They diagnosed her with reactive airways disease, which is really just virus induced asthma under the age of 5. After a few hours, her breathing settled and the ER pediatrician gave the okay to be discharged. I really wanted to be able to take her home instead of having to stay overnight which the other doctors were thinking might happen.

As we walked out to the car, her breathing worsened again. I immediately thought we should take her back in. I let myself take her home though, thinking she would do better in her own home and I would just continue her treatments.

She fell asleep in the car and I sat and waited a half hour for her to wake up. She cried for awhile when she did and was hot and sweaty. I regretted not turning back into the hospital. I did another breathing treatment and got her to eat something before getting her to bed.

Over the next two days, she got breathing treatments every 4 hours, day and night. She was a trooper with the overnight treatments. I really thought she would struggle with falling back asleep but she went right back down every time. She is also receiving oral steroids twice a day.

I had a follow up appointment with her pediatrician today. Because of her newly diagnosed asthma, and with cold and flu season gearing up, she will be on inhaled steroids twice a day indefinitely. This will hopefully act as a preventive measure for any colds she catches so it won’t immediately attack her lungs and we can manage with breathing treatments at home when needed and hopefully avoid hospital visits.

She is such a trooper. Even the morning after her hospital visit; after I’d woken her up multiple times that night for treatments; she was happy to see me and asking for Lucky Charms.

There is nothing sadder than seeing your kid sick, and nothing scarier than when they can’t breathe right.

I’m thankful she is resilient and wants to play Barbies even when she’s not feeling well. I’m thankful she is patient with me, even when I’m not with her. I’m thankful she takes her treatments in stride for the most part. I’m thankful to be a stay at home mom so I can take care of her and not have other things to worry about. I am thankful for my hardworking husband who doesn’t snap back at me when I lose my temper in moments of stress and who provides for us so that money is not a thought when it comes to Penny’s care.

I am not always the greatest daughter or friend or wife but I have given my whole self into being Penny’s mom and I know at least, I am a good mom most of the time. I am not always a person that I recognize anymore, but I hope Penny will always see that she came first. I hope she doesn’t remember when I’ve gotten upset with her or been short with her. Sometimes the guilt is suffocating. I lost a lot of who I was when I had Penny and that means different things on different days.

But I want nothing more than for my daughter to be happy and healthy and to always feel that she was wanted and loved.

I am hoping this treatment plan will keep her out of the hospital as much as possible. As annoying as it is to do nebulizer treatments twice a day indefinitely with a toddler, it is a step in the right direction.

Between treatments at the hospital

Already smiling the next morning

❤

One and done

Penny is reaching an age where other kids are starting to get siblings. She seems curious about babies. She will peek over and see what they are doing but then get distracted by a toy and go about her business.

Once I held a baby and she climbed into my arms and tried to push that baby away and then started to cry.

I truly think she is meant to be an only child. She is perfectly content to sit and play with her toys by herself. She will bring things over and sometimes want help pretend feeding her dolls or putting them down for naps.

When she’s around other kids at the baby gym or a friends house, she will often wave and say hi and then go run around by herself. She is curious about other kids, she will watch them play and see what they are doing, but she’s not at an age where she is necessarily engaging with them. She’s more or less playing next to them.

At one of my postpartum checkups, my doctor advised me not to get pregnant again until Penny was at least two. My body suffered a lot of damage and it needed time to heal in order to carry a healthy pregnancy in the future. The idea of getting pregnant again back then was laughable. I was hurting physically and mentally and I knew I was no where near stable enough to go through that all over again.

And 20 months later, I still feel the same way. I am still feeling traumatized about her newborn months. The thought of the lack of sleep and the endless feedings brings me back to such a dark place in my head.

It wasn’t what I had planned for myself. Matt and I had both thought we would have 2 kids. That’s how each of us grew up. It seems like such a natural thing to be a family of four and to have a built in buddy.

But since we had one, I just can’t see myself doing it all over again. I feel bad about it sometimes. I wonder if I am being selfish. I wonder if Matt really still wants a second. I wonder if Penny will be resentful about not having a sibling. It’s a lot to consider.

But I am not close with my sibling for various reasons. And right now, she seems so happy to have all of my attention. She gets the third bedroom as a playroom all to herself. She gets to go to art class and swim school and music circle and I am right there with her cheering her on.

People said I might feel different in the future about having another. And maybe they are right. But at this point I can’t see myself having another until Penny was school aged and by then, will I really want to do this all over again? I just don’t see it.

After our struggle to get pregnant the first time, I’ve thought and briefly researched about adoption. And even then, I don’t think I could adopt a newborn. I just feel so dark about that time. But these aren’t decisions I need to make any time soon.

One and done seems so final. But that is where I am at. I don’t want to sacrifice anything I have with Penny or frankly, any more of myself.

I hope she knows she was all I ever needed.

❤

The Guilt

It’s been awhile since my last post. I’ve started a few but then deleted them. Sometimes it was about what a great day we had, or how impressed I was with her, but then I’ll have a really difficult day with her and it washes away the good stuff.

This is where I’ve been finding myself lately. Stuck in the bad stuff. I have a lot of guilt about it. I get exactly one hour to myself at Pilates 4 or 5 days a week. All the other hours, I am being followed around by dogs and being clung to by a tiny human.

She has been really clingy lately and I’m not sure why. She wants to be held and sit on me and cries when I leave her eye sight. It is mentally exhausting. I feel guilt for wanting time away. I feel like I am a complete shell of the person I used to be.

And I don’t just mean that I’m no longer getting cocktails with my girlfriends (pandemic aside) like I used to, but my head space is so negative. I’m tired all the time. I never wake up and feel rested. She’s been sleeping through the night for months now, but I’m still not. I’m constantly jerked awake by a small noise she will make or my husband snoring or the dogs.

I’ve turned into this person I don’t recognize. I’m always snapping at my husband. I know it’s wrong the moment I do it. He’s trying to be helpful in ways I’m not finding helpful and I know it’s not his fault I’m so irritated all the time. But it’s easier to blame him and get mad at him than at my toddler who wants more of me than I have to give.

The guilt is overwhelming. Even now, as I write this, Penny is in her crib and crying. I am so broken up about it but I know she’s just tired and needs to go to sleep. If I try and console her, it will only make her more upset. But listening to my kid cry in her room alone guts me.

I am struggling a lot. All I know about myself now is that I’m a mom. All of my time is committed to my child and all of my thoughts are about her well-being, happiness, and schedule. My days consist of timing out her meals, snacks, sleep, and activities. All I am now is a mom. I don’t feel much like a good friend, daughter, or wife. I’m forgetful about texting back or checking in with people that really matter to me.

I feel guilt about how I’ve been treating my husband. I know he doesn’t deserve it. I know he’s trying. Today he gave me a gift for no real reason other than he thought I would like it. And it was a sweet gesture but I didn’t know how to accept it. I definitely didn’t deserve it. I’ve barely given him the time of day or had a real conversation that didn’t revolve around whether or not Penny pooped. I am irritable and frustrated and in the running for world’s worst wife.

I knew becoming a mom would change me. But I didn’t know how hard it would be. I didn’t know that I could possibly feel so lonely when I am never actually alone.

I’m not sure if the person I used to be is still there or if she’s gone forever. I know that I am a good mom, it is my whole life now. But I am not good at being anything else right now and I am saddened deeply by that. I don’t know how to get back the other parts of myself.

Penny did eventually calm down and put herself to sleep. I hope she never thinks I’ve abandoned her or don’t care when she cries. I am always feeling guilty.

❤

The Mom Bod

Last week I had an appointment with an endocrinologist. It took me a lot of phone calls, 40 pages of transferred lab work, and two months of waiting. I was interested in seeing an endocrinologist to help me work out my PCOS symptoms and hypothyroidism.

After my many follow ups with my Obgyn last year after my labor complications, I felt lost with my body. I didn’t really know anything about it anymore, and considering I wasn’t trying to get pregnant again, it seemed like there wasn’t really much to do for my PCOS symptoms. It’s one of those things most doctors don’t treat unless you want to have a baby. Well I had my baby… but now what?

I had originally opted to hold off on going back on birth control right away. I wanted to see if my body got a period on its own, and frankly, I was really tired taking medications all the time. I took pills to get pregnant, I took pills to manage my thyroid, I took pills for pain for weeks after labor. I wanted to know my body again, free of all the extra crap.

In the year following, I did get a period on my own. I was happily surprised! It wasn’t regular, somewhere between every 30-60 days. But my body did it all on its own. Eventually I also got off arthritis medication for my knees.

I started working out, doing Pilates 5 days a week. I lost about 20 pounds (40 since pregnancy). I was feeling better, but was stagnant. Months and months would go by and I didn’t lose any more weight. I didn’t know if everything was still okay.

The endocrinologist listened to me and ordered me more lab work to test for about a dozen other things. I had the blood drawn, about 7 vials, and waited to hear back.

In the mean time, I also had an appointment with the Obgyn… a different one than the two that had seen me through my pregnancy and labor, but she was familiar with me. She had seen me post op in the ICU. I didn’t remember her, but she remembered me. She listened to me too. She also ordered me lab work to test for the breast cancer gene, but that is an entirely different post.

The Obgyn had a hard time examining me. All the scar tissue pulled my uterus and cervix up high. TMI? I’ll stop. At the end of the day, my body is still healing itself. I had my baby. And I don’t plan on having more babies, so I don’t have to worry about the potential hostile environment that was left. It was good of the surgeons to save those organs though, I understand why they did.

A few days later, I heard back from my endocrinologist. I am healthy. So healthy. All of my hormones and levels are within normal range and I am no where near the prediabetic range which most people with PCOS seem to be, considering it can affect insulin levels.

The one interesting find was my type of hypothyroidism, which is called Hashimoto’s. I didn’t even know there were types of it. Similar to any other autoimmune disease, Hashimoto’s means that my body is continuously attacking my thyroid gland and destroying its tissues and reducing the thyroid hormone. Despite sounding horrible, it will just have to be closely monitored and my levothyroxine dosage likely increased over time as my body continues to attack the gland.

So, the good news is, despite feeling tired all the time and the frustrating inability to lose any more weight, I am very healthy. The bad news is, there is really no reason (thyroid aside) for how tired I am, for my lack of weight loss, and other symptoms.

Between the endocrinologist and the Obgyn, I was put back on birth control. It will help keep my hormones level and lower the risk of cervical cancer from irregular cycles.

But I am going to continue taking care of myself. I really enjoy Pilates. I am doing things I didn’t think I could do. I don’t eat great all the time… I still find joy in ice cream and nachos and I don’t want to have to snack on kale chips. But I am still seeing changes in my body. I see new muscles in my legs and arms (also from carrying around my 21 lb toddler). I can even feel abs underneath the dreaded c-section pooch. My face isn’t as puffy. I am healthy on the inside, despite the scale not moving for months.

I feel like I am in a better place with myself and my body than I was a year ago. I understand it more. It is a constant battle not to shame it, but I think that is true of most women.

It was incredibly confusing in the past couple years to find out about being hypothyroid and having PCOS and it leading to infertility when all I wanted was to get pregnant. But I finally feel like I have more answers than questions. I had my baby. My lucky Penny. And I am starting to get to know my body again. It is imperfect and works again me most times but it is still healthy and strong. It grew a human and now swings her around in the yard and runs after her.

It is the only body I get to have, and I am thankful for it in this moment.

❤