motherhood is a battlefield

i have the scars to prove it.

mother's day is over.  i'm really not trying to prolong this me"ish" type of day, i promise.  i've been wanting to post about my babies ever since my little nephew was born.  his presence brings me back to these special moments from my past.  moments i'll not soon forget because i took the time to write about them as they were happening but never here, where i write now.

cayden jacob

born monday, january 6, 2003 at 6:07 p.m.

8 lbs 7 oz

labor with cayden was the toughest for me.  the epidural wouldn't take and had to be administered several times.  i pushed for two hours, he was posterior.  his first worldly experience ended up involving his tiny(ish) head being sucked into a cone by a rather unpleasant looking device.  when he finally made his entrance he wouldn't let out a cry for almost thirty minutes.  during that same thirty minutes my body had gone into shock.  it was not the greatest experience to say the least but i somehow managed to forget all about it until i was sitting in that same room not even two years later.  this was the only thing i feared about giving birth again, that  "body in shock" feeling.  

brooklyn

born monday, september 27th, 2004 at 6:45 p.m.

8 lbs 7 oz

brooklyn was a lot more cooperative during labor and her delivery was a breeze.  the most positive of the three experiences.  the epidural worked well enough that i wasn't too numb or in too much pain.  i was able to feel brooklyn be born and this was an amazing experience for me especially after i'd been told it was likely i would need a c-section due to the difficulty i had delivering cayden, the size of baby #2 and, the fact that she also never descended into the birth canal until i started pushing.  actually, she was so high up when i started pushing the nurse said "we'll push a few times then call the dr." who was 30 minutes away.  i pushed one time and she moved all the way down.  then i was not so thrilled to have to wait for over an hour with the intense urge to push before the dr. actually arrived.  my biggest worry during this time was how her presence would alter cayden's little world.

gavin douglas

born wednesday, april 16th, 2008 at 7:10 p.m.

8 lbs 7 oz

i think by the time i had gavin i had the war wounds and experience to approach anything that came to be with confidence.  i could do this.  not only had i done it twice before, i had survived a third pregnancy with two very small children to care for.  anything felt possible.  it was like i had given myself a badge of honor, you're good at this and the calm that came with this confidence left me feeling empowered and strong.  it was easier to relax.  not taking anything too seriously.  one moment at a time. all three of my labors progressed like clock work.  once i dilated to seven i knew it would be time to push soon.  every time the dr. would comment that i might need a c-section because the baby was so high in the birth canal.  every time, with one push they moved down where they needed to be. my third experience with an epidural was much like the first.  by the time he was born it had been administered three times and i couldn't feel anything at all.  the umbilical cord was wrapped tightly around his neck.  this scared jake and my mom.  i didn't know this had happened until awhile after he was born.  this time we were at a different hospital and i recall feeling like the post-delivery nurses were mean to me.  i felt huge and the immobility did nothing to help this.  i believe this birth was the only one i actually cried during.  i don't know why or why not.  

yes, all three of my babies weighed 8 lbs 7 oz.

when i see these pictures of my babies it's hard not to want more.  when i look at the photos i don't see the additional 85 pounds on my body, (yes!! 85 lbs!), i see so much happiness and love.  only the positive memories have stayed in my heart.  the less than positive ones are the ones i have to look up in my journals to remember. 

i've heard younger women worry out loud about the physical scars that come with pregnancy and childbirth.  jillian michaels was quoted recently saying pregnancy would ruin her body and boy did she get attacked for that!  i believe since then she has cleared the air by saying her words were misconstrued but the reactions she got regardless were amazing to me.  i'm sure there are a select few women who bounce right back after pregnancy and look like their old selves again but i'm definitely not one of those women and feel pretty confident that the majority of moms out there would also not consider themselves one of these women.  sure, i think the word "ruin" is a little harsh in this context.  i wouldn't say my body is "ruined" but scarred for sure.  

i don't look in the mirror and feel proud that i have physical proof of having had kids.  i don't give myself a hug or pat my body on the back to say "thank you." but, i also don't look in the mirror and feel like my body is "ruined" ... changed, for sure but definitely not "ruined."  ruined for what?  ruined for bikini wearing?  maybe.  but honestly, even if i had the perfect body for a bikini i wouldn't wear one.  i'm a MOM ... who wants to see a MOM in a bikini?  no thanks.  ruined for fitness competitions?  probably.  but that just means i probably wouldn't win.  i could still enter and compete. 

my body can still do amazing things.  in fact, having been through pregnancy three times is what made me realize that my body is full of potential.  my stomach can blow up and deflate just like a balloon.  it's truly spectacular! 

i read this once, a long time ago.  where? if recall it was something like "the mother letter project."  i saved it and i'm sharing it with you because it sings to me now more than it did the first time i came upon it.

i have the body of a mother

the belly that has swollen and teamed with life three times, that now furrows over the waist of my not-so-skinny jeans.  the breasts that sag like a misfired whoopee cushion.  the scar (i imagine) from the 27 stitches that put my womanly bits back together again after the birth of the great conehead.

the fading stretch marks on my calves from the first-pregnancy entenmann cheese bun cravings.

i have the heart that melts, the lips that yell when my oldest tries to help but is doing it "wrong."  i have the eyes that tear-up at the intolerable cuteness, the hands that yank hair when a two year old cannot stand still for five seconds for "ponytails so we can see your pretty eyes."

i have the heartbreak for the baby who never swelled and teemed.  the regret for swearing and the yelling and the times i wished they'd just go away for two minutes.  i have the arms that comfort and the lap that is spreading to accommodate my ever-taller almost eight-year old.

i have the ears that hear phantom crying and panicked whenever the snurgling baby breathed quietly.  i have the dry, cracked skin from washing endless milk cups and water cups and juice cups and sippy cups.

i have the feet that stomp on the gas as we rush to be on time for school.  i have the neck my youngest now considers her personal hand warmer and the patience (laziness) to count to three five times before employing a humane time-out.  i have the featherbrain that forgets early-out day at school and the knees that remember to pray with the kids, even when i forget to pray by myself.

i have the hormones that insisted at 22 that i have a baby RIGHT NOW, instead of going to graduate school, and the neural-synapse-thingies to wonder if that was a smart choice.

i have the sing-song voice that can cajole and the imagination to make them want to want what i want them to want. and the impatience often to wish that they'd simply do it "because i said so."

i have the hopes and the dreams and the remorse and the anxiety and fear and the certainties and the what-ifs and the could-have-beens and thank-god-it's-nots and thank god-it-ises.

i have the wisdom to realize, and gratitude to be thankful, that most of what i am today is shaped by being a mother. and the selfishness to resent that three small beings dictate and describe and delineate me.

and i have the desire of a mother to see my girls become mothers themselves. because then they'll know, and they'll forgive, and they'll "get what's coming to them," and they'll love as fiercely and as imperfectly as i do, and they'll wish i lived close enough to babysit, but i won't because i'll be on the trip around the world.

until i come home to smell the baby smell, and cuddle the baby warmth close to my mother's body, and then hand that baby back at the first sign of action in the lower abdominal region.

jane

my advice to the mothers of the world, old and new; write it down.  as often as possible, write down what you're thinking, how you're feeling.  remember how they smell, the sounds the make, the warmth of their bodies.  don't forget to find a way to always remember.  it's especially nice to read these words when those same sweet, perfect little people are making you want to pull your hair out.

bring it on.

happy belated mother's day!