The 7 Real Dangers of Co-Sleeping

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1. I hope you are into getting peed on. Oh it will happen, one morning that warm snugly spot you were nestled in will be in fact a giant puddle of baby urine. Upon realizing this you will either be horrified or just sigh and go back to sleep.

2. There is no actual sleeping. Well not for you anyway. You will be scrunched up in a corner while a tiny human all 29 inches of them enjoys your queen sized mattress.

3. How are your ninja skills? There will be tiny fist, feet, knees, legs, and elbows flying at you. Most land in your belly, throat, and face.

4. Do you like music? And by music I mean loud piercing goat like screams. Be prepared for your wee one to serenade you at 2 am. Expect an encore at 4 and 6.

5. If you are like me clipping your baby’s nails will be one of your least favorite activities. You will regret not keeping on top of this task when your wee one decides mid serenading to gouge your left eye out.

6. If your partner is smart they have retreated to the couch. You will envy and resent them. Your sex life will suffer. Oh wait what sex life? You will begin to wonder how you ever conceived the tiny ninja in the first place!

7. Babies can crap and immediately fall back asleep. Which confounds me. Your breathing will wake them but not a load of crap in their diaper. You will be roused awake by the stench and forced to make the hardest decision of your life, to wake said stinky baby. This will happen on the one night it took you 3 hours to get said stinky baby asleep.

For successful and safe co-sleeping please use a firm mattress. Make sure to remove all loose bedding and fluffy pillows. Never co-sleep under the influence of drugs, alcohol, and if you are a heavy sleeper. May I also suggest a wet suit and possibly a coat of armor. Don’t forget the protective face gear!

 

Can I get a hug?

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One day you stop being the center of your child’s universe, in my case that is plural. You don’t even notice when it happens. When you realize it, you’re blindsided by it. Right now there is such a contrast between my interactions with my older children and my younger children. That the difference is almost heart breaking. When the babies see me I am greeted by smiles that light up the room. My older children usually have their hands out. The me me me’s is all I seem to get.

This Mother’s Day my husband tried. He presented me with breakfast in bed and a giant mimosa. I mean giant, there was no way I was consuming that much champagne at 9 am.
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August scoffed and whined when I asked her to help with her brother. Morgan “lost” the card she made me some where in her bed. And Ramsey didn’t even bother to come home.
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Matt lectured Morgan and August on being mean daughters. So they promptly scurried off to their rooms to make me what I like to call guilt cards.
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I tried to not let this get me down. I kept the tears at bay and chalked Mother’s Day up as just another day. Granted I was not the best daughter myself. I was late ordering my own mother’s gift so I was empty handed on Mother’s Day. The gift is a good one though in my defense. How was I suppose to know there was going to be a cut off on making purchases because of the Mother’s Day rush!

After lounging around in my pajamas all morning it was time to do something. My dear husband offered to take the children and give me time to myself. I was envisioning my day more filled with the sound of laughter and hugs from small children. So I opted for a picnic. But first Libby exploded all over herself. Nothing like cleaning up crap on your special day. Crap on the carpet, crap on the bed, crap on the kid.

We had to retrieve Ramsey from her friend’s house and pick up food. While picking up our picnic lunch August was sending me text messages from the car to HURRY UP. I was not pleased to say the least.

The park was actually pleasant once I made the girls hand over their cell phones. We played and fed squirrels. For a brief moment it was nice. Four hours later we were exhausted and covered in sand.

I ordered pizza for dinner. August accused me of trying to starve her for not ordering sausage pizza. I calmly told her to make something else. I was fuming. But I kept the yelling at bay.

Matt lectured Ramsey on being a mean daughter. She said sorry and exclaimed but I sent her a text.

Fail.

By the end of the night I was exhausted and my ego was slightly bruised. To add insult to injury Matt was hell bent on making me do his laundry. Luckily for him I found this on the washer not his pants. Or maybe lucky for me.
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My Mother’s Day lesson: Sometimes we forget to say I love you. Sometimes we just expect them to know. I don’t doubt their love. And I am sure by their behavior they have no doubt that my love is unconditional.

Make your mother a card preferably one out of dry noodles even if you are 40, tell her you love her, and if she is close maybe a hug.

Moms love hugs.
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As I sit here drinking my dark roast coffee and eating my un-toasted strawberry pop tart I can’t help but daydream. Dream of a more productive me. A woman who remembers that she hates dark roast coffee. A woman who makes lists. To which light roast coffee would be first on so she would not be forced to drink this dark bold coffee that requires too much commitment from her taste buds. Sugar would also be on that list, she wouldn’t be forced to use the year old Stevia in her cupboard. The Stevia that she was convinced would replace sugar and drop inches off her waist.

She dreams of clean laundry all put in its proper place. Floors you can walk on unhindered, clutter free. She dreams of an empty sink. And babies who are not sticky. Of homemade meals and showers before noon.

Reality is hard to ignore, it is overflowing in baskets next to her. So many baskets.
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Priorities.

When I looked over at the laundry strewn across my bedroom floor I cursed my husband. Then I cursed myself for leaving it in the baskets to begin with. And I thought to myself I should really put that away. But first I will write a blog about putting it away. Because well that just sounds way more reasonable.
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Or maybe I will just play more Candy Crush, that is a lot of laundry.

On a serious note

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It was like opening my eyes and seeing for the first time. I did not recognize the woman I had become. I believed the lie. I let it eat me up inside.

Postpartum depression occurs in 5-25% percent of women following childbirth. The number is actually unknown, that would be what I call a rough estimate. Your age, socioeconomic status, the quality of your relationship or lack of, formula vs breastfeeding, tobacco use, stress, birth related trauma, the risk factors go on and on.

Postpartum depression is a dirty term among mothers. We shame each other into denying any feelings of inadequacy, grief, and sadness. We say things like you should be happy, you had a baby. Giving birth can get dangerous, tough good mothers suck it up and do what has to be done. We often hide our feelings of anguish.

In my case I projected this supermom image. In reality I was far from it. I had trouble sleeping. I had trouble getting out of bed. I was disinterested in my children, husband, and friends. I often cried alone hidden away in a bathroom. I did not engage my children. I stopped talking and sleeping with my husband. I became obsessed with anything and everything that was a distraction from my every day life.

By the time I realized what was happening I had nearly lost my marriage and my life.

Today I feel the overwhelming need to help in any way I can. First and foremost we need to stop shaming women, stop denying their feelings of sadness and inadequacy. To offer a helping hand not a judgment. We need to get our stories out there, we need to be heard.

This is where I need your help. I would like to compile letters, emails, pictures your thoughts, your stories of your struggle/struggles with postpartum depression. They will be unedited, uncut, okay maybe some spell check and compiled into a book. Not a blog but words on paper.

Please share this blog with your mother, your sister, your wife, your daughter, your friend, the neighbor across the street.

There is no monetary compensation for participating. Your story may help one woman or ten or thousands break their silence and seek help. My intention is to compile as many of your stories as I can and then seek backing for production through independent donations.

Writing has been cathartic for me. Just this simple blog makes me feel heard. That I am not alone. Sometimes that makes all the difference.

Please submit all correspondence to:

Email: samsandy80@yahoo.com

Facebook: www.facebook.com/pages/Candy-Bottoms/310777708974370

If you would like to write an actual letter and please do, see above email to request a physical address.

 

 

 

Where have I been??? What happened??

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Reblogged from Themostmediocre's Blog:

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I have not looked at my blog in a long time. And when I say I have not looked at it I am dead serious. I really had no idea when or what was the last thing that I wrote on here. It was the blog I wrote when my amazingly talented Kansas buddy ( Matt Headley ) and his equally cool and talented wife and tough new little dude came down to visit for the twins 1st birthday.

Read more… 960 more words

He's back

Letting go

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My husband asked me to write a blog about him, about who he was. I am not sure what he wants from me. Validation on who he thinks he has become or was, perspective through someone else’s eyes. How ever it feels like a daunting task. I don’t do well with a set goal or subject. Especially a subject that may not like what he reads.

July 2008 this guy shows up in my driveway, a guy I hadn’t seen in a decade and literally picks me up and plants one hell of a kiss on me. He was cocky, self assured, egotistical, honestly kind of a douche. But maybe the most charismatic douche I had ever met. He wasn’t how I remembered him but I also don’t think talking was our strong suit in the past. I had never laughed so hard in my life, I was instantly in love. Initially I am pretty sure I just had that new feeling that he was enamored with. And then life became complicated quick and it was all about rescuing me. See my husband is like a woman in that aspect. He is a fixer. And I needed fixing okay I needed saving.

In the beginning he made it clear that skating was everything. That where other girls had failed him in the past I needed to understand he would never love me as much as his skateboard. No seriously it was him, a part of him, the most important part of him. Skating, the relationships and memories he had from it were everything. That piece of wood on wheels had given him something he had never really had. Security, a foundation, he was part of something. I got it and had no qualms with being second.

Over the years his priorities shifted, his friends moved on, dreams involving this piece of wood faded away. He struggled with letting go, moving on. He was losing his identity. And this has been his hardest struggle. See he is no longer defined by an inanimate object. Which is scary. To be invested in people, people who may leave you, and most certainly will disappoint you. Who you may disappoint.

He misses making those memories on that piece of wood. He misses the friendships that he built. The freedom it gave him.

Is my husband still egotistical, yes. Is he still cocky, yes. Self assured, sure his self esteem has taken a beating. But I see a man who loves deeper, who hurts deeper, who wants more not just for himself. I see a father, a good father. I see a man who doesn’t put an inanimate object first but his family. Who realizes there is more to life than just kickflips.

My husband needs to find a balance, a bridge between his past and his present. He needs to make new memories, build new relationships. He needs to let go of disappointment, of who he once was. He needs to realize he is no longer defined by an inanimate object. Once he does he might actually enjoy those kickflips again.

He is a father, a husband, a friend, a man who happens to also skate.

AAA

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We have lift off

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It has been an exciting week in the Osborn household. The twins have tossed out their bottles and are solely using the cup. I know they should have been already on the cup. But when you have two eh you have to make up your own pace. Our pace is slow and whatever makes them stop crying. They have also graduated to a big girl bed. Yes one bed. We tried to convert their cribs into toddler beds and that was an epic failure. So they went back to their cribs which was also an epic failure. See I am not raising little people more like little monkeys. Little monkeys that like to climb, climb, and climb. They also like to occasionally fling poop. But eureka we have had success with the big girl bed. Which means I now have to sleep with my husband because they stole my bed.

We have been hitting milestones left and right. Liberty can follow instructions. For example she was trying to crawl under the couch cushions at the same exact time as her sister was climbing on the cushions. This upset Liberty so I asked Liberty to get down. To which she did. She did however promptly go over and yank on her sisters hair. But successful parenting moment none the less. Penelope will fetch her shoes and they don’t have to even be in the same place. Which they are never in the same place. But the kid brought back matching shoes.

I know this may all sound silly but I am so proud at the moment. You know so proud that I am convinced I am raising the next Einstein or Edison all because my kid brought me matching shoes.

Conrad has learned how to travel via the roll. This little massive dude rolls and rolls. Quite honestly I would like to stunt his growth and keep him as my chunky baby love forever. Seriously I have fallen in love with having a boy. I have dreams of light saber battles and clothing with robots fighting various creatures. I may have bought Star Wars curtains.

Recently I have possibly transcended parent teen relations and may have found some common ground with my oldest child. I don’t want to get too excited and jinx it. But I think we might be cool. If it only lasts for a month or even a week I will take what I can get. The other two are still a work in progress. Where I make strides with one I back pedal with another. Having girls is hard yo. Holy mother I have 5 daughters.

I have even recently discovered a few things about myself. I care. I care about complete strangers. I feel pain and sympathy for people I have never met and people that have yet to even exist. Once upon a time I was really stoked on being an absolute dick. I was a big fan of making fun of the elderly and small children, okay people all kinds. I am not sure what changed but now I have this desire to help. I may be ill, someone check my temperature. Is this what they call growth?

Last night my husband apologized for not being the man I married. For no longer being cool, for becoming social weird. He is going through some changes of his own. He is growing up, which I believe is way harder for men to handle. He doesn’t seem to realize that I wouldn’t trade the man he is today for the man he was 5 years ago. The man he is today has walked through hell and back with me. He has picked me up and brushed me off. He has raged with me and raged at me. We have fought hard and loved even harder. There are moments when he feels miles away and it breaks my heart. That is part of being in a relationship, breaking hearts, rebuilding, learning to love each other every day of our lives. There are moments when I can not get enough of him and moments when I have had enough.

I didn’t marry the man of my dreams, I married the man dreams are made of.

So yeah lots of excitement in the Osborn household, we are growing up!