Have you ever whispered to yourself, “I never thought I would be that parent” when facing certain situations? In the last couple of weeks, I’ve caught myself saying this, especially when my husband set up the play tent we acquired for our ten-month-old. Our ‘never spoil’ mission being thrown out the window almost immediately.

What caught me off guard was going back to work. For months I’ve been battling the notion that I will not be my daughters sole caretaker anymore, and it’s been daunting. I’ve weighed the pros and cons numerous times, going back to work ticked off boxes in all categories, so why do I feel guilty?

Due to COVID-19, my entire team is working from home with no real date as to when we will be physically back in the office. Since I am home, I have taken over the dual office I share with my husband and am revamping my station to support my workload’s technical aspects.
My husband, who’s been off work for months now, has taken full reign over our Daughters schedule with her grandmother taking her twice a week.

My first day back, my daughter wasn’t here, and I wasn’t able to login to anything, it almost felt like a ‘day off’ from everything. I didn’t feel bad or guilty; I thought I had it under control. It was only the second day when both my husband and daughter were downstairs, and I heard her giggle that the waterworks showed up. I am glad I didn’t have a virtual meeting for others to see how much I missed my daughter.

She’s right downstairs though, how can you miss her?!

There is so much that I miss.
I miss being the first person that she sees whenever she wakes up.
I miss talking to her about our day and what I had planned.
I miss our daily walks.
I miss teaching her how to climb stairs, cruise and/or walk.
I miss being the one making her giggle like an idiot.

I went from undivided attention to a working mom, thinking my daughter would have an issue with it, but it’s only me. I never thought that I would miss every aspect of being a stay-at-home parent, but I do (ok, not ALL aspects, I can do without the constant cleaning!)

My anxiety has been flaring up on top of this new adjustment, and I am overthinking the moments and milestones that I will miss. I’ve already missed her initial crawling, and it seems like any day now she’ll start cruising between our furniture without our help. I know that it’s impossible to be there for everything, and it seems silly to get upset over things that haven’t happened yet. What can I say? Having anxiety is a full-time gig, and I am the CEO.

Now that we’re adjusting to our new normal, I know that I can do a better job of managing my anxiety. First and foremost, I need to maintain a balanced lifestyle. We’re all currently working on this as a family, but I know I need a better diet & exercise. With the 1 pound I lost this week, it’s motivation to continue with the crap I’ve cut out while figuring out how to get moving.

It might take some time to adjust to not being with my daughter constantly, but I know she is in good hands with her Dad/Grandmother, and I’m thankful for that.

Today is Mother’s Day, and I am currently hiding from my family upstairs. I told my husband the day previous that what I wanted was an anti mother’s day. All of the things that I usually do on a day-to-day basis were to fall on his shoulders and not bother me.
That includes:
No waking up at 6:15 am
Not feeding/changing my daughter.
No cleaning or maintaining the house
Not to be interrupted from my shower
No planning activities or schedules

When I laid this out, I felt a tinge of guilt. I love my family, and I want to be around my child, but I am just so tired of everything falling on my shoulders. I’m not asking for much – I’m only asking for my husband to be the mother on this day while I carve out time for writing, catching up on shows I usually can’t and just having some quiet time that I desperately miss.

When I woke up at 8:30 this morning, I jumped into a long, hot shower. I was able to sit and blow dry my long hair, put on some minimal makeup and dressed up. I can’t even tell you the last time I had the morning to myself, it was lovely. I went downstairs to make myself a cup of coffee, only to be greeted with a hot meal and slobbery kisses from my daughter. I wasn’t expecting the hot meal and graciously ate it all up. I kissed my daughter on her forehead, leaving a small trace of the lipstick I applied. I then grabbed my laptop, a book and parked myself in our spare room.

Some mothers love flowers, chocolate, brunch, etc. I wouldn’t complain if I were to receive them, but I much prefer having to do nothing today. Eventually, I will be leaving this room to spend some much quality time with them both, but I am thankful to get this “me” time.

Wishing all mothers, conventional or not, a happy mother’s day!

The last few weeks have been challenging and bittersweet. My daughter has been reaching new milestones, and it’s been amazing to watch her grow as a person. Even though I am beaming with pride, I find myself shrouded with guilt and grief.

When I left my toxic family home at the age of eighteen, there wasn’t much that I could bring with me. Things that I never thought I would need were left behind, which held a lot of meaning. For instance, my ‘baby book’ that my adoptive mother curated. It contained all of my milestones and a golden lock from my first hair cut. Now that I have a child of my own, I am longing for these connections and comparisons.

Over the years, I’ve accepted the fact that I don’t have roots, as many other people do. Although at times it can be painful, I know that I cannot blame myself for what happened. I cannot blame myself for not taking that baby book when the only thing surging through my body was flight mode.

Whenever I get into this mind-frame, I think about my adoptive mother. I think of all the love that we shared in the short amount of time that we had together. I’m so glad that those memories of happiness can still burst through the dark times.

Grief has a funny way of showing up, and I think it’s amplified now due to our quarantine. We grieve for the loss of our freedom, jobs, and normalcy. It’s only natural for the loss of someone important to us to jump in. It doesn’t matter when we lost said person; it could be days, months, or twenty-two years.
I try my best to push through the guilt and grief… but it’s hard.
We need to remind ourselves that we can’t be perfect every day, and some days will be harder than others. I just so happen to be going through a harder day today, but I know tomorrow won’t be the same.

I do wish my mother was still here, and I think on some spiritual level she is. As each day passes with my daughter, I realize that I am my mother. I am everything I ever wanted her to be, and for that, I am thankful.

Motherhood is weird and also beautiful.

I feel like I’m living smack dab in the middle of ‘always perfect’ and ‘constant struggle’ but also feel like maybe this is just motherhood? (Or Parenthood). I’ve been adjusting, balancing and learning as I go and get easily frustrated when my anxiety breaks down the door without an invitation.

Did you know that hearing phantom baby cries is a thing?

My husband and I both hear it at night when we’re trying to relax, fall asleep; basically, whenever we put her down, we’re on high alert. I can wake up from a dead sleep, jump out of my bed thinking that I hear her crying – when in fact, she is sound asleep. This adrenaline rush surges through my body and falling back asleep is a struggle. The lack of sleep always clouds my better judgement, and I feel sluggish the next day when I’m at her beck and call.

The six-month growing pains on top of teething has shown us a constant cry and sheer frustration on all of our parts. To top it all off, I was going through a medical issue that almost admitted me to the hospital. It was scary, but I was very fortunate to have people on my side, including my best friend who was in town to visit. My mind started to rush with ‘what-ifs,’ the most pertinent one being – what if I suddenly died.  I know, I know – I had no evidence suggesting that I would, but this is where my mind goes when I’m in an anxious state.
When my mother-in-law offered to take her for the night so I could sleep, I jumped at the chance. I slept for 10 hours. Those thoughts seemed silly after I got the rest.

Then I have my great days – where I don’t feel so overwhelmed or in a monotonous schedule. Where it seems like my constant moving and cleaning is ACTUALLY noticed. Watching her grow has been so rewarding on many levels. Every day seems like a new adventure for us both, and I’m already dreading the fact that I’ll have to go back to work in June.

I keep waiting for things to level out, but I don’t think they will. Guess I’ll just welcome this organized chaos and roll with the punches!

It’s been 21 weeks since we brought our little one home.

I still remember that first night, how her shrieks wouldn’t stop and her tiny face turning blue. I was exhausted and crying, gliding her swaddled body across my chest, thinking that I was already a terrible mother for not being able to comfort her. In desperation, I woke up my husband at 4 in the morning, handing her over and demanding that I need sleep (I was working off of 3 hours from the night previous). That first night I felt like a failure.

There are days where I still feel like one. Days that I let my worries get the best of me and feel as if I’m robbing myself of moments that could potentially be great. I find myself imagining the worst, having excessive or unrealistic worries about her, and of other topics that directly relate to her (finances, productivity, my relationship with my husband)

I think I let my anxiety consume me because I am now responsible for a tiny human, and sometimes it can be nothing but stressful.

Here are some of the worries that I have:

♦ Worrying about her formula intake, if it’s too little or too much because it varies at her feedings. I know she’s eating enough because her weigh-ins are more than normal, and my doctor keeps calling her perfect.

♦ Worrying about her lack of napping throughout the day, we’re lucky if we get 20-minute intervals, but she still sleeps like the dead and gives us 8-10 hours at night.

♦ Worrying about her bowel movements because sometimes she can skip a day but lets out enormous farts like her mother. (no shame!)

♦ Worrying that she’s not getting enough fresh air even though I try my hardest to take her on walks when I feel able

♦ Worrying at each cry that I’m not giving her what she needs even though I have a handle on her variations

♦ Worrying that I’m not teaching her or entertaining her enough each day even though she shows many advanced skills for her age

♦ Worrying that she’ll somehow stop breathing during the night and waking myself up to check our video monitor. I know that this is highly unlikely, but this runs in the back of my mind a lot.

I could go on, but I think you get the point.

When I take a step back and assess my worries, I know that this is normal. Whether or not each mom feels the same way as I do will vary, and I’m not here to compare my anxiety to others, so don’t do the same for yourself either.

The best thing that you can do when you’re in these moments like myself is to talk it out, but if you can’t at the moment there are ways to clear your mind and redirect those vibes

  1. MOVE!

Whatever type of physical activity you can do, do it. Whether it’s walking, dancing, working out or just walking up and down your stairs doing chores, do it. This is a win-win situation; you’re redirecting your thoughts PLUS working out in the process.

  1. Fuel your body right

It’s effortless to forget about yourself when all your time and effort is directed towards a tiny human. Here are three easy things that you can do right now

A) Nap. If you can, squeeze in some shut-eye over doing another chore. Sleep deprivation only makes you more nervous and anxious in the long run

B) Food Intake. Take an hour on Sunday to prepare some healthy snacks or meals for your week, if you can (example: cut up some fruits/veggies to save yourself time) or honestly, buy perfect portioned yogurts, cottage cheese, apple sauce, etc. Taking out the bad carbs will leave you with fewer mood swings and cravings for junk food.

C) Caffeine Intake. If you drink more than two cups of coffee or soda a day, try to cut it down to a reasonable number. I’ve limited my caffeine intake to once a day, and have noticed a considerable difference

  1. F*ck Chores

Don’t let chores or preparing each meal every day become a burden. If you’re too stressed to do it, there is nothing wrong with getting take out/using paper plates or leaving the dishes for another time or day. We can’t always be ‘perfect.’

Coming to terms with my low milk supply due to my G.A.D

Nothing really ever goes according to plan, I’ve realized over the last couple of months. I had every intention to breastfeed my daughter until she turned one, but everything changed when I gave birth to her.

We had issues with her latching onto me, and I sought out help within the hospital. After nurses forcefully handled my baby onto me, I asked for formula. They were baffled I would even ask for such a thing – I disregarded their glares, she needed to be fed.

I’m lucky that I bought a pump and started exclusively using it to bottle feed her through her cluster phase. I would still try to bring her to my chest regularly, but her screeching cries would deafen our household. She preferred the bottle, and I had to accept it. I lived by that pump for weeks, waking up almost every 2 hours with little to no sleep, squeezing as much liquid gold as I could for her. My body didn’t react well, and my G.A.D flustered. Even though I was topping up with formula for what I couldn’t provide, my supply started to lower drastically.

After researching and talking to doctors, I figured out that my low milk supply was due to my G.A.D. I felt like a failure for a minute. Seriously, I only felt guilty for maybe a day or two; it didn’t last long. The thing is, I know that I can’t change my G.A.D now matter how many times people tell me to “Just Relax!” “Drink some Beer!” or “Take Supplements!” – Trust me when I say I tried EVERYTHING. This is just how I’m wired. Accepting this doesn’t mean that I LIKE it – I’m acknowledging that this is valid.

Since she was getting bigger and on a better schedule, I made a decision to pump every 4 hours, except for a 3am one so I could try to sleep. ‘Try’ is the keyword here; my mind races almost nightly with things associated with her, the house, my relationship with my husband… nothing has been easy on my anxiety. What I did notice is that after some sleep, my first-morning pump would be almost a full dose of what she needed. After documenting her intake for a week, I decided to change up my pumping schedule to give her more. It worked for a little while but started dwindling again.

My husband and I were formula-fed, and we turned out (somewhat) normal. I wasn’t that worried over making an executive decision to stop breastfeeding once it dwindled down more. As I type this out now, she’s almost at 10 weeks, and I pump 3 times a day, extracting 60 ml each time. It can be infuriating at times, but she is still being fed, and that’s all that I care about.

I’ve had some backlash over wanting to stop, and one commenter in a support group said that I wasn’t bonding with my baby properly. I wish I knew this person so I could slap them. I don’t need that bond to be defined by breastfeeding, it’s more than milk – it’s when she smiles at me when she hears my voice, it’s when she grabs hold of my pinky finger when I’m feeding her close to my heart – just because she rejects a body part of mine doesn’t mean she rejects ME.

Even though my breastfeeding plan didn’t work the way that I hoped for, I’m making the best choice for my daughter to ensure she gets the nutrition she needs. This is my commitment to my child, and that shouldn’t be based on how much milk I was able to produce for her. Am I successful breastfeeding mother? Absolutely. Success is different for everyone, there is no right or wrong way, and it should not be measured in millilitres.

This has been one hell of a week for me, and even though I mentioned this would not be a mom-centred blog, I am breaking my rule this one time to go over how my anxiety shaped my experience of labour and bringing home my baby.

On Wednesday early morning (12:40 am to be exact), my water broke. I wasn’t sure at the time and I called my husband from downstairs to make sure that I wasn’t just peeing myself again (oh yes, the lovely late stages of pregnancy were terrific on my bladder) It wasn’t until I moved around slightly that my curious trickle turned into a full-on gush and the panic started to come full force. THIS IS HAPPENING. Immediately I felt my first contraction and went upstairs to lie down to time it out: 1 hour apart, lasting 1 minute. I wasn’t in active labour just yet, but my anxiety was flaring up with the usual physical symptoms: overheating, rapid heartbeat & dizziness. I did not feel safe at home and thought it would be best to go to the hospital. We packed up the car and went straight there, where I was closely monitored before being admitted.

I told my husband to go home and sleep, so one of us could at least be coherent when it came closer to being admitted – he was relieved. I spent the next four hours lying in bed, trying to get some sleep but the contractions were getting debilitating. Trying to walk around to ease the pain and move things along were not an option for me, and I already felt as if I were a failure. I cried in the darkened room, waiting for a nurse to come so I could ask for some pain medication. The O.B. on call came to see me about it and mentioned I could get some morphine, but I had to wait until my contractions were 5 minutes apart. It was roughly 6 am at this point, and I knew I was getting close to that time frame. I called my husband to let him know I was scared and I needed him, he told me everything would be OK and to try to calm myself down; he would be there as soon as possible. He arrived, and I instantly felt better, I always do. The pain was getting worse, and several hours went by – I was getting impatient. Around 9 am, I was finally admitted to the hospital; however, I was not dilated. Due to specific procedures that I had back in 2008, I was running into complications that would need to be addressed. The plan that we set at 6 am had now changed; however, I was able to receive an epidural early to help ease the pain. After 7 hours of my anxious mind racing through this pain, I welcomed it. I’m happy that my husband was coherent because it knocked me out, and he was able to fill out all the necessary paperwork.

As I crept in and out of sleep, so did my husband. The nurses came in to check on me as often as they could, but our little one was still taking her precious time getting ready to make her grand entrance. My heart was pounding, remembering what doctors told me years previous that if I were to have a child, I might run into issues. The medication that they administered around noon to speed things up was taking its time, and we spent the next 8 hours waiting impatiently. Nurses needed to come in more often to help out; when I was awake, my mind would race with worry over the length of time that it was taking and I was starting to get more nervous and scared as the time approached for me to push out a tiny human. When I was stuck at 8 cm for several hours, I started to cry out of frustration; I just wanted her to be out of me! That’s when one of the nurses suggested I put this peanut looking ball between my legs, which essentially helps dilate you to where you need to be.

When the moment finally arrived at 8:40 pm, my heart sank, I was unsure how I would feel at this moment, and every emotion possible seemed to course through my body. All lights went on, and I noticed I was placed perfectly under a reflection of what was going on. If I kept looking up, I would be able to see it ALL. The nurse started to explain to me how to push, and I immediately thought I would somehow screw this up. I did my first push and couldn’t hold my breath long enough. I started to cry, again, thinking that this would take longer than usual and already felt like a failure. My husband and I already made a plan beforehand to play music during this process, so he put on my favourite album “Dark Side of the Moon” by Pink Floyd. When the music started to play, I got emotional once again thinking to myself – Holy shit I’m about to be a mom. I’ve been preparing myself for this moment for MONTHS, but honestly, nothing can prepare you for that overwhelming sensation.

The song ‘Us & Them’ holds a lot of meaning for both my husband and me.

* It was the song that we listened to on our first visit to B.C., staying up late on our hotel room balcony basking in a moderate snowfall that was gorgeous.

* It was the song that we found an instrumental version of so I could walk down the aisle to marry him.

* It was the song that unintentionally played during our Gender Reveal party when I sliced our cake open sharing that we would be welcoming a girl

so, when it started to loom in the background after 30+ minutes of pushing, I told myself this is going to be the last couple of pushes, she WILL be born to this song. I put so much effort into these pushes that my husband needed to put ice chips on my forehead, which quickly trickled down the side of my face from the immense heat. The nurses cheering me on in the background as the last push brought her out into this world, 42 minutes later. Yes, I saw everything in that reflection. EVERYTHING.

The song ended, and I heard her cry, up to this moment I was so worried that I wouldn’t love her or want to hold her but as soon as I listened to that cry all I wanted to was calm her down. My body rushed with so much love for this little human being that I was overcome with joy and relief. I held her without interaction from anyone else and knew at this moment that I would never want to go through pregnancy again. Her though, she was worth it. We named her Eve Lilly, a name we picked out months prior but wanted to ensure she ‘looked’ like the name.

It wasn’t long before I was wheeled into my semi-private room with her in an adjoining bassinet. I couldn’t take my eyes off of her and kept saying, “I made this.” My husband asked if I wanted him to stay the night and even though a part of me did, I said he could go home. I wanted to spend my first moments with Eve together and try to bond over breastfeeding. The nurses tried to help, but it was extremely difficult for both of us, instead of being anxious over this, I told myself that plans never go the way we want them to. I asked the nurses for supplements, and they made me feel incredibly guilty for doing so, I didn’t care. All I did care about was that she was fed and happy.

My anxiety was levelling out, and I just wanted to be home, I was tired, sore and swollen that I couldn’t even put my shoes on! Being pregnant and giving birth has given me a new perspective on what matters and what doesn’t. I made some big decisions during this time, one of them being that I don’t think I can go through this process again for my mental health. After going through months of depression on top of my anxiety was trying. I don’t think that’s selfish of me in the slightest, regardless of what others think. I grew up as an only child and i’m somewhat normal 😉

It’s been hard for me to write this article for the past couple of weeks, for two reasons

  1. I have lost the motivation to do what I generally love, including writing
  2. I’ve been debating whether or not I should share this

The truth is, I’ve been dealing with prenatal depression during my third trimester, and it has not been easy in the slightest. The reason why I’ve decided to share this is because pregnant women don’t divulge what’s truly going on with their mentality during or after their pregnancy – and since I come from a maternal line of different types of depression, I feel there’s a need for me to be open and honest with everyone.

If someone were to ask me right now how I’m feeling, I will generally say “I’m dealing with some depression, but I’m trying to remain positive” instead of the typical “OK” I would typically say during any depressive state. When others ask pregnant women how they are feeling they’re not looking for a paragraph response of ailments, but, I’m hoping that with my concise response that we can change the way society looks at pregnant women instead of thinking we’re all fine and dandy with our belly and glow.

The last trimester of pregnancy is a whirlwind of emotions and a roller coaster of hormones which should be going up and down throughout these last months. However, I still feel as if I’m at the starting point, on the bottom, waiting to feel elated from the adrenaline rush. When I mentioned this to my OB over a month ago, I was given one of those questionnaires that are all too familiar with me. I’ve filled these out numerous times before when I was seeking help through a therapist. When I tallied up my point score at the end of it, I started to shake. I knew that I had been feeling off due to circumstances out of my control, but the answer had been lying in front of me the whole time. I am depressed.

After I got my request to go to a mood clinic, I left the office angry. Why was I angry? Because this whole time during pregnancy, I’ve been anxious about postpartum depression, that I didn’t even think that I could get prenatal depression. I was angry at myself for thinking in the future instead of listening to my present, which, is one of my anxiety symptoms.

I started to look back at my triggers from March onwards: Not only did I go through some stressful life events (losing my Grandmother and the events that followed) but I was also feeling alone in my relationship with my husband. He started on a new production that is being managed a little out of the ordinary, and I’m lucky if I see him once throughout the working week. Add my family history on top of all of this, and you’ve got your recipe for depression.

I was showing the basic signs:

–    Persistent Sadness & withdrawal from others

–    Difficulty concentrating and making decisions

–    Sleeping & crying too much; my exhaustion is pretty extreme at times

–    Loss of interest in the things I usually enjoy

–    Change in eating habits

–    And of course, my lovely sidekick: Anxiety

I have to admit; I was in denial during those moments. Since these symptoms mirror usual pregnancy symptoms, I felt that it was just a bump in the road. What I did realize, after the fact, is that it’s not normal to feel consistently sad/uninterested and I started to feel guilty that I was making my unborn baby feel this way on top of it all. What started to worry me was the fact that I felt as if I couldn’t take care of myself properly, from a lack of motivation to cook and eat. During these moments I turn to my Grandmother’s spirit and think ‘what would she say?’ – the Jewish guilt is still palpable, and even if it was a quick PB&J that I fixed for myself, I knew she would be happy to know that something is better than nothing.

Since I’ve dealt with depression before, I started to do the following to help (aside from Therapy):

  1. Meditation

I remember a time when I meditated every morning, but ever since I got pregnant, it went down to the bottom of my list. I’m trying to put more effort into this, even if it’s just for 5 minutes a week

  1. Going outside

Even though Toronto humidity is killing me most days, I know that being in the sunshine helps me a bunch. I recently bought some frozen fruit bars to enjoy while I sit on my balcony basking in this sweltering heat! Mmm fruit bars.

  1. Napping

Even though I feel unproductive nowadays with my excessive exhaustion, I still manage to try and nap each day to make sure that I’m getting enough rest. My logic is, either my body or baby need it so everything else can be a lower priority

  1. Set up Reminders

I’m terrible at remembering to drink water throughout the day so several years ago I set up reminders in my phone. It’s been an enormous help, and I started to use it again to remind myself to eat throughout the day. Although to be fair, this little Spawn is the best reminder of all since she likes to kick me in the ribs if I don’t eat on time

  1. Spend time with family and/or friends

This one has been hard on me, so I decided my priority is to spend time with my family instead of my friends. I only have enough energy for one visit at a time now, but I make sure that I STICK to it and remind my friends, online, that it’s me and not them. I’m lucky that they understand that.

  1. Hire Help (if you can)

It’s been no secret with my family what I’m going through, I was honest with them from the start about my depression, and I’m glad that I did so. My mother-in-law suggested that we hire a cleaning service for the time being so I don’t have the responsibility or guilt to get EVERYTHING done personally. I’m glad I listened to her – the service is outstanding, and what would typically take me 8 hours to do, they did in under 3. Worth. Every. Penny.

  1. Communicate

There are days that I don’t feel like communicating, and I want to bask in silence on my couch. Then there are others when I need to express what’s going on. Unfortunately, I don’t have a proper routine for when these moods strike me, and they generally coincide with my husband’s schedule – the need to talk to him some nights when he’s working can feel excruciating at times. When I do see him, I try to cut past the moods of silence and force myself to tell him how I’m feeling, even if I can’t make sense of it myself at the time.

Even though I’m still battling this depression, I feel as if I must make this public since most women don’t seek treatment for their prenatal or postpartum depression out of embarrassment, shame or guilt.
To be honest, I feel thoroughly embarrassed that I’m going through this, and the guilt is heavy. But you know what? There’s absolutely NOTHING wrong with how I’m feeling or the fact that it even crept up on me silently throughout these last months. I am now more susceptible to postpartum because of this, and the fact that I’m already on the right path of healing and treatment is excellent news for baby and me. Untreated depression can lead to a lot of issues, not only for yourself but for your unborn baby too.

If you think there’s any chance that you’re suffering from this type of depression – ASK FOR HELP. Your baby will need a mother who is healthy, not only in body but also of mind.

I can’t believe I’m at the end of my second trimester. These months seem to have flown by compared to my first trimester even though I was still going through some significant symptoms. The biggest being my mood swings – oh boy, they have come full frontal in these months. Trying to calm myself down during these swings has been nothing but challenging, but the worst was when my husband went out of town to work for several days. I was utterly overwhelmed by everything in general; housekeeping, cooking, etc. I didn’t realize how much I relied on secondary help until it was no longer available for me – I cried, panicked and did something I usually didn’t do. I reached out to numerous friends, telling them “I’m not OK.” I didn’t bother going into more detail than that because I couldn’t even put into words what was going through my head. I’m lucky that a friend who lives close by decided to drop in to check up on me – even though it was a short visit, I was able to put into words how anxious I was and immediately felt a weight lift off of me.

A sense of community during pregnancy is KEY to surviving any turmoil

Healthwise, I’ve been gaining weight appropriately and eating everything in sight. I still get some morning sickness (once or twice a month), but this is considered normal even though I could happily do without it. My cravings have been interesting, nothing out of the blue per se but I have noticed the types of food I’m craving all come from my childhood: PB&J, Kraft Dinner, Cinnamon Rolls (Just to name a few!) I am loading up on everything carb and not regretting a single bite. Curious to know if there’s any correlation or connection with childhood foods and pregnancy!

Unfortunately, the bigger I get, the more uncomfortable I am. Aside from the daily ligament & back pains, little Spawn is moving at a gargantuan rate, and my sleeplessness has come back. Even though I know it’s due to the pregnancy my anxious mind likes to set up camp during these times. I’m overthinking everything and lucky if I get 6 hours during a work week. Kudos to all women who still work full-time while pregnant! I feel as if I’m struggling most days to be present. My exhaustion has improved vastly from my last post but it’s still here, and I still hate it. I try to push through it the majority of the time, but there are certain days when I just sit on my couch for hours, watching terrible Hallmark movies and hoping a fairy will come by to do my dishes.

I finally had my first OB appointment this month; I was so nervous on meeting my new Doctor since I haven’t had the best track record with them in the past, but I was pleasantly surprised! She’s down to earth and offered me a lot of mental health support pamphlets once I told her about my G.A.D. – she was just as concerned as I was about delivery and post-partum which made me feel relieved that it’s just not in my mind. I honestly feel as if I’m in good hands, even though my mind will be racing for the next three months regardless.

I’ll try to give another update before little Spawn arrives but who knows when this one will want to make a grand entrance – expected due date is August 14th!

I’m a firm believer that if you have already decided if you want kids (or not), you’ve already made up your mind, and it will not change in the future.

I had a recent conversation with my sister about this because years ago I was under the impression that I could not have kids naturally. Even though the weight of that news was crushing for me to hear at the age of 22, I tried to go on with my life the best way that I knew how. For years I acted selfishly without a thought of alternatives, I was with my ex-boyfriend at the time and convinced myself that if I could not have them naturally, then I did not want them at all. I already knew that I was lying to myself, but this was how I coped.
The thought of a family has always been in the back of mind, ever since I was a kid. I remember during my childhood playing “house” with my friend and talking about our futures; always with marriage and kids. Poking at my adopted family for another sibling so I could help take care of him/her. Leaving my toxic atmosphere at 18 with a repeat to myself “When you have kids, you’ll show them what love is.”
It wasn’t until I broke it off with my ex at 25 that I started to think more deeply into my need for a family.

Luckily for me, the majority of my issues stemmed from my ex-boyfriend so when I changed doctors and had a proper physical a year later, my concerns were nearly half gone. I reiterated what was told to me from my previous doctor and relayed medical history – He said that I could go through testing, but since I wasn’t planning on starting a family just yet they could wait. During these years I met my now husband, and I remember having lunch with a close friend of mine explaining how I was back in therapy and maybe starting a family wasn’t really for me. I wasn’t well mentally, and the thought of bringing a little one into this world started to frighten me. I will never forget her question; “Well, do you WANT to want kids?” Without a pause, I immediately said yes. I’ve always known that I wanted kids; I just kept telling myself I should not due to the obstacles that I was facing.

Working on myself was the best thing that I did, and I’m not ashamed that I was selfish for the latter years of my twenties. I needed those years to get better and confirm that I did want to be a mother. When I turned 30 and married my husband, we started the process of discussing (& testing) what our options would be. These years were gruelling and hard on the both of us, we had many discussions that almost tore us apart, but we stuck it through. When I got pregnant in November of 2018, a huge smile formed across my face. I’ve been pregnant before; this wasn’t the first test that I’ve done – the only difference was my reaction. I didn’t tell anyone immediately in fear of miscarrying again but once those weeks past, all I wanted to do was shout it from my rooftop. Even though I was still scared as I was back then, I was also hopeful, happy and excited.

So, when my sister asked how my mind has changed over the years, I tell her that it honestly didn’t; it just went on a crazy path. If you know deep down that children aren’t for you – if you’ve never fantasized about being a mother, chances are your thoughts won’t change and there’s absolutely nothing wrong with that. Becoming a mother is going to be one of the most challenging things that I will ever go through, and I’m welcoming this crazy with open arms. Motherhood is not for everyone so don’t let others guilt you into thinking that you’re selfish for not wanting them. Stand firm in your opinion and choice.