...Because I Am A Whole Person, NOT A Portal or Means to An End

So...

I've begun the process of unpacking all the "baggage" from my third pregnancy. Compared to the first two rounds, it was much harder on me emotionally. Physically, I had my discomforts for sure--a hyperemesis gravidarium stint worse than any I've had before, a traumatic season of life events, and anxiety that sorta complicated everything else. I could manage those fine.

It was the feeling, and actuality, that the person I trusted to care for me and the little bean, did not at all.

While I pride myself on being the easy, pleasant patient, I also make a point to be well-read and informed about my health. I read medical journals. I follow research. I try to stay in tune with myself. Probably most importantly, I stay the heck away from Google when something is amiss! I also have an advantageous professional background, having worked in the field for a few years, not so many years ago. This coupled with my hubby's experience means I have a great grasp of what doctors do, as well as what they should not do. And I know how to advocate, to use my voice to make sure I'm getting the care I need.

As such, I have often been called the dream patient. I've never had an issue with doctors before, because even as I advocate for me, I respect their position. (I've never been a doctor, for clarification--while nursing is its own difficult, the two jobs do not exactly compare.)

Before I get too far into it, let's be clear: My former OB was never mean to me. In fact, he and his staff were amazing. They would always be warm and welcoming, even playing with my toddler and entertaining him during my appointments. The practice felt more like a visit with friends than a medical building.

But maybe that's where the problem began.

Because they were so kind and warm, I was reluctant to entertain the idea that my OB was not really listening. Not just failing to listen, but failing to care for or about the woman carrying the baby he'd been tapped to monitor and deliver.

My anxiety was written off as simple hormones and stress. Not unbelievabale--I was setting up base in a different town, away from everyone I knew, to open a new busimess. In addition to number 3 (now known as Tiger Lily), I had two other kiddos to care for; my husband works crazy long hours so it's often just me with a side of cute small fries. When I asked the good doctor to refer me to a counselor or a doula, I was told I didn't need those Hollywood things and to just relax, that my pregnancy needn't be a production with an extensive cast.

When I developed symphysis pubis dysfunction--a condition where the hormone relaxin softens the pelvic ligaments and joints to prepare for delivery. My body did not adjust well to this new stretchiness and responded with hip, lower back, and pelvic girdle pain that left me walking side to side when I was able to at all. Good doctor didn't see an issue with this. Again, written off as a normal discomfort. Didn't hesititate to try to ply me with pills to shut me up though. I'd never heard of SPD and was only properly diagnosed once I transferred to a doctor 3 hours away.

My hyperemesis was not taken seriously until I lost 15 pounds. I was a sad, sad sight--dark circles, skin and bones. I was done. This was the final straw for me, and I transferred back to my doctors in Atlanta. It's one thing to ignore my discomfort, but if I couldn't eat or get nourishment, there was no way my little bean could thrive. Babies draw their nourishment from us, and my reserves were tapped out. (Admittedly I still have nightmares of my little bean in there, starving, meanwhile instead of the IV nourishment my doctor shoves pills down my throat so "it won't hurt.")

Anxiety, sure--I've lived with it for a couple years now and can manage. I have resources and know when to draw on them. The SPD? NOT a common occurrence for me but I'm fine with a wild card as long as I can get what I need to deal with it. (In this case, some actual treatment--turns out I had a severe case of SPD as well as degenerative joint disease in my hip, and would need surgery to even address the latter.)

The hyperemesis, I could not play around with, as it has always led to hospitalizations and bed rest for me. IV nutrition and anti-nausea meds delivered through a port, via a pump, which I've always gotten no later than the 14th week. I desperately wanted to avoid a hospital stay, but even with a late yet intensive course of actual treatment, I was still too far behind my usual curve to not end up admitted for inpatient care.

The good doctor took it personally upon finding out I would be delivering elsewhere. Had I stayed in Albany, there would be a chance that he'd end up delivering my baby anyway, as only one hospital has labor and delivery. That meant either he or his colleagues would still be responsible for me and my bean at some point, and that was a risk I simply refused to take. Thanks to his lack of concern and ability to make me feel as if I were overreacting, whiny, or both, I needed to get out.

Anxiety does not directly affect the baby unless it is unhecked. SPD has no bearing on a pregnancy besides potentially debilitating the mom. But hyperemesis...that can be deadly for both baby and mom.

So, after a particularly harrowing visit where my blood was lost and my blood sugar readings were erased from my pump, I threw in the towel.

Why wait?

I waited because I needed to be sure my anxiety wasn't driving me toward hypersensitivity over the new doctor. I didn't want to make unnecessary waves. I didn't want to be a fuss bucket. I didn't want to go through a pregnancy and delivery three hours away from my family.

Why leave that practice, then? Couldn't I just grin and bear it?

I transferred because I didn't want to suffer any more missed diagnoses or patronization. I didn't want to suffer period. I didn't want me or my little bean to die.

My husband was more than happy to come back to Atlanta with me. The kids just wanted their real mom back, and a healthy baby sister.

That doctor in Albany treated me as a portal, a means to a delivery. I was not a person, just a vessel for a baby. I'm pretty sure our outcome would be more than grim had I not stood up and spoke out.

I'm NOT just a portal. My baby was not just a number.

Toxic Masculinity

May I take a moment to express a thing that bothers me lately?

I'm not really one to be bugged by people, as I've never had a problem sending them on their merry way.

As you very well know, my little guy, my Bop-Bop, my Bud, is almost 3. (Time,  you can slow down any minute...getting out of hand here with the birthdays, sheesh.) But before I digress and start crying because my little boy is getting so big...

He's the best little boy in the world, full of wonder and surprises and noise...and dirt. I really dig his little personality. He's strong, he's swift, and he's really carving out his own niche. (He's outbumbered--there are more girls in our house now, thanks to our tiebreaker Miss Tiger Lily.)

He's also the perfect mix of big boy and snuggle booplesnoot.

While I haven't steered him toward any particular interest set, he loves his cars and Mickey. He likes watching the school buses in the mornings. He enjoys a good dirt fest with his Tonka trucks. Also, it's a good thing I'm not particularly afraid of critters because he loves bringing me different bugs and things to identify when we're outside. (It's perhaps a better thing that I'm willing to chase said critters for a pic or two, because if he can't get to them, he expects me to!)

On the other hand, he loves to snuggle and read a story or ten. He likes being in the kitchen. He enjoys a good yoga sesh, although he's only just learning poses besides downward dog. And he is an emerging empath--if he senses sadness or pain in any of us, he feels it too and will cry of his hugs and sugars don't help.

He's everything I dreamed a son would be. I wouldn't change a thing, even that hot little temper he's got.

But what irks me badly is, when an adult tries to foist their views of masculinity and/or what a kid should be like...

...on a kid who doesn't flipping belong to them!!!

I have this discussion a lot with a member of our circle. He isn't some hard ass dude himself, actually, which confuses me a LOT. (He isn't "girly," but he is a far cry from tough, and he's a good bit more sensitive than most men.) He has a difficult time NOT telling my boyo to not cry, and he seems to forget that the kid is a person entitled to the same feelings he himself has.

Needless to say it pisses my grits.

One, he doesn't have any biological kids, so while it's for the most part appreciated, his input and opinions--along with those of anyone besides me, hubby, and kid in question--simply do not matter.

Two, he's not necessarily the example for the behavior he seems to expect. He doesn't just accept what people say, he expresses his stuff whether anyone wants to hear it or not, and he doesn't embody a lot of the traits the average man holds dear. (As a woman, I can't judge--I only know what makes a woman, and even that varies by lifestyle and experience. I've only lived my own story so who am I to dictate?!)

That's not a jab or trash talk at him, just an example. Because of how he was raised, that's the masculinity he thinks is correct. Even though he himself doesn't display the traits, he feels that he can impress them upon the male kids he's around.

He's a great dude but misguided.

There's no space for toxic masculinity here.

1. Boys can cry.

2. Boys can express their feelings.

3. Boys do NOT have to automatically be rough and tumble, dirt and rumble.

4. Boys do NOT have to conform to some archaic model of masculinity.

5. Boys are HUMAN, FIRST. Quit projecting your own insecurities about your masculinity,  or lack thereof, on kids who are barely old enough to know. They're not puppets.

I'm not a gender neutral parent by a long shot. I jist know my limitations. As a woman, I know I can't really direct my son in the ways of dudeness. I'm cool with that. My primary job is not to project what I think a man does, but to raise a decent human. I know exactly what decent humans do, from personal application!

He's got his dad for that dudeness.

His dad totally rocks that shit, too. He's a hard-working, strong, honest, fair person. He believes in earning his way. He doesn't wait for an opportunity--he creates them. While we have definitely had our share of struggles, he's never voluntatily left me to the dogs or watched me fumble through a problem.

THAT'S the kind of masculinity I want to embosom to my son. I hope he always creates his own way, and I hope he is never too timid, too stubborn, or too lazy to realize that won't be easy. I hope he has the perseverance to get it on his feet versus live on his knees.

*sighs*

Right now, he's navigating the seas of toddlerhood as he approaches preschooler-dom. That's enough for his little Mickey plate, for now. He's got his whole life to define what kind of man he's gonna be. I just declare it's a good one, that he'll be more than a talker--after all, it's the walkers who run, and change, the world. Not the ones who merely have opinions about it.

Being a man is a lot more than thunderous voices and muscles. There's no manual for it. Even with my hopes and dreams, and Dad's guidance, Bop-Bop will have to sail those seas for himself.

As a woman I still adamantly affirm that I can't say what makes a man. I can just avoid what I know makes a toxic one. I can keep those at bay, because children emulate what they see, NOT what they hear.

Adults do as well, whether we own it or not. Why else do people still need to look at the GPS screen when the directions are audible?!

Why I DON'T Want to Know Your Stance On...

Circumcision.

I don't want to know what decision you've made about your son's anatomy. I don't want to discuss why you did it. I don't even care, because it's your son, not mine.

By the same token, I won't be engaging any conversation about my own kid in that regard.

I do have opinions and such. It's almost impossible not to! I read the pamphlets and brochures and talked to the pediatricians. It's all over every mommy message board and group, and discussed at play group with the same casual segues as current gossip.

...can we say, "Weird as shit?"

(I don't apologize for cuss words. Judging me for the occasional emergency word says more about you than it does about me.)

I discuss coffee. I discuss potty training. I discuss breastfeeding. I discuss food--all the foods, yums. But I don't discuss my son's penis. I don't compare it to other babies' penises. That would be creepy at best and pedophilic at worse, and that's exactly how those conversations and arguments ring as far as my opinion goes.

I don't get why it's cool to discuss something that personal. It isn't even your body, it's your kid's! You're literally posting (and probably arguing) with total strangers about why you like a mushroom or a turtleneck. Doesn't it feel kinda awkward to discuss your kid's penis anyway? In most forums I've seen, the majority of the ones speaking won't even refer to it by its actual name.

It isn't a peen. It isn't a whacker. It's a PENIS.

UGH.

Do it or don't, that's fine either way. (I wouldn't dare judge you. Especially since I won't let you tell me anyway. *chuckles*) But the need to trumpet it is just creepy to me.

But an online forum isn't the best place to get help making a decision like that. And most people share their stories to sway you their way.

Just ask a nurse or pediatrician, WELL BEFORE DELIVERY, and weigh your options.

R-E-S-P-E-C-T and How We Embosom It To OUR Part of Generation Now

*cues the late great Aretha Franklin*

Respect is a huge topic. With regard to raising little ones, it's possibly divisive as well. Many argue that recent generations have no respect, are entitled, etc. (I definitely see this--remember, I'm 34! While the body still bangs and the melanin still pops, I'm still a fair bit older [and thankfully a lotta bit wiser] than I appear.)

But before we can even teach respect, we have to break down what it is we're really instilling. See, it goes a lot deeper than "yes ma'am" and "no ma'am." And it doesn't equal total, blind compliance with whatever they're told.

Today's culture is a hypersensitive mess. People are inclined more toward pity, coddling, and participation points than anything substantial, and it's down to a lack of respect. Words like shame, trigger, and bully get tossed around too freely now. In a culture that promotes excess, nudity, and ignorance, society has basically become a rave at which the more practical, modest, intelligent are not welcome. If you're willing to show enough skin, be outlandish enough, or pretend your thought chamber is empty enough, you'll make it BIG, right?

Depends on what you're willing to concede.

We don't want our kids to concede their respect--that from others but most importantly and specifically, that which they have been raised to have for and within themselves--so we have to work at it daily. We've got a boy and two girls, and respect is a coin we constantly press both sides of to make sure they don't just get it, but embosom it, believe it, and keep it.

In our house, we don't subscribe to what's popping outside. The stuff we can't shield them from--what we call the microwave society--is not swept away, but instead counteracted with what we call the home cooking. The home cooking has three elements, which combine and overlap in a brew called RESPECT. The "magic" elements are: consent, assertiveness, and awareness.

I don't have to tell you what a big deal consent is, especially in the current climate. We must inculcate the principle of autonomy and the idea that consent about their bodies and personal space is theirs to give and/or rescind at any time without consequence or repercussion to them. They don't have to give hugs. If something belongs to them, they aren't required to share it. If they say NO, whatever they are refusing (within reason obviously--health, safety, and hygiene aren't negotiable) must and WILL stop. They don't have to go with anyone they aren't comfortable with, and in the event they are out on a social call and request to come home or be picked up, Dad and I do not hesititate. They are being taught that their boundaries are to be respected--and also that they must extend this same diligence to others.

Assertiveness is my favorite. See, I was a very shy child. I didn't make much fuss and I generally went along with whatever was happening because I didn't like to make waves. I'm raising my kids to be the exact inverse of that. They are to speak up. If they aren't content, they can let us know. They can say NO without being punished, even (or perhaps especially?) to adults. They have/are developing the confidence to assert their stances and advocate for their own interests. They are not allowed to be little Barbarians, but we definitely do not encourage pushover behavior. They aren't allowed to go along to get along. They won't be the next participants in generation Boot Lick. Because they are being equipped now to deal with others in a productive manner, I might not have to die of embarrassment from them resorting to name-calling instead (I would seriously, almost literally pass away if one of inexpensive ever uttered or typed SNOWFLAKE) of stating confirmed facts and moving along. One can, and does, hope.

Lastly, the kids have to be aware. They need to be educated on their rights and fully ready to exercise them. Too many times we think respectful kids just go along with the program. We don't like for them to disagree or buck the establishment so to speak. So we punish or chide them into compliance. A child who is respectful does not necessarily equal a child who just goes along. Personally I think that "go along, do exactly as told without question, EVER" is brainwashing at best, abuse at worst.

...so no, I haven't raised my kids to be that way.

When kids have a good grasp of how consent, assertiveness, and awareness work, they are also generally respectful. How?

Because when they know and understand how to properly apply these qualities for themselves, they can't help but simultaneously apply them for others! My kids won't likely be bashing around like a bull I'm a china shop where another kid is concerned, because they won't equate that as "how things go."

Again, one can (and does) hope.

Godparents

Like many lucky little ducks, my kids have godparents.

These aren't necessarily the humans who promote them most on social media or lug around a showcase full of their most adorable pics. They aren't the ones who sporadically see the kids and gush over how much auntie/uncle ADORES them. They're not the ones who buy the most gifts.

Nah.

When I named godparents for mine, it was a serious choice. These are the people I literally and explicitly trust to care for these kids in the event I die before they're old enough to care for themselves. If something happens to me or Dad, these people are ready to assume legal custody.

Have your babies got godparents?

The Truth About Terrible Two...

Terrible two.

We parents get warned about this as soon as our babies are born, show a hint of personality, or you know, breathe.

I don't find two to be terrible--and I shall expound on exactly why.

At age two, kids are usually full of vim and vigor AND piss and vinegar. If you're wrangling a milder kid, you get more of the former. If not, take heart because it's all just growth and discovery!

Note: I'm not an expert on child development--no degree in that field. I was a kid, and I've raised a few, so I've had time to observe from the trenches. Which I find to be more valuable than observing from the lab.

Our resident "sonshine" is a popular subject for me lately because he's developing at the speed of light! He's talking, doing colors, counting... just EVERYTHING! While I know it didn't happen overnight, and the learning is not a fluke or automatic, I still find it absolutely fascinating that he's grown so much in just 2 years.

As an adult, the only things I've gained in two years are a few pounds of happy weight, a new sprig of grey hair, and some travel experience. That's nothing to shake your fist at, but it's also not like I'm building the foundation of my entire life here. I'm growing but it isn't the same as, say, speaking in clear sentences for the first time or identifying my name, colors, and numbers a few years ahead of the curve. Doesn't even compare!

BUT knowing how much energy and effort it takes to grow and learn even a single thing, it's hard to not be amazed by the sheer amount of things that happen when you're two. You've grown from a cuddly blob to an actual person--where babies have maybe three moods, a toddler juggles the entire emotional spectrum. (Imagine that for a second...you go from feeling either happy or not happy, to feeling ALL the emotions, usually over the course of a few hours?!)

It can be exhausting to navigate my moods over the course of a day and I am 34 years old. I'm not throwing fits or having complete "CRYses" every hour either--the sheer amount of code switching, cue reading, and maturity needed for navigating age and situationally-appropriate responses is daunting, even (or especially?) for an adult! I, with 34 years experience, cannot always control how I react to what I'm feeling. Is it remotely fair to expect a toddler to?

I'm not saying toddlers aren't wholly asshole-ous sometimes. I'd be wholly lying. What I am saying is, if adults are allowed to have and express feelings within their scope of ability, why can't kids?

Speaking of ability--are you not blown away by the physical developments toddlers experience in those two short years of life?! To go from not being able to see clearly or hold their own heads up to literally jumping and running and climbing?! Come on. Like, almost every parent gets the inaugural busted lip and I'm convinced you're not human if your newborns have never head-bonked your face at some point in those first few weeks.

With all that new ability, certainly comes the need to flex it. To a stuffy old adult it looks like the kid is just hyper, but to that kid every jump, skip, and sprint is another milestone, a tangible burst of "Look what I can do now, y'all! I'm big and strong!"

If running and jumping isn't your cup of tea, compare the toddler energy to beating that hard level in your latest video game, closing the deal for that major account at work, or finding out you really can save x-percent on your car insurance. You achieved something or gained a new level, and you want to flex that new chop whenever you can. It's not showing off, it's human nature. Kids are tiny humans, so it should click that they too have that same need.

If the things they do and say don't amaze you, the things your toddler understands will.

Note: And THIS is why I'm fiercely protective of my toddler, possibly more so than a baby even. He can understand a million things, but can maybe only express in his words, about a thousand or so.

Toddlers aren't clueless by a long shot. They can pick up our cues and nuances far more sharply at this age than maybe any other time in life. They're somewhere between an infant's ability to take on the atmosphere they're raised in and a big kid's ability to speak on that atmosphere.

Imagine how frustrating it would be to find yourself in another country, unable to communicate exactly what you need (you don't speak the language quite well enough, but have a decent grasp) and unable to find someone willing to take a moment to listen. You become increasingly upset because you're giving it all you've got, and the person--who can help, by the way, if they take a second to LISTEN versus just hear--simply shushes you or tells you to hush or go away. You've been shut out. You're not being allowed to the simple decency of understanding.

Depending on the need, it might be a minor slight. After all, getting the red sippy cup when you really want the blue one, isn't exactly fatal.

BUT think about what it does to a person when they go unheard for too long, or are constantly thwarted.

Toddlers don't have the reasoning just yet to understand why we adults don't like hearing the same thing 20 times in as many minutes. Toddlers thrive on repetition, and it's soothing to them, so they assume we are the same.

THEY CAN ONLY RELATE LIKE TODDDLERS...NOT MINIATURE ADULTS. No matter how we dress them up like tiny replicas of ourselves or how on point their wit can be, they are still only toddlers. Large infants. Humans who have lived only two or three years.

It's damning to expect too much perfection or maturity from them.

Example? I have a pretty good one this time, an actual "thing" in our family!

My son is pretty big on showing feelings. He feels everything in a big way, and that goes for good and bad. And as his parents we have to help him navigate those big feelings and teach him social cues.

...it comes down to patience. Adults are usually more inclined to be patient with our peers. We can empathize better with them, as their frustrations and aggravation are our own too. We see them and we recognize them. They're only human.

...what, then, is a kid?

My point exactly.

You will never catch me labeling my kid, or any kid, as terrible. Not when they have literally only been alive long enough to START processing everything life throws at them.

You will catch me defending the living heck out of those little monsters, though.

I see you, small fries. I'm on your side, even if I have to be the one thwarting your attempt to fly from the couch to the coffee table. Don't be too mad at me. I just want to make sure your awesome self gets to see the next stage of the game, so I can defend your right to be there too!

If Toddlers Ain't Your Cup of Tea...

Everyone loves babies.

They're sweet, portable, and generally stay exactly where you put them. They're either happy or not, and it takes little more than a feeding, snuggle sesh, or fresh diaper to set them right when they're aggy.

Them toddlers?

Bro.

Toddlers eat, sleep, and breathe chaos. They haven't figured out the world, so they wreck shop until things make sense. (Usually around age 19 or 20?! I don't know, my oldest is only 12 and she's still an adorable little pain in my butt!)

I've yet to meet a person who doesn't like to spend lots of time with babies.

Toddlers don't always stir that kind of admiration.

(Well, I actually dig them--they're hilarious.)

As cute kids go, mine are top notch. Especially my toddler. (Can I say that here? Sure I can.) He's talking now and learning just everything, and he still has the most adorable mixups sometimes. The mispronunciations alone often curry him a fair amount of favor when his antics have been less than adorable. He's a great little kid.

He's also full of questions and energy. The energy doesn't end and the questions play on a 24-hour loop, save the few hours he sleeps or eats. He's a sleep talker as well, so yeah...not a lot of down time.

Dad Namastè is pretty unflappable as long as the kids aren't wasting money or food. If they aren't tossing the family coin out like the prodigal spawn, he's unbothered as heck and doesn't bat an eye. I on the other paw, am not quite so chill but still manage to be pretty damn lax about 90% of their stuff. I'm the disciplinarian and keeper of law, so I can't be totally noodly. They'd take over!

I digress.

One main reason I don't like to leave them with anyone, is people are crappy. My toddler is a handful in that delightfully grey-hair-inducing way that toddlers often are. He's sweet as candy and smart as a whip--but he's still a toddler, which means he's automatically a little bit of an asshole too.

I would hate to have to hurt anyone because they mistreated my kid, y'all, and it would break my heart to know he was somewhere being nagged and harped on just for being a kid! He will ask questions. He will ask them again. He will have his moments and then he'll be fine. None of that makes him bad or unmanageable--it just makes him TWO. Not terrible, not problematic. He's a little person with big feelings and ideas, and he's navigating this world on the best terms he's got.

Note: I'm in favor of discipline, but I also know my son has only been alive for two years. He has NOT had time to master etiquette, nuclear physics, and the finer points of chess. HE IS FLIPPING TWO. I don't let him run amok, but I also know he's got to be allowed some space to be a toddler. You know, wreck shop within safe confines and parameters.

I generally steer clear of any sitters, but especially for him. Because he's at the age where running, jumping, and being loud are the order of the day, I don't like to leave him or have him around anyone who doesn't have patience for this stage, because he's gotta grow through it and I refuse to have him dampened or God forbid hurt because an adult couldn't find their patience.

As such, he's never had an official babysitter. Or even an unofficial one. I'm not prepared for jail time, y'all. The news plus humans in general have me all-too-happy that I don't actually need anyone to watch over him. His sisters either, because one is entering the preteen territory and one will soon be an annoying toddler.