Letting My Bruises Breathe

Note: This blog was important for me to write. It needed to be written so that I can move past this subject and onto bigger, better.


Every time I walk past a mirror I glance at my cheek to make sure my makeup has properly coated the faint green and blue that has risen on my right cheek.

A while back I downloaded a photo-editing app so that I could blur out the bruises from my memories. In every picture, besides smiling faces, were the colorful patches of bruises that plagued me, literally head to toe.

No, my husband doesn't hit me. And no, you don't need to 'see the other guy' because I most certainty did not get in a fight.

I don't have an iron deficiency,
I don't bump into things and 'bruise easily',
I'm not being abused, roughed up, or physically threatened, 
and no, I'm not doing this to myself.

As a passionate self-proclaimed documenter of life, I've recently been at a major road block when it comes to my creative flow. I've written endlessly about my daily happenings, about motherhood, #wifelife, and more, but everything falls apart as I write. I can't find endings to what I feel are vapid rantings and I fear that the more shallow I write, the closer I tiptoe into clickbait article style writing.

I'm blocked, I can't speak, my favored medium of communication has been stolen from me and it's time I take it back.

I'm sick. I've been sick for a long time now, and after oncologists, hematologists, Cedar Sinai bills, and more vials of blood then I care to remember, I still have no answers.

There's so much more to my life then these bruises.

My daughter is over a year old now. She is terrifyingly smart and the prettiest little thing you've ever seen.

My husband is incredible. He encourages me endlessly and never gives up.

God has blessed us with an incredible new job for Andrew and apartment searches have begun.

I belong to a vibrant church, come Sunday I'll be making breakfast for the worship team (hope you like burritos).

I have pain, chronic and undiagnosed.

I had 3 seizures in 1 week, but thankfully got off the medication that was charged as guilty and no longer have to worry about them recurring.

In the mornings I let Charlotte flip chapters of the Bible in bed before we start our day, 

                    From Suffering To Glory
                    Romans Chapter 8:18

                         For I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worthy to be                              compared with the glory which shall be revealed in us.

I will live my life, I will raise my daughter, I will be my husband's partner in crime, and I will serve my God. (and document it all)

Mommy's First Fathers Day

Today is my first Father's Day as a mother.

How do you express such love and joy that comes with parenthood, and how do you say 'Thank You' to someone for fathering children with you?

It's nuts. I can't figure out.

I'm usually the one with thousands of words, to write, and to speak, but today I'm finding myself speechless.

To Andrew, the best daddy in the world,

I remember when we first met, I told you how I thought'd you be such a great dad one day. You cried, you never believed you'd make a good father, so a few years later I proved it to you (hahah). Charlotte is 1 year old toady, you've successfully fathered our little girl for an entire year.

I can't imagine raising this little girl with anyone but you. You were made to be a daddy. Your protective side emerges to keep her safe. Your silly side comes out to play and laugh with her. Your musicians heart soars along with her little fingers strumming your guitar and her tiny voice floating along behind yours.

Her crib is slightly broken because of the night you climbed in to sleep with her when she wouldn't stop fussing. It's a perfect picture in my head of just how wrapped around her finger you truly are.

As she grows, I am comforted in knowing that you will be there for her, to set an example of a good man, to be her first love, and a safe place she can always return to.

Daddies are very important to little girls, and grown girls, and even when she's grown, she will always need you.

Thank you so much for splitting genes with me. We've created such a beautiful, intelligent, talented, angry little girl, and though I see my expressions in her daily, she is undoubtedly your twin, so I guess it's a good thing that you're so pretty. 

I love you, I love our daughter, and I love knowing that you'll always be there too love and father her.

Never underestimate your power as DAD, though it may often feel like she's in charge always know that your her daddy, she will always love you and she will alway need you.

LOVEEEEEE YOUUUUU

happy first fathers day!

To be a Mother

This blog starts somewhere, and ends up somewhere else completely, it was written through dry eyes and tears - mostly tears - so please forgive me if it doesn't all make sense, I did not double check or re-read anything at time of post.


Dearest readers,

I've long been absent from writing here at OhWowMommy!, and though I have enough excuses to break the internet, I'll instead write from the heart, and probably shed a few tears along the way.

You see, this is the blog I've been avoiding. I have nearly 40+ blogs sitting in the edit bin, because nothing was coming out right. Everything felt forced. I've long been avoiding another raw and real blog, ever since I wrote "Bi-Polar Mommy".

I'd rather sneak a funny story about motherhood into your timeline. My ten month old with 1 tooth and a penchant for growling. The in's and out's of dealing with the tiniest little curls you've ever seen, and how to avoid the massive dread locks that eventaute at an alarming rate...

But that's not what I need to share.

What I need to share, per usual, is what's on my heart.

so lets do this.

To be a mother,

To be a mother is to wake early, gather up your tiny baby, changefeedbathedressandplay, until nap time, when you then lay baby down, and follow suit. While baby sleeps, we clean up, we dress ourselves, do hair/makeup/what have you, eat a hurried breakfast, and try and do the multitude of things there are to be done. When baby wakes up, we repeat.

Learning from example, my own mother sets the bar exceedingly high, not only rearing seven children into this world, but keeping home and providing an education. She plays taxie man, teacher, chef and a multitude of other roles until finally everyone is in bed, and then she cleans, then she eats, then she prepares for the next day and then, maybe, she sleeps.

However, this isn't how I've been mothering, and it leaves me feeling 'less then' daily.

I haven't yet gone into detail on my recent state of health, it's an ever-vulnerable spot for me, and I often choose to ignore it to my greatest strength.

I'm sick. I'm sick, and know one knows why.

In late February, earlier this year, a crop of deep purple bruises sprouted on on left arm. Being fair skinned, I just over looked it as an odd occurrence.

By the end of the week, the bruises had spread up and down both arms.

By the end of the month, they had continued down my back.

By mid April, cheek too toe, I was covered in deep purple, black and blue. Bruises like you'd never seen, some measuring nearly 6 inches in diameter. Everything hurt, everything hurt - always.

Nights became sleepless, bottle feedings at 4am were a relief from the frustrating of what felt like trying to sleep on a pile of rocks.

My poor husband would hug me, forgetting about the new bruise on my shoulder. Daily I'd bounce my daughter on bruised hips. Every time I left the house, heat wave aside, I'd be in full length sleeves and pants. Two, Three, Four layers of makeup to hide the bruise on my cheek.

Nearly four months into this battle I've seen countless Doctors, specialists, hematologists, - I've given gallons of blood for testing, I've battled insurance, I've accepted 'cash patient' status, and I've made an appointment for a $700 full blood aggregometry test, the actual reading of the test not included, sigh.

All this to say,

I'm sad.

To be a Mother who is in near constant need of help. To feel as though my daughter, perfect and lovely, has spent too many days inside, rather than out playing.

To be a Mother who garners up all her energy to take my daughter for a walk, only to find myself faint and defeated by the halfway point.

To be a Mother who feels defeated.

To be a Mother who aches, who longs, to be like all the other women around her.

To be a Mother who makes that stupid kombucha stuff, or can share in a conversation about healthy eating. When really, all I can do is try my hardest to keep down whatever sounds the least puke inducing.

I've lost over 20 lbs these past few months, 10 of those lbs over these last two weeks.

I met, and passed my pre-baby weight.

I've recently made an emotional lean towards crying. First I was stubborn, then I was angry, I've wallowed in resent, and now I'm just sad.

I'm tired always. I'm nauseous, hungry, angry, sad, I don't understand why, and God's timing isn't matching up to mine.

God, what is your plan here? I don't understand it. I just want to play with my baby. I want to take her on play dates, and keep the house clean, and go the extra mile for those around me. I'm tired of asking my sisters to watch Charlotte for an hour. I'm tired

-------------------------

To be a mother, who types up the things she doesn't want to face. Who then has a complete break down and does what? Goes to her mother. Who cries her eyes out for 40 minutes and listens to the advice of the women who raised her.

'Give more to God' are the words I've taken away from the conversation I just had with my mom. Through tears and a snotty nose, my mom gives me the words of encouragement I need to hear.

'I don't know why God has you where you are, but you just need to give more of yourself to God'

My mom has taken care of me through it all. You name it, and we've been through it.

A legacy I pray I pass down to my own daughter.

Maybe this was about the insecurtieis we all face, of being a good mother. Maybe it was a venting space about the struggle with my health. What I do know for sure though,

To be a Mother is to teach your children about a GRACIOUS, LOVING and EVER-PRESENT GOD, to teach them to WORSHIP and PRAY, and REST IN HIS EMBRACE, and to always, always, give more to God.



thank you mommy, happy mothers day.

OhWowMommy - Update

Dear readers, friends, family, etc.,

I've shared a lot with you. I've complained about sleepless nights, I've cried about giving up breast feeding, I've ranted about postpartum boobs, here on OhWowMommy all my cards are on the table.

I've mentioned 'sobriety' a few times, and possible dropped a few Big Book quotes, and even left a few unpublished drafts about what being a sober mommy means to me.

You've been with me from pickle cravings to stretch marks. From Texas to California! I've gotten married, had my beautiful baby, and started a new job, all with you - my nearest and dearest - following along here on this blog.

With that being said, another chapter of my life has been unfolding behind the scenes in these past weeks of silence, I've sat at this keyboard more times than I can count trying to say something - anything really - and break what has become this strange form of writers block.

I'm going to write a novel!

This is something I've wanted to do for a long time, and it's finally time. My desire to write has become so strong that it's hurting my shorter writings, like here at the blog.

I will never leave you.

lol. hahaha.

But seriously. I won't.

I plan to continue here, hopefully with more frequency, and hope you will stick around with me.

Charlotte is 8 months old now! That's crazy! Her little baby face is turning into a little girl face and it freaks me out. She knows how to ask for the things she wants, she's nearly crawling, she has developed musical preferences (Tswift is ever popular) and she loves playing with other babies, though she has a strong tendency to make them cry...

Yesterday she sat in a high chair at the restaurant we ate lunch at AND she ate all my tomatoes!!

Sweet baby....

Hey mamas! Where are your babies at/what do you remember from you babes being this age?
Is sleep regression at night normal around this age? cause I'm losing it.

Sorry I've Been Gone : Update Blog

So,

I've been absent as of late, and for this I apologize.

I've been suffering sever writers block, and all I've come up with is a menagerie of half written blogs and 1 fairly explicit 'mommy's only' post about postpartum boobs. That one made me laugh, but my husband didn't appreciate it quiet as much (you can find that post in the archives though, I just didn't share it).

I'm back on my daily dose of sanity, in my case that's the wonder drug by the name of Lamictal, keeping my mood swings in check but with that means less mania, which is a good thing, though some of my most productive times have been in a manic state. Can't keep riding the coat tails of insanity though...

Along with my Lamitcal has come a decision to re-commit to AA, many of you know my past but for those of you who don't, simply put, AA is a good thing to keep in my life. Sobriety is important to me because I'm one of those 'all or nothin' kind of people, and the 'all' can get a little extreme in my case.

I do my best to start my day with the Bible and the Big Book. I do what my sponsor tells me, when I'm able, and I follow the steps outlined for me by 'those who have come before' as the Big Book says.

I attend daily meetings, but my favorite is my monday meeting where the youngest person in the room besides me is in their late 60's.

With all this set before me, I can make my mental daily check list, and if I stick to it the odds are in my favor.

1. Read the Bible and the Big Book
2. Get dressed and ready before 10 am
3. Go to a meeting
4. Go to work, don't mess anything up
5. Take Charlotte for a walk
6. Call sponsor
7. CLEAN
8. WRITE!!!

The list has a few other guide lines and thoughts added but for the most part, I do these things daily.

I don't always read as much as I should, and as of 10:54am I'm still not dressed, though it's next on my task list. I'm planning on hitting a 2 o'clock meeting, I work at 4, Charlotte and I will walk if the weather permits, I will call my sponsor, though I always resent these calls for some unknown reason, I've been tiptoeing around the 'Clean' part of my day, but I'll do my best, and here I am writing!

Living with Bipolar disorder does effect me. It effects my day to day life, and the lives of those close to me. Even on medication, there's always the chance of a bad day, feeling more depressed then I have reason to be, or having a bit too much energy and falling on the 'annoying' side of the line. I had to give up nursing and now I find myself spending an exuberant amount of money of formula, which is far from ideal. My anxiety has risen, but I'm still functional, so that's a plus.

My days are fuller now, between Charlotte, work and AA commitments, I feel like the sun rises and sets before I have a chance to catch up. I keep finding myself realizing what I've so casually taken for granted,

Being a stay at home mom for 6 months! What a blessing that was!
Being able to nurse my daughter for nearly 7 months! Thank God for keeping me wain off my meds for that long!
Sobriety, because the second I dip my toe in the poison of my choice, things catapult towards a general state of awfulness.
Having family all around me, though a place of our own would be nice, I will always be thankful for the time we spent at my parents, with all of Charlottes aunts and uncles vying for her attention.
Having friends who understand. I do miss my friends in Houston, especially as they go on to have babies of their own, (Miranda, you'll always be one of my dearest friends!) but I'm eternally grateful for the new friends I've made in Long Beach, (what's up Nancy) and not to mention the Church we've found (Gardner's 4life) I really do feel #blessed.

And with all this said....what color is that dress!!!

Talking About Boobs, Again.

Okay! So, if you find the subject matter of boobs offensive or crude in anyway, then this post is not for you. I'm talking about boobs today.

There are three categories of readers and depending on where you fall, you may or may not relate to this post. There are obvious exceptions, but generally speaking you're one of the following -

1) You have boobs, and baby(s) and your boobs aren't quiet what they used to be

2) You have boobs, and no baby, and your boobs are as they always have been

3) You don't have boobs (male readers, tread softly)

Of course there is category 4) You have boobs, and baby(s) and for whatever reason, surgery or freak of nature, your boobs are unscathed; if you are in this category, you can leave now. Just go away. I don't want to see you and your cute boobs.

(Seriously though, any cuteboobs-postpregnancy readers need to leave now, i actually hate you.)

The other day, while hanging out with my oldest of friends, I reached over the grab something and once again, my F$%^&* boob fell out of my bra. This never ceases to amaze/piss me off. My once perky and awesome boobs are now a little on the pancake side and they have this insane habit of falling out of my bra when I bend over.

What!? If you had told me one day my perfect boobs would rebel in such a way I would have scoffed.

I began on one of my crazy rants, ending in what was basically a post partum 'show and tell', and left my dear friend rolling on the floor laughing. Old friends are special because they can squeal things like "OH MY GOD! You used to loveeee your boobs! That is NOT what they used to look like!!!" while laughing through tears and it only makes you want to punch them a little bit.

"When I bend over, sometimes my boobs just fall out of my bra" I stated blankly

I then bent over dramatically to prove my point.

"All women must experience this right? and just, no one talks about it..." this is when I decided to write another boob blog.

So of course, if I wear the 'right' bra, everything is fine. The girls still look super cute when they're packaged correctly, but as a working mother just how often I can dig up the 'right' bra, and not just throw on the bra sitting on top of the laundry pile, well that's a daily battle I often lose.

Let me take you back a few years...

From the moment I realized boobs were a cool thing to have, probably around 14, I decidedly loved mine. They were pretty damn perfect, at least I thought so, and so began the Library of Alexandria size archive of boob selfies, which I took purely on the Samantha a'la Sex In The City thought wave of "I'm going to be old one day, but today I look great so I'm taking a picture so one day I can look back and say 'DAMN! I was hot!'"

Honestly, I'm glad I have those pictures. Not so I can look back on the good ol' days and mope. Not to remember that I was hot. And not to make myself feel better in anyway.
I'm simply glad I have them because DAMN! I wassss hot! And that's not who I was, it's who I am. 

Maybe 'the girls' aren't quite themselves these days. That's okay. 'The girls' have grown up, they've nourished a baby person for 6 months! They've gone through some real.tough.shit. And basically, they're women now. Just like me. Me and my boobs have grown up!

As far as deflated pancakes go, I still think they're pretty cute.

When I think about the fact that I sustained a tiny human for 6 months with only my boobs, well, that's really, really, impressive. Added to my boob archive is now 6 months worth of shots taken with Charlotte nursing, cuddled against me, usually a little milk-drunk.

Sometimes I try and tell myself it's all in my head, and that it's really not that bad.

But then I bend over in the wrong bra.

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OUT.

Morning Mommy

Let me start off by saying, I miss you all! I miss you all terribly, and though the conversation usually remains 90% in my head and about %10 in the comment section, the support and encouragement from you all has been amazing.

I guess all in all, more of YOU have noticed my absence from blogging then I myself have, and that means a lot to me.

I'm happily working at Benley's Vietnamese Kitchen as a backup waitress, and I'd like to thank my manager and love-traingle bff Rachel (that's how I'm choosing to describe you, okay?) for putting up with all my quirks and crazy moments.

A Vietnamese man by the name of 'Elvis' speaks broken english and translates between us and the kitchen and I can almost remember how to count to 5 in Vietnamese. Almost.

Getting out of the house for my 5 hour shift has been a huge wake up call to me. Getting dressed and doing my hair/makeup is now a requirement for my daily life. Since when should that be something I put in the requirement category? Isn't that just something people…do.

Well, it's back on my 'do' list, which I realize was impressively short during the 6 months I spent home with Charlotte. Though taking care of a new born, nursing, not nursing, getting off meds, readjusting to meds, sleeping, not sleeping, etc., can totally take it out of you, now that I'm back in the 'real world' so to speak, I'm stretching my arms and waking up to reality.

I miss my baby when I'm at work. My shifts are short and my commute hardly takes 10 minutes but by the time I get home we're both excited to see each other.

With AA meetings now a daily part of my life (what's up friends of bill) and shifts at Benley's there are nights where Charlotte will not sleep without being rocked for several hours, just like the good ol' days pre-sleep training.

I understand that she actually does miss me, and if she needs a little extra love some nights I'm more than happy to give it to her, but I think it's taking the both of us sometime to readjust to life with mom on the 'outside' so to speak.

Most mornings I prop Charlotte up on the bathroom sink in her beloved Bumpo seat (god, do I love that thing) I hand her something to knock around, something other than what I thought was a securely closed tube of mascara…, and do the things most women do in the morning.

I brush my teeth and grab the toothpaste bottle out of her hands.

I blow out my hair while exchanging the picture frame she eating for a hair brush.

I straighten my hair and watch her gnaw the brush end of the hair brush, re-think the hair brush, grab her, run across the hall, grab a pacifier, stick her in the Bumpo, stick the pacifier in her mouth and finish my hair.

As I apply my makeup I wash my husbands pomade off her hands and move the jar out of reach. As I pull my dress over my head I keep one eye and at least one hand on her even though I know escape from the Bumpo is virtually impossible at this age.

I check her diaper, put on my shoes, put her down for her nap, forget to find the keys. Search like crazy around the room like a ninja mommy, doing my best not to be seen, find the keys, sneak out the door and go!

Just a normal morning, right mommies?

Grandma handles Charlotte while I'm gone, I make a mad dash for the gas station grabbing the biggest Red Bull available (bad, I know) hop in the car and get to Benleys. I basically do the same thing in reverse on my way home.

I never want to wake up, but once I'm up, I'm up and going.

Sometimes I just have to remember to most things from the 'have to' category to the 'normal people' category, and so far, so good.