6 Week Check-up

Today I went in for my six week check up-- technically it was seven weeks. I'm so ready to say goodbye to the doctors office. Vulnerability mixed with bad memories have made the doctors a huge trigger for me. I've always kind of gotten down from doctors visits while pregnant. I guess it's a mix of:

•  people stating my pregnancies must be easy because I don't throw up
•  Having so many contractions, and being pregnant at the most stressful times in my life, and not having proof show up on any test, screen or listening device, 
• People thinking I'm crazy or a wimp because it doesn't show up on any test, screen or listening device.
• And feeling like I know what is going on with my own body and being proven wrong, every time. 

Yes, going to the doctors always feels extremely frustrating, but it's been even worse this time around. I'm ready to turn my back and hopefully not have to see the doc for a while now.

My six week check up didn't do much to totally turn me round about doctors visits. I did enjoy a fun chat with my doctor about his family-- I really like my doctor-- but not being able to muster up the strength to say more than, "I feel OK," led to a chat about anti depressants. It just made me feel like a total and complete failure all around. I know I shouldn't feel that way, but I do. 

I'm sorry my posts are all so depressing lately. I find myself extremely frustrated. I'm frustrated with my weight. I'm frustrated with our van. I'm frustrated with my baby and his randomness. I'm frustrated with my kids, and the fact that we just can't do anything without it being miserable. And I'm frustrated with my situation.

Weight-

I know I'm only six weeks postpartum, but my body has taken on a new and totally different shape. OK, it's probably only totally different to me, but my hips are obviously wider then before, and that flabby skin from the twins is still hanging around. Then that little pregnancy pooch still shows it's ugly face, and I get the feeling that it's just going to stick around longer and longer with each kid. My weight gain with this baby has been depressing. I felt like I was tiny, but the scales said otherwise. I had finally gotten down to my ultimate pre-pregnancy weight after my last baby, and now I'm back to where I was after I had the twins. Ugh! It just depresses me. I was feeling so skinny until I stepped on that scale at the doctor's office.

Van-

My husband and I have been van shopping before, and we have come to the conclusion that a Chevy or Pontiac van is in our best interest.

I own a Buick Century see, and one day I had it parked next to my brothers huge Tahoe. We were at an apartment building, with three stories so we hiked to the top and gazed down. We were shocked! My Buick was as long as my brother's Tahoe. The engine compartment was the same and everything.
This meant if you kicked out the back of my Buick, built a roof over the trunk and installed the optional third row seat our Buick would have just about as much cargo room as the Tahoe. It really changed how we started looking at vehicles from then on.

A lot of vans are in the same fashion as the Tahoe, they are just as big as the Buick. The only vans that offer a third seat and still have reasonable cargo room are the Chevy's and the Pontiacs-- and probably the Buicks, we just haven't looked yet. I think the Honda Odyssey's are a little bigger too.

Anyway. . . when we heard about baby 4 we felt we should just get any van we could. This was just in hopes of being able to drive somewhere safely and legally. Well the more I asked around the more certain I became that my good old Buick would probably suit us fine for a while-- it has 3 seats in the front and 3 in the back. I kind of got off the van bandwagon, but my husband still wanted one, and he was probably right. Plus, we figured any van at all would probably be more convenient then the Buick. That was based on the consumer reports of our neighbors and friends.

Well we purchased a cheap van from an auction site. It has manual locks and windows. The radio doesn't work. The interior lights don't work. And it doesn't have two sliding doors. Our thoughts were to buy it because of our thoughts on any van being more convenient and such. Well the trade offs weren't great.

Truth is the Buick, with it's power windows and locks, doors on both sides, some working interior lights, and smoother ride, feels just about as convenient as the van. It's still good to have the two cars, but I feel like a silly goose stating that the van just isn't working for us. I mean really? How can it not be more convenient?

I guess just any van won't do. We need to stick with our original conclusions and get a Chevy or a Pontiac-- though I'm totally voting for the Buick!

Baby-

I love my babies! I love their little toes. I love when they suck on their hands. I love the cooing sounds they make when eating. I love when they smile,  and I love pretending it's not just gas. And I love that my babies are sweet and good.

They are so sweet and good, in fact, that if I ever dare mention otherwise I tend to get kicked in the teeth. "Well I think he's a sweetheart"

Grrr! It drives me crazy. All my newborns, even my colicky one, fell into obvious sleeping patterns. Patterns I could see. Patterns that made life a little predictable. Patterns that led to schedules that made life wonderful. The twins just did it on their own. My colicky one did it when I finally just let him cry. And this one. . .well that's a different story.

My last child was colicky, and had to have attention and be held all the time. Me thinking I had no skills for such a child tried to do things differently then I normally would. I then quit trying to be something else and just did what I normally do-- let him cry it out, fed him at certain times and certain amounts and basically put my motherly foot down. Funny thing is it worked. So I should just do that with my next child right?

Well, I lacked the patience to do so. He didn't really cry it out. He just cried a little and stopped. Then cried a little and stopped. It drove me crazy so I would just hold him. I'd hold him for an hour until I thought he had fallen asleep enough to be put down. He'd then wake up, and I'd have to sit again. Pretty soon I had sat clear through to another feeding, and would now have to sit again and feed him. Tell me how someone does all this while having to care for 3 other kids?

I tried coming up with weird feeding schedules: feed him, burp him, feed him, burp him, change him, wrap him, feed him, burp him and hopefully he'll go to sleep. I had other variations too. With my others we just did feed, burp, change, wrap and then sleep. Simple right? Why didn't I do it with this baby? Because I lacked the patience.

Finally after all this I had enough. I decided he would just have to cry. And I would just have to muster up the patience to let him. I feed him his bottle, burp him, change him, play with him while he's awake and when he gets fussy I just let him cry. It always seems to come down to this, and this always seems to be what works for us. Why I don't just do it I don't know. I guess there's no harm in what path I take as long as we get somewhere good though.

Kids-

It's hard to have 4 kids so close. We try to go anywhere fun and I end up being the one that is misbehaving. Its so hard to accept that we can't go out and enjoy things anymore because I just love to go out and go places. And I want us to go as a family. It just ends up in misery though. And anyone I bring along to help gets stressed by it all too. I get to my wits end, and I feel like I just add to all the misery. Things were starting to get better before we had the baby. It's just so hard to have to care for a newborn in the middle of all this.

Life-

Life over all is hard. I'm trying to get it together and choose a career path. I've made so many mistakes with school and applying myself. I just want stability and security. I want to obtain a career to help support our family. One that, if I had to, I could support the family with on my own. Everything just seems to be a jumbled mess when it comes to choosing and trying though. I tried getting a job in hopes of sticking out the grunt work to get to a better place. That failed miserably. Now I'm in search of other paths, but honestly I just feel so down right now. Can I really not even stick out the grunt work for the greater good of my family? Can I really not even do it for a week? What if I'm really not as successful of an individual as I've told myself I am over the years? I just want to get us to a better place. How come that doesn't motivate me to get my butt in gear?

All this stuff has become all the more frustrating when I try to talk about it with others. I mean if I say the van isn't convenient, then why can't that just be true? After all I'm the one driving the van, do I not have the intelligence to say whether it works for us or not? Why do I have to be treated like an ungrateful monster.

If I say my well behaved newborn drives me crazy, with his random gassy/fussiness, can't that be accepted as a good and honest evaluation?  I'm the one spending 24/7 with this child. Shouldn't that put me high up on the list of noteworthy opinions? Saying, "That's just how newborns are," leaves me feeling like people must question my intelligence and ability to do hard things. I've had 4 newborns I think I can determine whether or not it's different and hard. And even if it's just hard for me, it's still hard. Lets not forget that newborns are simply hard.

I don't know if any of that makes sense. I hit major writers block with those last two paragraphs. I wish I could have described it better. I usually don't write posts until I have come through the mucky ugliness and reached the other side with a clear perspective. This usually means I have found clearer ways of describing how I feel. I obviously should have waited to write this post.  Bottom line, it just makes things all the more frustrating when I don't receive validation. When I don't receive validation I feel trapped. When I feel trapped I get angry. When I get angry I get ugly. Seriously, it could be compared to The Hulk.

I think people try to help me, and when they try to help they are really trying to fix. And when this turns into me still being frustrated or overwhelmed they feel like their efforts are have failed and are unappreciated. I can't blame them for being upset. They put a lot of effort into helping me out. And when they don't see the results they were hoping for I'm sure it's a huge let down. Just like me and the van. It's frustrating on my end. It's frustrating on other ends. It's just frustrating all around.

My life is just hard. There's not much to be done to fix it. Things that can be done to help are things I need to do myself. And they are things that will make life all the more harder for a while. Every little bit helps in it's way, but what helps the most is just having someone there to validate and talk to.

Sorry. Another long depressing post. I need to try and write more happy and inspiring things here. Some of that does exist in motherhood. Though I swear it gets harder to see with each child. Here's to hoping things will start looking up.

Throw Me an Anchor!

As you are aware there has been a struggle with me and having all boys. I wouldn't trade my boys for the world, but it's hard to have four kids and still feel that there is still a gap in my life.

I recently read a book, which I highly recommend, called "Secret Daughter". It was an emotional endeavor to read, but in all the best-- and hard-- ways. The book features perspectives from many different characters, and I found my heart aching for each one of them in each circumstance. I could go on forever about how this book both validated my feelings and taught me how to appreciate, and hold dear to, everything in my life, but I'll just mention one part for now. It was a chapter from the perspective of the Indian Mother-in-Law. She had all boys, and she reminisced about how she had always wanted a daughter. Someone to pass her jewelery on to. Someone to teach about the wonders of being a woman. She had hoped that one day she would have daughter-in-laws to share this with, but the daughter-in-laws turned to their mothers and left her ". . .alone in a house full of men." I can't even describe how much that last sentence impacted me. How simple it is, but how it perfectly described the reason for my longing. This book, and other things of late, have brought about the certain events that led to this blog post.

The weeks have flown by with this child, and though I love him deep down in my core there was something unsatisfying and hard about realizing this was my reality. Four boys and no girls. Was this really it? Of course, I could have more kids physically, but mentally I'm worn out. I just don't think I can do this anymore. But it's hard to accept this as my final answer. I kept waiting for it to feel wonderful. To feel amazing. To feel like they say you will in all those promises you hear of when you first start having kids. Why couldn't it be like when I had the twins? When they brought them to me and I thought, "You're perfect. I don't ever need a girl as long as I can have more of you." I mean really? That was me, thinking that. Who knew each child wouldn't bring the same satisfaction? I certainly didn't.

I wanted to ask others if it was the same for them, but I hate doing that sometimes. People just say, "You must have postpartum depression." I don't know why but I hate that term. I feel like people are labeling me with a problem. A problem that needs to be fixed. I don't want to be fixed. Saying I'm broken is saying it's not normal. That my feelings don't deserve validation. Just because they may be exemplified, and harder to deal with in my current state, doesn't make them less real. And they still need to be addressed.

It takes a certain amount of strength to get through each day. It takes a certain amount of patience as well. Everyday things come up. There are reminders everywhere. Sometimes in the oddest places. I went to put on a long sleeved shirt, and realized I didn't want to wear my winter clothes anymore. They seemed to hold so much pain and sadness in them. Working out in the yard is another hardship. I hate yard work sometimes. And not just in the normal way. Every time I go out there I think I can handle it, but there is always a moment when I just want to fall on my knees and cry. Hard work usually brings about my frustrated and hurt feelings, but yard work harbors it's own bitter memories that the other chores don't. Normally dealing with these things is do-able. But the last week or so it has become crippling.

Things slowly became more crippling. I found the heartache from my marriage to be overwhelming. It usually was hard, but I could stay focused on the real goal. The real reason to stay, and not the facade, or fantasy, that leaving seemed to promise at times. But now that goal was growing dim. I felt myself slipping. I couldn't hang in there anymore. I didn't know if I really could forgive my husband. After all this time maybe I just didn't have the strength. Than it hit me like a flood. I laid in bed crying, telling my husband I just didn't want to do it anymore. It was selfish I knew, but the feeling were overwhelming. The strength to persevere and stay were dwindling. I wanted another chance. I wanted the freedom to be adored by another man. I wanted my youth. The freedom to try out for plays. To flirt with boys. To be a woman again. Being the only girl in this house of men was beginning to get to me. For some reason it was making dealing with the marital problems harder. Maybe if I had had a girl she could give me strength to get through it. Maybe she'd help me remember what it is to be feminine and strong. But maybe it was good that she wasn't here because it wouldn't be right for me to put that pressure on her.

Things gradually got harder. I had done so well with coping with my marriage, and everything, since the birth. But the feelings about my baby didn't seem to disappear. Shouldn't I feel amazed, or be in awe at what a miracle he is? Why doesn't this feel wonderful? It doesn't feel awful, but it doesn't feel like it should. Maybe I do have postpartum. Maybe I've always been depressed. Maybe I do really need to be fixed.
 I started to realize I had lost my anchor. I had lost who I was. I had become an "us" and lost the "me". When I got married I had devoted myself to my family and given everything to them in the name of unselfishness. I wish I had developed myself more as a person before I got married, or at least before I had kids. I kept putting it on hold. Hoping a man would give me my final definition. Tell me I was wonderful. That he was as devoted to me as a Bryan Adams song. Surely his image of me would be what completed my definition.

But now that image has crumbled. We work on building it back up, and even though it is needed, I need to invest more in myself this time. I need to give myself security in case those whom I rely on to complete me aren't always reliable. The reality is out there. I can't control what my children do. I can't control what my husband does. I can only control what I do, and in order to have stability I need to focus on me as a person, not just as an "us". I need an anchor to keep me grounded, and I'm the only sure investment I have.

But the question was: where had that person gone? How had I lost her? I was so passionate before I got married. How did that fizzle out? The answer came the night I finally packed away all the things I had saved to decorate my girls room. I had put the stuff away, but in the hopes that it wouldn't be long until I could pull it out again. But our extra room will now be dedicated to lodging boys, and so I gathered more boxes and bags and went down to the storage room to pack it away for good-- at least for a while. As I opened the boxes a harsh realization came to me. The dolls and girly trinkets that were placed in here because they just didn't fit with the new decorating that was to incorporate us as a couple, or because my husband thought of them as creepy, held far more meaning than I realized. I had packed myself away in that spare room, and now in these boxes. The things that decorated my room when I lived at home. The blanket from my grandma that still served as a comfort to me. The things I had inherited and collected that were too girly to be in the house of a man and a woman had been placed here. My femininity had been placed in these boxes with these dolls and decorations. Discovering this helped me to move on. It helped me to finally enjoy and appreciate my baby in a way that feels more right-- though feelings of being trapped still come about when he cries. Oh, how these objects served to remind me of who I was. I didn't need to long for the days of flirtation. The days of dressing up to the nines and playing with my make-up to see if I was indeed as attractive as I felt. I didn't need that to rediscover my womanhood. I just needed these memories from my past. These were my anchor. And they were yet another explanation for my longing for a little girl.

I had given too much of myself away. And sometimes to the wrong people. But people can't take something from you unless you let them. I had let them, but now how could I get it back? I just need to keep on holding on. The second I let clothes decide whether or not they wear me, or let let the yard work become too emotionally crippling I have lost control. I have given it to the circumstances, and people, that have sought to take it from me. So even though it's hard I know I need to keep at it. I know I can't give in. I slowly need to regain a sense of who I was before, and how it contributes to who I am now. The great thing about it is these battles don't have to be fought alone. I have a husband willing to go through anything with me in order for us to workout. I have children to give me hope. And I have the sweet charity of people who will every so often lift my burden by saying, "I can help you fight this battle." Just as my mother did in her offer to give me some of her clothes so I didn't have to deal with the pain of wearing mine.


I know God has blessed me through my friends and family. Through every acquaintance that has entered my life. It's amazing to look at what I've gone through and know that without it I may have never realized these things. But that these things were problems before problems became bigger problems. Without the trials of this past year I may have never discovered the peace and validation I needed to move on from things of many past years.  My trials have helped me become more aware of who I am and who I need to be. Maybe I can finally admit that I am thankful for them in someway. 

Supermom Speaks on Life With 4

On September 10, 2012 we welcomed our 4th boy into the family. Here is a link for the whole birth story if anyone is interested.

Life with the new little one has been interesting. He's been a pretty good baby. I feel like I can't complain. He really is fairly easy, but about once a day, or once every 2 days, he gets fussy. It gets surprisingly old. He seriously does great and then all of sudden he just will not fall asleep, and I have to sit and rock him for an hour or an hour and a half, and if I try to leave he usually ends up crying again. I really don't understand it, he eats a full bottle. I burp him and change his diaper, like always, and then I wrap him up, grab a binkie and try to lay him in his bed. He'll cry, so I'll stick the binkie back in. He'll cry some more so I'll give him gas drops. He'll cry some more, so I just let him cry. He cries and cries and cries clear till the next feeding. I've tried giving him more to eat as well, but that just leaves me feeding, burping and changing poopy diapers all day-- or all night. At night he seems to do OK if he sleeps with us, but during the day it gets hard because I have 3 other children to attend to and trying to block out the crying baby leaves me very irritable and over stimulated. This means my other kids get snapped at if they do or say anything that snaps me out of my "trying to concentrate on not loosing my mind from the crying baby" routine. It sounds silly that it drives me so crazy because he really doesn't seem that fussy, but it can get under my skin fast.

Things were pretty manageable when the other 3 were staying with my mom. People would ask how it was raising 4 boys, and I'd say I didn't really know because I've just really had the baby and that's it. My mom kept them for two weeks, and it was wonderful, but I was torn because I missed my boys. I'd go to wipe up their chairs or clean up their room and come to the horrific realization that my wish had come true: My house had actually stayed clean. There hadn't been little grubby fingers eating lunch or dumping out toys to make things a chaotic mess around here. It seemed like a dream come true, but it made me kind of sad. Our house felt really empty and lonely because of it. And I realized what I had always known, I like the challenge of raising my kids and without them I'd probably die from complete boredom.

Anyway. . .we've had all 4 boys living under the same roof for a week now, and I'm surprised there is still hair on my head. It isn't how hard it is that's depressing. It's that I can't enjoy my kids when they are here, but I'm too lonely when they are gone.

This leads me to the title of the post. I've heard it uttered many a times, "You're supermom" or "You're such a good mom" or other variations. I'm not angry with, hurt by or upset with anyone when they say this, but it does jab at a little spot in my heart. One reason is because of the matter of my marriage and the issues that came out last December that almost ended everything. I can't really describe it here without divulging too much, but it stings a little. And the other is, I'm really not a supermom, and I just really don't deserve the title.

My mom told me that she would be fine taking one child at a time, but it was too hard to take all three. It was too hard because all she does is yell at them when they all three come over. She apologized and felt bad for saying that. She said she'd never want to to tell a mom that's how she felt, but that it was true. The truth is that it actually made me feel better because that's all I do. I seriously feel like I just yell all the time. The only thing that seems to change is the volume of my voice and the object I want to kick or throw. I just wanted some time to figure out how to enjoy my three. To figure out how to control my temper better, so that I wouldn't feel like all I do is yell. So that maybe when someone called me a good mom I could just graciously accept the compliment instead of wanting to cry in a corner. Now we have a 4th one, and I'm just tired. I'm too tired to try and look forward to things maybe getting better. I'm too tired and worn out to handle a baby right now. And I'm tired of myself, and all my depressed and unhappy thoughts. I'm tired of that part of my brain that jumps straight too, "I don't want this baby. I don't want to raise my kids. I just can't do this anymore. I just want to run away." I don't want to feel that way about a baby. Feeling that way brings on immense guilt, and I know that I really do love my children and wouldn't trade them for the world. Part of me feels a little childish when my emotions betray me like that.

Part of what scares me so much about these feelings is what happened with my last baby. It was just so hard, and I feel so bad. I look at pictures of his first year, and I feel like I cheated him because of how hard of a time we all had. Granted, that bitter relationship has turned into something really sweet. I just love him and miss him so much when he's gone, and he really is a huge momma's boy which boosts my confidence a little. And the issues that I had with him were finally revealed to me through this pregnancy. This baby was born exactly 2 years from my last baby and being pregnant at the exact same time brought up emotions I didn't really know existed. I noticed feelings of loneliness associated with my marriage and what had happened. Sometimes those emotions would be about memories from my last pregnancy. I couldn't figure out why. What had happened in my marriage happened the summer after I had my third baby. Then I realized that the pregnancy must have been when my husband and I started to drift apart. This finally explained why bonding with the baby was so hard. It explained why everything felt so off. It wasn't all postpartum. It wasn't because I had a c-section or didn't breast feed. It was just our lives at that time and the situations we didn't realize existed. It was a relief in someways to find this out. But it also left me terrified of having this next baby. I felt like everything would happen all over again. Like the baby would come and my life would become another marathon and I'd never catch up. Having those emotions come up now just leaves me worried that we haven't progressed or moved on enough to make our lives work.

 

Some people try to sum up my life experiences into lessons that needed to be learned. They try to give a reason for everything. "Maybe this is why you have all boys", "Maybe this is why that happened", "Maybe this is the reason you're having a baby". It used to be something I could do. It was something I desperately searched for, but lately it hurts too much. I just want to scream to the heavens, "I don't know what lesson I need to learn, and I just give up trying to figure it out!" I guess everything is too close and too real, and I'm just to vulnerable right now. I acknowledge that I'm learning and growing, but to say everything I've gone through was simply to learn a lesson just hurts too much.

Those thoughts made me feel a little bit cynical until I heard a talk given at a Church Meeting, that was filmed and put on TV. The man was talking about a guy who had a dilemma about taking a job out of state or accepting a job closer to home. The General Authority who he was talking to said, "It mattereth not." It made me think, "How many times have I tried to give epic meaning to something in my life when really 'it mattereth not'."

 I also had a discussion with friends about how God isn't sitting up in Heaven ripping out his hair, having panic attacks and going insane because his children won't behave. Though I'm sure it gives him great sorrow, what we do doesn't change who God is. This made me think of all the times I've gotten angry or upset because I'd think of God up there sending me trial after trial trying to get some sort of message through. But really maybe he's just up there saying, "You made a choice and I knew what that choice would lead to, but I couldn't keep you from making it because I gave you your agency. And though it's hard to have to watch you suffer because of it, I know that is how it has to be in order for you to really learn what you need to learn."

This post is getting long, so I had better wrap it up. For the most part things are better, but life is still hard. My husband is gone all the time working overtime, so we can pay the bills. My parents have offered all the help they can, but truthfully I think all of us are at our max capacity. It's hard to figure out what can relieve the stress when relieving the stress just brings about other stresses. For the most part I try to just take it one day at a time. I just get through the day and try not to get anxious about tomorrow. Things may get easier when the baby gets older. Things may get better now that we have a van. Things might start to look up when my husband switches to working at home. But everything feels like it will just bring on a new kind of stress, so I just go to bed hoping that when I wake up maybe I'll have a better understanding or a clearer view.

I feel like a fickle friend, loving my kids and wanting to spend more time with them, but also tired of having to solve problems and looking way too forward to nap time. Sometimes I get so angry with God for all the trials in my life, and then the next second I'm begging for forgiveness and trying to be thankful for what I have. When these moments come up I think of what my Dad said to me in the hospital, "If you need to be angry with someone God can take it." I hope that's true because it certainly brought me a lot of peace when he said it.