Never Flitting Still is Sitting

You always hear women say, “Oh it’s hard but it’s so worth it!” But they don’t mention the days where it doesn’t feel worth it. No one says anything about the times during motherhood when you have no idea who you are anymore and can’t even find the space in your mind or in your day to figure it out. There is no longer a moment when you’re thinking of yourself and no one else. You simply think about something you’d like to do and automatically a list of reasons and complications and guilt trips start pouring out of your skull and floods the floor around you. Being a mother is filled with some of the highest and most precious moments and burdened with the darkest and hardest times. While this concept is more openly talked about now-a-days, it still feels foreign to me. It feels selfish that I have these thoughts. Even after scrolling on Instagram and reading all these other young mothers talk about the hardships they’ve gone through as mothers. Even as I listen to family admit to thinking the same things I have there is still a part of me that feels too broken or too selfish to have become a mother. I look back at myself as a younger and eager married woman excited to make it a family of three. But now I wonder, did I actually stop to think about what I wanted? Did I give myself the space to contemplate if this was really the right choice for me? Or did I simply listen to the rest of my family and society tell me that that’s just what you do, and as a women it’s what you should want.

I’ll never say I regret my kids. Those two boys are what make my heart sing. But I sometimes hate taking care of them. I sometimes hate that it’s all on me, and that I can’t drop them off for a few days somewhere and get some space to myself. I mean I could do that, but I’d be voted “worst mom ever”. And of course there’s those out there who would say “date nights are so important take them more often!” Or “take a trip with just you and your husband!” Or “You just took a trip with your friend you need a break again” Yeah I do. I need a two day break every week. And I don’t mean for a few hours to get work done, but I mean like a full 48 hours where they are with someone else. But that’s not how this works. And when I think that maybe I can catch that break when they go to school and instead of homeschooling I’ll just send them to school, but then I think of all the horrible things I hear that are happening at public schools. Then I thinks “well we’ll just send them to private school then”…yeah okay, so they can be guilt tripped into thinking god hates them because they are sinners as soon as they are born?

No one talks about just how STUCK you feel once you have kids. And if anyone DOES say something like that they are thrown to the wolves and people say they are horrible parents who just shouldn’t have had kids in the first place if they were going to be that selfish. So maybe I shouldn’t have had kids. Maybe I”m too selfish. Too late now.

My belly feels huge and Henry feels like he’s RIGHT THERE. Of course he’s not but it feels that way. I really don’t think I’ll be wanting to do this whole getting pregnant thing again, and I’m trying to soak in every last minute of carrying my child in my belly. I know this will likely be the last time. I’m excited to reclaim my body again, but it’s still sad. Even though I know it’s the right choice for me. Even though as soon as I think “wow it’s sad to think I’ll never be pregnant again” another part of me is in the background doing a happy dance.

Still…it’s a huge chapter of my life that I’ll be moving on from. I’ve looked forward to being pregnant and becoming a mom ever since I can remember. Now the pregnant part is over…feels sad.

It makes me feel bad, but I’m ready to go home. I know that that means I’d leave my son behind, and that feels so selfish. I just want to go home and be with my son and husband. I want to take a shower in my own home, sleep in my own bed, cook my own food, and be with my family. 

It’s been three weeks of sitting in a hospital room. Constantly getting checked, asked questions about my vaginal discharge, blood drawn, IV’s removed and placed again, doctors waking me up at 6am with questions I can barely answer, food that’s tastes like imitations of food, new people coming into my room to clean, to care for me, to bring me food, to check the IV machine, to change a light bulb, to switch the sharps container, to ask how the cleaning crew is doing, to survey how my stay has been. It’s a lot. 

On top of that I have this buzzing bee going around my head at all times reminding me that I’m here for a reason and my unborn son is in danger and needs my protection. I’m here to ensure he comes into this world safely. I will do whatever it takes to do that, and still I’m so ready to go home. 

My toddler asks “mommy come home?” and I have to repeat that I’m here until baby comes out. So many times that now he says “mommy come home baby comes out?” and I have to say, “yes that’s right, honey.” He acts out every time I get on a FaceTime call with him. It’s like he misses me or is mad at me and doesn’t know how to handle his feelings. My heart is breaking and I just want to go home, make him some hot milk, and watch Moana while he sits on my lap. 

I want to go to bed and feel my husband crawl in next to me. I want to hear my dogs nails on the hardwood floor as he walks down the hall to join me in the office. I want to cook my family meals, clean their clothes, wash their dishes, and return to my duties as a wife and mother. 

And I feel so guilty that I want that even though it would mean leaving this baby boy here alone. Of course, I’d be back everyday to hold him, feed him, care for him, and love him. Of course him coming home will be one of the happiest days of my life. And I just want to go home. I’m tired. I’m running out of steam. 

That of course doesn’t matter. I’m here until they kick me out. I’ll fight for this boy just like I would for the other. Whatever he needs I’ll be here to give it. It doesn’t matter that I feel like I’m at the end of what I can give. There’s a part of me that has more, and I’ll dig in, grab it, and hand it over. I’ll pray for more and somehow find it. “You are braver than you believe, stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think.” said dear old Winnie the Pooh. 

Growing up I was lucky enough to have a dad who told me I could be both. There wasn’t any pressure to choose between princess dresses or dinosaur costumes. I could spend an afternoon playing in the mud in the four acre woods behind our house and then come inside and play with polly pockets after my much needed bath. This amount of freedom and fluidity in my personality has served me well in all aspects of my life. It’s given be the idea that I can do and try anything I want. 

One of the “boy” things I loved doing was spending Saturday’s with my dad on our Honda four wheelers. This usually involved a huge breakfast made by my dad who, when he cooked, almost exclusively made breakfasts. Then we’d load up the quads and head to my Aunt Becks house where we had acres and acres of land and trails to explore. 

Even now, as an adult, “play clothes” have a very specific smell to me. Sometimes I can smell my childhood memories on my toddlers muddy pants as I do the laundry. It’s the smell of mud and gasoline that I remember most on those car rides. My dad isn’t much of a music guy, so we’d almost always spend the whole ride talking. I couldn’t tell you what we talked about, but as a kid I always felt heard and seen by my parents, and even now the undivided attention my dad gave me during these summer days are my favorite memories. I’d have my helmet and riding gloves sitting in the back seat and my jeans were clean and ready to get muddy. 

I remember feeling so cool loading and unloading the four wheelers. It felt like such an adult thing to know how to lower the trailer gate, release the straps on the quads, and back them off the trailer. Inevitably my Aunt and Uncle would come out to say hi and my dad would talk to them as I did this by myself. And I performed this task with the confidence of an NFL quarterback throwing the ball to a wide open...well, whatever that other player is called. 

As the adults finished up their conversations I would sometimes take note of the surroundings. I knew one day these would be memories and I’d want to take in as much detail as possible. There are a lot of times in my life, even as a young kid, that I remember trying to imprint a moment in my head, knowing one day I’d wish to go back to it. 

Cicadas scream in the trees, the hot summer air is thick with pollen, my Uncle Jeff makes a corny joke, and my hands start to sweat in my riding gloves. But above all the smells and sounds, the feeling of my dad relaxing was the best part. I felt that I was special because for everyone else my dad was a mature, smart, business man who owned his own remodeling company. He was a boss to some people and in his suits and meetings he was respected and serious. But with me, he was goofy, relaxed, and what I thought was his true self. Only I got him to smile like that, and only I was responsible for being the part in his life where he got to be himself. 

I’ve never been in the hospital for more than a few days. With my first son I was there for about three days recovering and ensuring that he was healthy enough to go home. However, the IV in my hand was taken out within a few hours of giving birth. So I’ve never had an IV in for longer than a day or so. 

I’ve been in the hospital now for three weeks, and that’s who long this IV has been in my arm. I had no idea they could stay in the same spot for that long. Apparently as long as there isn’t a sign of infection and the IV flushes properly it can stay in there for a long time. 

Well, I think three weeks is the limit. I’m now starting to itch and there are sores developing under the plastic bit. Unfortunately, I don’t have many needs any more. Typically doctors come and check on me once in the morning and then my nurse checks my vitals every 4 hours and that’s about it. Most of the time I’m alone in my room and no one comes in here. Of course I have my nurses number and I could call her, but you get the point. 

The short answer is yes. 

Photo credit: Suganth on Unsplash

The long answer, is everything in my life as led me to believe that yes, everything has a silver lining. I simply have to look for it. As a teenager I would have said this and been totally confused by someone’s answer being different than mine. But after a more diverse exposure to how other people grow up, I quickly learned why other’s aren’t as optimistic as I am. 

It’s surprising how quickly we can adapt. If you had come to me six months ago and told me I’d be in the hospital for weeks on end, away from my family, and waiting around to go into labor, I would have panicked. I never thought I’d survive something like that, and I would have assumed I’d be a hot mess of anxiety and panic attacks. 

I’m the youngest of three girls, and by the time I was a young kid my parents did pretty well for themselves and I had an amazing childhood filled with undivided attention from both my parents, a good school, and the opportunity to work at the local coffee shop rather than at a McDonalds. It’s easy to look at my life and think, ‘Wow, this girls got it easy’. And I did, and I still do. I’ve worked my butt off the get the education I wanted without debt, the job I’ve always wanted, a husband who is kind and supportive, and now a 2 year old who’s the best thing on this planet, and another special baby boy on the way. My life is exactly how I planned it, down to the bearded quiet man I share it with. 

So I’ve never thought of myself as strong. My sisters are strong women who can handle anything life throws at them, and life has thrown a lot at them. My parents worked and worked my whole life to provide better for me. And my grandparents are all supportive and wonderful people who did their best to love me and fill me with storied to cherish and lessons to remember. 

So I’m not the strong one. At least, that’s what I thought. Now I’m sitting in a hospital bed that I’ve been sleeping in for the last three weeks, with an IV port in my arm, and nurses coming in to check on my vitals every 4 hours, and I haven’t had a single anxiety attack. I’ve been working, crocheting, scrolling through Instagram, reading books, but not a single anxiety attack. 

If 2019 Rebecca saw me today, she would be in awe of her. She’d had a hard time believing that it was real. Not only am I proud of myself for how well I’ve been handling this scary experience, but I’m almost already thankful for it and just how much stronger I’m going to be at the end of it all. 

When you find out you're pregnant, many things run through your head. Even if you were trying to get pregnant, it can be shocking and emotional.

Finding out I was pregnant with our second child, I didn't have the kind of emotions I was expecting. I was of course excited, but the bigger emotion I was having was anger. Yeah, anger. I know, I felt like a terrible mother for about four weeks as I kept feeling this sense of irritation of being pregnant...even though I had planned it!

Luckily, after about four weeks, I finally got over the anger and was excited to bring a new baby into our family. Our son was starting to talk about it, my bump started to show, and I was feeling less sick all the time. All these things made it easier to get excited about this big and scary new journey. I say new because while I had already been pregnant, I was only a mom of one, and now I was going to be a mom of two and that's scary.

Then something actually scary happened. I had a gush of blood around week 13 and I was terrified I had lost my baby. A trip to the doctor told me I hadn't, but the experience stuck with me and made me more cautious about the rest of the pregnancy.

Then something scary did happen, and it was real.

Around 29 weeks pregnant, on a Wednesday night around 9:30, my water broke. I called my doctor, rushed to the hospital, and they checked to see if it was actually my water that broke. The first test came back negative, and that scared me more. I knew something was wrong, and it terrified me to think they might send me home when I knew something wasn't right. Luckily, my doctor said they were going to keep me for another two hours just to be sure and check me again. The whole two hours I just prayed that they would find something. Which seems silly, you'd think I'd want everything to be okay, but I knew it wasn't and I just hoped they'd find it.

After the two hours they checked again, and I had enough water leaking that there was no mistaking it. The doctor still took a sample but she said she was positive my water had broken. After she confirm with the sample she came back and gave us the news. At that point I didn't really know what it would mean for this pregnancy. I was just relieved that we had identified what had happened and we could now create a game plan. Then she told us what it meant. That I'd have to be transferred to a hospital that could handle a 29 week old baby, and stay there until I gave birth. It's when she said this that I broke down and cried and so did my husband. The first thing I thought of was my baby and how my body felt like it had failed him. Then I thought of my boy at home, and how I wouldn't be able to see him for possibly a long time.

The next hours were a whirlwind of emotions. I had to be put on magnesium to protect the babies nervous system in case I was going into labor right then. If you'd never been on that stuff count yourself as lucky it makes you feel like you're having hot flashes, a headache, and the flu all at the same time. Then I had to wait for the ambulance to come and take me to the other hospital. I've never ridden in an ambulance before and being strapped into that bed thing is pretty intense. I was shaking really badly and one of the transfer people asked me if I was cold or scared. I said both. They layered me with hot blankets, strapped me down, and off we went.

All the nursers were so encouraging, telling me I could do it, I was strong, and that everything was going to be okay. The transfer crew was also amazing, they were friendly, explained everything really well, and then let me sit in silence as I tried to absorb what the heck was happening to me.

Once at the new hospital things got even scarier. To be fair, they warned me. I was told high risk doctors would be in to talk about possible out comes, an anesthesiologist would come in to confirm epidural procedures with me, a NICU team would be in to prep me for what this could look like, and I had a long laundry list of things they had to do to me. I had to get a new IV, a catheter because you aren't supposed to walk around while on magnesium, blood drawn, steroid shot, four types of antibiotics started, a COVID test, a STREP B test (don't ask how they take that sample), and still on the magnesium that's making me feel like crap. The nurse that was doing all this to me was amazing. She was kind and empathetic and somehow made me laugh during this terrifying time.

The doctors came and told me all the ways it could go wrong and right, they asked for permission to give me and my baby blood if needed and then told me what I could expect. Then the NICU team came in and told me how they handle 29 week old babies and what I could expect from that. I was overwhelmed, exhausted, keeping like crap on the medicine, and scared out of my mind.