Confidence and clothing

A few days ago, my husband linked this article to me and asked what I thought about it. You have to understand, that most articles or links he sends me are of a geeky nature, so I was initially caught off guard by this.

I read it a few times and took time (as much as I can with an almost 3 year old and a 6 month old...) to really think how I felt about this author's post.

I'm all for raising confident, independent young women. I want my girls to love their bodies and be happy with how they look. If, like the daughter in this blog, they're wanting to wear booty shorts for working out, (and they're like...16+) I have no problem with that. I was a swimmer my entire life, so the lack of cover doesn't bother me. If they wanted to wear shorts like that in public...that's where my opinions get a little hazy.

I was raised to respect myself and to make friends and relationships based on the person I was INSIDE. I never really worried about how I looked. Some of my friends did. I saw how much time they wasted trying to be perfectly acceptable to the "popular" crowds and how much money was spent on clothing to fit in. I wasn't entirely immune to that. I loved this one type of Abercrombie jeans, I BEGGED for a North Face fleece. But it didn't make me any more popular because I didn't want to change who I was.

I've seen what has happened to those who relied on their looks in high school to make friends. They are having a pretty hard time in the "real" world now. But my friends, who may not be the most popular, prettiest or handsomest people...well, we're all happy, still in touch, have a wonderful community around us.

All that being said, my husband and I had a lengthy conversation about it that night during our nightly Porch Chat. I told him I had no problem with clothing like that in an appropriate setting, but I really wanted our girls to respect themselves enough to want to form relationships based on their personalities. Those only get stronger, whereas looks change.

Now that we have daughters, he seems to have changed his tune on a lot of opinions he used to have. Four years ago, he would have argued that they should be able to wear whatever, whenever. However, now that he pays attention to how women are treated (i.e. the whole emergence of the rape culture, slut shaming, and blaming women for men's thoughts and actions) he's become cautious about the situations that our daughters could be put in. He agreed that there are appropriate times to wear things like those shorts, and times that there aren't. He also said that, should our girls want to wear something that we feel is questionable, we should have a conversation with them and ask why they want to wear it. He was all for teaching them to respect themselves and rely on personality vs appearance to form relationships with friends and/or future partners.

Unlike the mom in the article, I'm not above having a conversation with them. I think that open communication in a family is really important. I'm not going to sit down and tell them they can't do something "because I said so." I'd rather find out their reasons for wanting to do whatever I'm objecting to because they could have a perfectly reasonable explanation for why they want to do something. Perks of being raised by a father who was a family therapist. My husband and I spent the first year and a half of our relationship relying on communication to strengthen our relationship because we were long distance. We've never had an actual yelling fight. Tense discussions, yes. But we're able to rationally talk about our issues and solve them. That's how we intend to treat issues that arise with our girls.

As I look over at Lala right now, I'm not worried about her future. She is rocking purple bike shorts and her favorite Darth Vader tee. Her sister, likewise, is decked out in a Star Wars onesie because her sister demanded it. If they like boy clothes (like another so-called hot topic right now...transgender children) Great. I'm still going to love these girls. Their personalities are so fun and who cares what they look like.

I love my little Princess Darth and rolly-polly peanut.

Fearless

Lala is absolutely fearless. She falls and doesn't cry...instead yells "YELLOW CARD!!!" She is covered in bruises from jumping off and onto anything around her. She laughs at Jabba the Hutt, and will tell you that Darth Vader is her favorite character.

She's only two and a half, but already I worry about the world around her forcing her to believe that she should be afraid. She's female therefore she's weak. She can't do things like the boys because she's NOT a boy. Certain passions of hers could be snatched away because she "shouldn't" like them.

Screw anyone who thinks that.

My daughter is fearless. I intend to keep her that way.

I will encourage her and her sister to do anything they are passionate about.

I will let them scrape their knees, fail at things, and fall down.

I will let them learn.

Because why should we tell a child to be fearful of the world they feel fearless in?

My daughter is fearless. And I love her for it.

It had to be blueberries

Lala was sick for the first time last night. I won't go into details, but I now need to figure out how to get blueberries out of the carpet.

In true form, she's back to her usual bouncy, energetic self. Running around, trying to wake up her sister, demanding "Snowman"...aka Frozen. I think she had too much sugar yesterday.

Oh yesterday....

Our day started at 5:30am, getting everyone up and ready to go downtown. Auntie EhEh was diagnosed with Breast Cancer last year and we were all doing a walk to celebrate the end of her cancer journey! She looked fantastic!

Lala, Cocoba and a friend all had matching outfits I made. Little pink shirts that said "My Mommy/Auntie is a super hero!" and capes on the back with "SUPER EHEH/MOMMY"....and pink tutus. Nothing is complete with out a tutu-dress (as Lala calls them). It was so fun to see all the girls running around with their capes flapping in the early morning! Not to be left out, Gogo had a tutu too...but she was snugged up in the Ergo the whole race. It was only at the end I realized her diaper had failed spectacularly and she and I were both covered in pee. Awesome. Lala ate a donut during the race, got to say hi to Darth Vader (her current favorite person) who blew her kisses and played peekaboo....

Thankfully, after the eventful morning, she crashed hard for a nap. Then we were ready to go again at 2:30 for cousin Bug's 4th birthday! There, after playing with water balloons, chasing the older kids around and eating her weight in pirates booty and chocolate coins...she devoured a chocolate chocolate cupcake. Gogo just hung out in her amazing parrot costume and wooed everyone.

After dinner, Lala had a complete and spectacular meltdown. Screaming like I've never heard and knocking her gate down over and over. She finally passed out. Too much stimulation and way too much junk food that she normally doesn't get....it happens.

I felt so horrible when I got her up this morning and noticed that she had been so sick. She didn't yell or cry to wake me or my husband up! Thankfully she's not running a fever. A lazy day at home is in order for today.

Gaining, Losing, Forgiving, Loving

This is not going to be an easy post for me to write. I haven't shared my experiences with my first birth publicly, although if someone asks, I don't shy away from it. I feel like, to really understand my relationship with the girls, this needs to be shared.

When we found out we were having Lala, we were overjoyed. We were planning on having a home birth, and having her in our bath tub. We were gaining a daughter and starting the family we dreamed of!

After 5 days of prodromal labor, high blood pressure and no signs of progress, we were transferred to the hospital. My water had broken right before we went, but when we were checked in, my contractions stopped. The disappointment of not getting the birth I planned, 5 days of exhaustion, doctors who wouldn't listen/didn't believe anything I said, pitocin and an epidural made for a rough labor.

Lala made her appearance after only 5 minutes of pushing. Instead of the overwhelming joy of seeing her and holding her, I just felt exhausted. I looked at my husband, saw his tears of joy and felt so guilty.

Fast forward 2 months. Lala isn't very big, I'm feeling incredibly disconnected and we get told two devastating things at one appointment. First was that I had failed to produce enough milk to feed her, and so in a month, she hadn't gained any weight. Even though she was meeting her developmental milestones, her doctor labeled her as "failing to thrive". (We eventually changed doctors....) Then, after hearing how I was feeling, she told me that I "most likely" had Postpartum Depression (ppd). However, with all this news, she sent me to a lactation specialist who just told me I wasn't trying hard enough. I wasn't given any resources or medication or help for the ppd. Just, "oh, you probably have this."

Nursing failed, even after all the suggestions and work I was putting into it. We switched doctors and she encouraged me to try a specific formula. She also gave me tons of resources for help and prescribed medication. Lala started to gain weight and became this chubby, happy girl. She started sleeping through the night at 2 months, probably because she was finally full. The guilt I felt was overwhelming.

Even with medication, I was having thoughts about how my husband and Lala would be better off without me. That I should just go away and he would raise her right. I was a horrible mother and couldn't even feed her with my body. What kind of person was I if I didn't feel love or couldn't care for her the way I just should!? These were all the ppd talking. My husband was scared and confused by all of this, and for the first 6 months, I have to say that he did more for Lala than I did. I just wanted to spend hours in bed, alone.

After several months, lots of conversations with a lot of people, I had a breakthrough conversation with my brother Bubba. He was explaining a lot of things to me and gave me a very different perspective on the struggles I was still having. He and I haven't always gotten along, but knowing that he was able to talk to me about all of the things I was feeling was huge. I started to engage more, become more connected with Lala and rejoin the world.

I stopped meds right before her first birthday, because I was feeling numb and wanted to be able to be myself again.

Watching her grow into the amazing 2.5 year old she is has been a trip.

When we found out we were having Gogo, all the fear of the birth came flooding back. I wasn't excited about being pregnant again, about having to go through that hell again. About the ppd coming back. About not connecting with my second daughter.

We were seeing completely different midwives this time, planning a hospital birth instead, but wanting to try for the natural one we missed out on. The group at Evergreen Hospital was incredibly supportive. They wanted to know the whole story about my past experience. They asked questions, addressed my fears, suggested several things to help with the stress and anxiety I was going through. Finally, one suggested, after hearing everything and asking her own set of questions, that what I went through was actually a little bit of PTSD. I balked at that, thinking it wasn't something someone had from a bad birthing experience, but the more she explained the similarities, the more it made sense.

All of them promised a different experience this time.

On January 16th, I went into labor, but I didn't think I was. I thought I had just peed my pants (it had been a hilarious issue I'd  been dealing with for months at that point). I went to take a bath, when I realized that I was, in fact, having regular contractions.

Lala was dropped off at Tutu and BobBob's, we checked in and were THRILLED to get the midwife that I had wanted. She was calm, funny and straightforward. It started out SO well. My blood pressure spiked again, so they put in an IV, but I didn't need to be hooked up to anything yet. I was free to just walk, sit, labor exactly how I wanted. My husband was making me laugh, I got to eat, take a bath, relax....the atmosphere was so different.

Finally it was time to push, and after about 45 minutes, I got to catch Gogo. The pure joy I felt at having done all of this, by myself, with no drugs....it was such a rush. I cried. I forgave myself for feeling guilty about Lala's birth, I let it go. This birth had redeemed it.

A few hours later, Lala came to meet her sister. The pure joy and love I felt at seeing BOTH my girls together for the first time filled my heart to bursting.

Now here we are, 4 months later, and I couldn't imagine my life any other way. I can recognize when I get frustrated, disconnected, sad and attribute it to the ppd. I've addressed the issues I have, and with such an amazing partner at my side, I'm able to enjoy these times like I wasn't able to last time.

It's an incredible feeling. Letting this traumatic experience go, and having such a positive one. It's like a weight has been lifted and I've made it through...seeing these beautiful girls I have and the relationship I get to build with them.

I'm one lucky mom.

The Adventure Begins

Today started out much like the last three weeks have.

Alarm goes off, Poppa takes a shower and gets ready for his day. I feed Gogo, go downstairs and get a pot of tea going. Lala snoozes away for the time being.

Then she wakes up, and we never quite know what kind of adventure the day holds.

Yesterday, she decided early on that pants were forbidden for the day. Then clothes all together. She was gleefully dancing around, much to her sister's delight, singing "Nakie nakie nakie" when Poppa got home.

Today? Well, so far she's got it in her head that her diaper is a good place to store crackers. However, this brings about a "scratchy monster" in her pants. She just laughs at me when I tell her that she needs to choose a new place to put crackers.

Although only two and a half and 4 months, Lala and Gogo certainly give me a life that is far from boring.