Category: Mommy Blogs

Being Fully Present…

It’s a concept that I’m not sure many have had to think about before. Sure, we’ve all been bored and unfocused at times, but now boredom is treated as a sin. Heaven forbid we’d be left alone with our own thoughts.

What’s the saying?

An idle mind is the devil’s playground.

No, we must constantly be stimulated one way or the other and what has become accepted as proper use of time is to be plugged in. Everyone knows the internet is only filled with positive and educational things, right? How could this constant bombardment of information ever be destructive for you?

But oddly, because of this constant need for immediate gratification at all times, there are now people who are challenging themselves to be phone-free, a digital detox. It got me thinking, what would happen if all of us put down our phones? Would the younger generation even be able to do that? Do they know how to function and have friendships and lives outside of their devices? Because I know my generation is borderline when it comes to living without them.

I grew up in a strange time. When I was in middle school, I got my first cellphone back when you had to be careful that you didn’t go over your allotted minutes and text messages. No one wanted to explain a $50 overage to their parents because you HAD to resolve your best friend’s dilemma over what to wear on the first day of school. My phone was only meant to be used for emergencies like forgetting my homework, missing the bus, being kidnapped, or the traumatizing time I thought my parents forgot to pick me up from swim practice. (They didn’t forget, but they got caught by two drawbridges whose whole purpose in life is to ruin everyone’s day.)

As I got older and texting became normalized, my mom upped my 500 texts per month to unlimited because, by the time I got to high school, my mom and I were texting quite frequently, plus my friends were starting to get phones, too. Even though cell phones were becoming more prevalent, they were nothing like they are now. The most we could do was text and kill your battery after two days playing Snake.

But even with those amazing advancements, my phone wasn’t something that I worried about taking with me when my friends and I went to the movies or hung out on a Friday night. We said we would meet somewhere,e and if you were late, you better have hoped we were still hanging around that spot or that one of us in the group actually had their phone on them.

But as tech evolved and became more available, the phone no longer left my side. And once the advent of the camera phone became a thing, the damn magic rectangle might as well have been sewn to my hand.

I was a part of the Myspace generation but not as active on it as my peers. That changed with college and the introduction of Facebook. It made making plans so much easier since my college was more of a commuter school and most of my friends lived off-campus. But even as Facebook continued to grow, I still wasn’t as addicted as I would become later. I wasn’t stuck on my phone checking up on what everyone was doing every 5 minutes. I still was halfway present, or so I thought. Instead of lurking on Facebook, I was taking pictures, you know, to make sure I captured every moment to ensure I would never forget what happened at the party, beach day, or open mic night.

In September 2009, I joined Twitter at the suggestion of my future ex-husband. I thought it was silly. Why would strangers from around the world care what I had to say? Nothing in my life is that meaningful. So for about six months, I had this account but didn’t really use it. When Instagram and Vine came around, I felt they were narcissistic. Why was every moment in your life so entertaining that you felt the need to share it? It wouldn’t be until the summer of 2015 that I would finally join Instagram after a conversation with two women I met traveling in Portugal. They said they were using Instagram more as a scrapbook since Facebook had become so cluttered. That was the first time I thought about it more positively, and then I was hooked.

I am not sure if it was because I had moved to Brazil with my husband, at the time, and my human interaction was limited because of the language barrier or if I was just that homesick, but I became dependent on my phone. If I didn’t have it on me, I would rush back to get it. I would feel naked and off until I had the phone in my purse or back pocket.

I became rude. It didn’t matter if I was a guest at someone’s home or seated among company at a restaurant. Instead of engaging in conversation like I would have done back home, I was fixated on my phone. I had gotten sick of waiting for my ex to translate things for me. It was lonely and isolating to sit at a table and have a conversation around you yet not be able to engage. Even though I was spending at least two hours a day, five days a week, taking Portuguese lessons, I still could only understand bits and pieces of what was being said, and I didn’t feel comfortable answering anyone.

It wasn’t until I got back to the states and had a few people comment on how often I was on my phone. That’s when I realized I had a problem. I could use “I like taking pictures” as an excuse, but I wasn’t even doing that. I was just skimming Reddit for the 110th time or flipping through Facebook out of habit, all the while thinking, “This is awful. Why am I here?”

After my ex and I split, I started dating again. My future husband would take my phone and move it out of reach. Sometimes he would just shift down to the end of the table where it was in eyesight, but other times he stuck it in his pocket. One of the first times he did this to me, I lost my mind and started yelling and hyperventilating because I couldn’t answer a text. It was no reason to have a panic attack. At that point in my life, I didn’t have a child at home that I needed to worry about. I didn’t need to answer that text while I ate my dinner. All he was asking was for me to be present and in the moment and not worry about what was going on somewhere else.

At first, I denied it. I didn’t think I had a problem. (Because every normal person screams about their phone being three feet away from them.) That is until I looked at my life. I had always prided myself on being able to multitask. It was necessary for any of my jobs, but it was different when it came to my personal life. I was missing details of conversations because I was giving a life-sucking electronic demon all my attention. Instead of giving my attention to the person in front of me, I was worried about entertaining people who weren’t present.

It took a few more months, pregnancy, and having a baby pulled out of me before things started to change.

Yes, I’m still constantly on my phone actively taking pictures, but they are of Adelyn. I wanted to share her with my friends and family that lived far away, or at least that’s what I was telling myself. I was getting worried I would miss moments again because I didn’t take a picture. One day I was stressing about finding my phone, and my husband looked at me and asked what I was doing. I said I was looking for my phone to get a picture of Adelyn’s silly face. Then he said something that completely struck me off guard and has stuck with me ever since. “Why don’t you look at her face now and not worry about a picture? What if you’re too worried about a phone and miss her first steps because you’re unlocking or fishing it out of your purse?”

That thought terrified me.

Now I’m working on being fully present with her and experiencing what is going on with my family. I am not saying I’m 100% phone-free, but I am far better at managing my addiction than I used to be. My picture posting has gone down, but that might be more related to Adelyn stealing my phone and teething with it. I now mainly use my phone while I’m at work. When I’m home, I’m not always sure where it is. I don’t worry about it dying because I know the battery will last since I’m not using it. My daughter will take my phone and chew it and smack it around a bit before discarding it. Old me would have freaked out because I didn’t know where it was. Now I only care where it is if someone calls or I need to leave.

Don’t get me wrong, phones are great. They’re convenient for photos and communication, but they have definitely killed authentic personal engagement.

This blog post took longer than I would have liked to edit and get up because I have discounted a lot of my life. At one point, I was trying to review my edits on my phone and just tossed it into my purse because I was doing exactly what I was writing about. I was worried about getting this up promptly. Even though I didn’t have a deadline, I felt this urgent rush to get it up and ignored my husband in the car next to me.

So this is something that I will continue to work on. I never want my husband, daughter, or stepson to think they are less important than something on a glowing screen. They really are the most important things in my life.

If you were to have asked me at 18 what my life at 30 would look like, it sure wouldn’t be this. 30 felt so far away, established, and adult. But I think none of those things. There are days when I wake up and wonder how did I get here? I look over and see my daughter sleeping in her crib and think, whose bright idea was it to trust me with a baby? Help, I need an adult! Oh wait, never mind, I am the adult now.

In three short months, this tiny adorable parasite has taken over my life, and it’s hard to imagine it being any different. There are times when I watch her try to figure out how to move her little legs when lying on her belly that I just can’t wait for her to be older so we can travel and see the world together. But at the same time, I hold her close at night and cherish these moments where she needs to be cuddled to fall asleep.

Being a mom is something that I’ve always wanted to be. Many times I had wished there was a way to skip the tiny baby age. Every single ounce of me is so thankful there isn’t a way to do that yet. Seeing her grow and develop into herself has been the most captivating thing I have experienced, and it’s happening far too fast.

I remember a discussion with my ex-husband where he asked me what I wanted out of life. I told him that I wanted to be a mom. To this day, I can still see his face and hear his tone of voice when asking me, “Then why did you go to college? Don’t you want more out of life?” I didn’t understand then, and there is no way now that I could ever understand why to him, being a great parent would not be enough.

He was right. I did go to college. I wanted the tools to build a life. But that doesn’t mean that money or a career is what would make my life complete. I’ve always chosen building memories over money. I could have gone to Hollywood and tried to make it a writer, but instead, I decided to travel and experience new things. I’ve spent a month in California and Portugal. I’ve traveled to Ireland and England and can’t wait to go back and explore. I’ve gone all over my home states of Virginia and Florida to capture different ways to bring life into my writing. I’ve done all this to one day share with my tiny human, and the more she grows, the more I am grateful. I have life experiences that I can pull from to show her how the world works and changes.

Being a parent is scary. How our parents could do it without all these fantastic new tools and baby aids seems to be magic. But there isn’t a magic wand that helps you get through all the challenging moments. I can only hope that I’ve learned enough through my short 30 years to raise this baby girl into a strong-willed, caring, intelligent, and courteous young woman.

If I can do that, then everything I have done and will do in my life has been for a good reason.

In honor of Adelyn’s second month on Earth I wanted I’d share how she came into the world.

I’m not sure what I had expected birth to be like, but I thought there would be pushing and heavy breathing followed by a little munchkin coming out crying.

When it came time to leave for the hospital, I did everything to avoid getting into the truck. But since I never entertained the idea of the c-section, I wasn’t fully prepared for what happened. I hate wires and surgery, and something deep down felt off. But everyone kept telling me it was just nerves.

On Tuesday evening, I checked into the hospital and settled in as well as I could. But I kept pacing the room. Even though the hospital had done everything to make the space welcoming, it was still very large to house all the machines I was about to be hooked up to. As the nurse was attaching bands to my belly to monitor Adelyn’s heartbeat, I talked to the nurse about my pain options. I might have been a little too excited to ask, but ever since my birthing class, I wanted to know more about the laughing gas. That was my number one option because I wouldn’t have to rely entirely on the epidural or heavier meds and still have control of my body.

As the nurse went through the checklist to see if I could be approved for the gas, she asked me if I had a B12 deficiency. Thinking nothing of it, I quickly answered, “Yes.” Little did I know this was going to no longer leave the gas as an option. She asked again, just to be sure if it was a true diagnosis from my doctor. Again I said yes, and it was because I have Celiac. And wouldn’t you know it? Two lines down, it asked if the patient had Celiac, Crohn’s, and a few other autoimmune problems. Any of these would no longer allow the patient to be a candidate.

So many people had asked me what my birthing plan was, and for this reason alone, I didn’t really have one. I didn’t need my hormones to be funky, rendering me even more emotional with things not going as planned. I mean, yes, I was going to be induced, but I knew that there was a chance of a c section even though the goal was a “natural” birth. But it still sucked. I was excited to be able to giggle my way through the contractions.

By nature, I am a very curious individual, and throughout this whole pregnancy, I have forced myself not to google things. I really didn’t need the internet to tell me something was wrong with the baby because I felt a sharp pain or two. So once the gas was ruled out, I needed to know why. Since this was a new option to the hospital, the nurse wasn’t entirely sure why I was canceled out other than the NO the checklist left us with. She laughed and asked if we wanted to google it and for the first time ever throughout my whole pregnancy, I was glad we did. Because for those with Celiac, Crohn’s, and other autoimmune diseases, there was an extremely high chance of being left with permanent nerve damage if used for a continuous extended period of time.

After finding that out, it really made the gas a no-go leaving me with only one option left… the lower body numbing epidural. I had the jitters. I was excited and nervous. My body had never gone through this level of change in such a short time, and really no one should ever expect it to. So when they suggested I take a sleeping aid. I took it, and as it kicked in, Tyler and I took silly pictures before I passed out.

Wednesday morning, I was woken by the nurse. They were doing a shift change and getting ready to give me the second set of meds. These were to fully help my body dilate. The next step was to break my water and just wait for her to show up. Up until now, everything seemed to be going smoothly. My contractions started, and I was 3 centimeters dilated. But that’s where my body stopped cooperating.

I would be talking to Tyler, and suddenly my contractions would come on really strong. The machines would start to beep, and the nurses would come in asking if I was okay. To me, I felt alright, I mean, it wasn’t a walk in the park, but I didn’t think it was enough to bring in any of the staff. But apparently, my blood pressure was spiking at a level to bring them in. After a third alarm, they suggested that I take my epidural early, hoping it would help my body relax.

It wasn’t long before the anesthesiologist was in the room and sticking me with a needle. By the way, they explained it to me everything should have been an easy stick and go; it wasn’t. Another reason why I wasn’t eager to have the epidural was because I have a slight curve in my spine, and it just so happened that my curve was right where the epidural needle should g,o which I was warned could cause some problems. Also, anytime I’ve been given anesthesia, in any form, I vomit the moment it starts to affect my body.

At first, it seemed that she placed it correctly, and everything was great for a while. I puked, and all the pain was gone. But as soon as it was working wonderfully,y it wasn’t. Not that far into it, only my right leg was numb, and again,n I was feeling every contraction leaving my blood pressure to spike. After being dosed similarly and vomiting, the same numbing pattern returned. Soon they brought in a second anesthesiologist.

The amount of attitude that came from him was disheartening. I don’t know if he meant to talk shit about the first woman, but he did not like where she placed the first needle. He quickly traced my spine and placed the needle.

“Oh, you got it in the right spot,” I said, turning green.

Coming around from behind me, he looked slightly confused. “How do you know?”

“Hold this. please,” I handed him the little pink kidney bean pan and threw up. “Because that happened.”

He was quick with the kidney bean pan and laughed, asking if everything was working.

I soon relaxed as more than my right leg became numb. He waited to ensure my whole lower half was numb. Rightfully smug and satisfied that he had done his job correctly, he left.

Around three, my doctor came in to check on how I was doing in the dilation department, and it wasn’t as far along as I should be. After twelve hours of labor, I was only at 6 out of 10 centimeters dilated. While my doctor was in, blood pressure began to spike since the dose of the epidural had worn off. But at that point, it had become routine. What was not routine was the notable loud tisks coming from my doctor as she reviewed Adelyn’s blood pressure on her graph. Adelyn’s blood pressure was dropping. But at that point, it wasn’t enough for them to do anything.

At 6pm, my doctor came back in to check on me. I was still only 6 centimeters. My usually quiet doctor made more tisks. Most people may not have thought much of it, but my doctor was not one to cause unnecessary worry. So to have her twice make an audible tisk left me very worried.

But everything was still up to me.

Knowing that she wasn’t a big fan of surgery, she asked me if I would want to do a c-section by the following check if there was no progress. Once again, I was so glad that I hadn’t created a birthing plan. I am not sure how I would have handled knowing there was possibly something wrong with Adelyn, and my body was just refusing to cooperate.

By 9pm, nothing had changed, and I made the decision to go under the knife. There was no reason for me to wait until my 24-hour window was up. I didn’t need to wait and have more stress on my body. Soon I was being prepped, and the male anesthesiologist was back in my room walking me through what would happen on his end.

Under bright lights, they lifted a curtain in front of me so I couldn’t see what they were about to do. I asked for Tyler. I did not want to be alone while they cut me up. They finally let him in after the room was prepped, and the anesthesiologist tried to numb me up. But it wasn’t happening. I could still feel every prick they made on my body when they tested. He turned to Tyler and told him that he couldn’t give me any more because the amount they had given me would have been enough for him. Keep in mind I’m 5’ ft tall, and Tyler is 6’1 and easily has 100 pounds on me.

As they cut, I crushed Tyler’s hand.

I was able to tell the doctor where they were and what they were doing. It was the strangest, most unsettling pain I had ever experienced. My skin being cut open and pulled apart. I could feel them moving things out of the way. It was frightening, but at the same time, I wished I could have watched. Not seeing was worse. My imagination is far too active. While high on the drugs, I proceeded to tell the doctors that, of course, she would be birthed this way because she did in my dream. I told them about my nightmare and how Adelyn sliced through my skin like a tiny wolverine or X-23. But the part I didn’t say was how she left me to bleed out and die. After verbalizing the dream and remembering how fearful I was when I woke up thinking I was dead, I started to worry about dying from childbirth.

I listened to the doctors’ talk, and mine was pissed. My doctor asked where the sonogram was, and the nurses all were confused as to why no one had done it. She had requested the sonogram at 3pm when she first saw Adelyn’s pressure drop. It turns out that Miss Adelyn had managed to wrap her cord around her little body. At that moment, high on drugs that weren’t numbing me and being what felt like flayed open, I was glad I didn’t wait. There would have been no way I could have pushed my tangled little baby out, and I would have risked her and myself.

When Adelyn was finally unwound and pulled into this world, she barely cried. To my right, I could see where they placed her to check if everything was okay. Soon the most pathetic little cry came out. (Two months later, it is known as her ME cry because she sounds like she is saying me over and over again.) And in a blink, I had a little tiny human with a head full of deep dark hair and bright blue eyes lying next to me. She continued her mes all while trying to eat my nose.

I don’t know how long we laid there while they started to get ready to stitch me up, but soon she and Tyler were gone. The anesthesiologist gave me his hand to hold, but I hurt him. He gave me something else to hold, and I crushed it with every tug of the stitches. When they stapled the incision shut, I cussed at them. I started to doze off from the medication, but I didn’t want to sleep. I didn’t want to die. But even with all the pain and fear rushing through me, it was worth it. After seeing her perfect little button nose and hearing her tiny little sounds, there was no better feeling in the world than to see the little tiny human that I had just created.

In about five weeks I’m going to be a mom. That’s a wonderfully terrifying concept.

In truth, I’ve never really been a baby-crazy female. I’ve always wanted kids, but in my head, I’ve been excited about the three-and-over age group. Tiny little humans never excited me much. But after this whole wild pregnancy ride, I’m actually looking forward to seeing baby Adelyn.

Since the beginning, she has been an active little thing. I could feel her move far sooner than the doctors expected. I’m not sure if that has to do with the lack of weight I’ve gained throughout the pregnancy or the fact that this little belly bunny has basically been hopping around from day one.

The reality of it probably lies more with how attentive I’ve always had to have been with my stomach. Living with celiac disease, undiagnosed for years, left me always in search of the cleanest bathroom because I was about to die from whatever I just ate. I know my stomach, I know the pains from gas and when a huge movement will happen, and I tend to know just about how long I have before the worst of it happens. So, confusing something rolling around in my uterus with gas or digestive problems isn’t going to happen.

One of the most incredible things is how much of a personality she has in the stomach. She responds to music. When I was at Disney World with a friend, and we rode the Carousel of Progress, every time these lyrics would come on:

There’s a great big beautiful tomorrow
Shinin’ at the end of ev’ry day
There’s a great big beautiful tomorrow
And tomorrow’s just a dream away

She would roll around with a happy roll.

When she’s not happy, she does a hard thrust, usually if I rest my laptop or phone on her. She isn’t a fan of electronics. It took nearly an hour to find out her sex, and every time I go in for her heartbeat check, she rolls away. I don’t blame her. I can hear high-frequency electronic sounds, and they drive me insane. I don’t think I would like whatever waves were being sent at me either.

I think lately, I can feel her suck her thumb. Like I said, I have had a pretty small belly bump for 35 weeks. I have been lucky to not have gained much weight. Almost all of it is her and what is protecting her. But there will be this rhythmic thumping that mimics what a baby does outside of the womb, so if anyone asks what I think she’s doing, she’s totally sucking her thumb. It also helps that I can see the movement. She loves to be very close to the surface.

Another thing that I find amazing is her reactions and movements, depending on where I am. When I am at work, it’s been a lot of thumb sucking, but if it’s a production day and we are shooting the show, she gets active. When the host or the guest starts to mess up or have problems in the control room, she does her angry pushes. I talk to her, and the guys in the control room have gotten used to it.

But if she follows me into the arts, I’m totally okay with that. But there is no way she’ll be anything but a tiny boss lady as she’s already getting in all the practice.

It’s crazy to think this part of the ride is almost over. May 10th will be here so quickly, and I’m not ready. I’m not prepared to give up this bond I have created, but at the same time, I can’t wait to meet her. I want to know what she will look like. Will she have blue eyes like me or dark eyes like her daddy? Will she have my thick, wavy hair like mine or dark and straight like his?

I never thought I’d be one of those moms who were like, “OMG, My baby just did THIS!” But let’s get real, I already do it with my dog, so why would I think my adorable tiny human will be any different? It won’t be.

I’ve already felt more level-headed since finding out I was pregnant, and in this last month, the depression cloud that has lingered from my crazy life changes has genuinely lifted. I think Miss Adelyn is the saving grace I didn’t know I needed. She has really brought a lot of things, into focus and she isn’t even here y Hopefully her journey will spark something creative in me.

Well, this just ended as cheesy as my movie theater nachos cravings have been. Readers, get ready for more cheesy, lovey-dovey mommy posts. But also get ready for some fantastic stories about, or from, my daughter because there is no doubt the apple won’t fall far from the tree. She’s a product of two avid readers and parents who will encourage her to always follow her dreams. Hopefully, they won’t lead to anywhere super dangerous.