Writer Mom Chronicles

It was a crazy Thursday!

Our closest Walmart is about 75 miles away. And as a family of six, we’re there once a week because things like apples and bananas just don’t keep. The plan was to drive up, do our shopping, and then the kids and I would drive home. Ben would stay to go to work.

Except just as we were gassing up, he called me:

He’d forgotten a critical piece of equipment and had to go home to get it.

Oh no!

I offered to make the round trip drive a second time because as tired as I knew it would make me, it would give HIM a chance to nap before the potential of flying a helicopter all night. (Night shifts, man! I could NOT do it, I can’t sleep during the day unless I’m sick.)

So kids and I gassed up and headed home.

Except when we got close to the Ranch… 75% of the kids had to poop! I let the dog out to pee (he peed on the porch), changed two diapers and got the two bigs to go to the bathroom, then changed another poopy diaper, grabbed a cheese stick and a cup of coffee for the road and MOTORED.

We were about 20 miles from Ben when…

The van started to fill with stink. So much stink.

I assumed it was New Baby. I assumed it was a blowout.

By the time I got to Ben’s hotel, everyone was feeling a little green from the stink. And he was asleep. (Good he rested but I had a Code Brown!)

I finally had the front desk ring his room. I’m sure she thought something nefarious was going on – nope but poo-splosions. We passed in the lobby – he went to the van with the rest of the kids. I got to his room only to discover:

Wrong kid!

While New Baby DID have a poop, it was a tiny poo. About this time Ben calls me from where he was with the other kids in the van. In between his gagging I learned that it was Baby Cheeseball who needed the hazmat.

And BOY was it hazardous.

She got a full shower in the hotel.
Change of clothes.
Car seat got wiped down and a towel borrowed from the hotel so she wasn’t still sitting in you-know-what.

Unfortunately, that brown adventure added an extra HOUR to our day. So I was driving home in the dark. Which I NEVER do because my driving night vision is just… well, it’s terrible. Plus cows.

Friday I spent in bed with a killer tension headache. But the equipment was delivered to Dad Dad and an adventure was had by all.

Note to self:

Don’t give kids ring pops in the car. They cause explosive poops. Better to do that at HOME.

The Writer Mom Chronicles: Hiding in Photos

Somehow, I’ve become one of those moms who really doesn’t want to be in photos with her kid. (The fact that I’m often the only one who can TAKE the photo notwithstanding!) When I was pregnant, I swore it would never happen to me and yet…

  • I see the double chin—which, let’s face it, is probably more hereditary than anything and yet it bugs me.
  • I see how WIDE I look. Me, the one who was always stick thin (with boobs) is wide.
  • I see the bottle arms. Zero shape no matter how strong they might be from carrying my child from room to room, schlepping car seats and bags of dog food.

I see the imperfections that were always there, well before this step into motherhood, and they bother me more now than ever before. The slightly ruddy nose, my habit of never really combing my hair, wearing the same “uniform” day after day of a blue promotional tee-shirt and whatever yoga pants were on hand that weren’t too tight.

And yes, before I’m reminded, I understand that my kid doesn’t see any of this. He sees his Momma, whom he loves.

And my husband is quick to say he sees the vibrant woman he married. She’s still there—and it’s easy to feel like me from inside my skin, looking out my eyes, when I’m far away from a mirror or camera.

But I still don’t like the woman I see in photos. She… surprises me. She doesn’t match up, not even close, to the mental image I’ve held of myself for so long.

Worst of all, I don’t know what I want to DO about it.

It took a full year after the c-section before I felt strong again. And yet, I know full and well that the muscles in my tummy aren’t strong—but they could be. We walk every day, at least a half a mile, usually closer to two miles, so I’m not a couch potato.

And yet…

I don’t want to live off of salads and chicken breasts. I don’t want to put makeup on every day to “look better.” The foundation and mascara take their own toll on my appearance in their own ways. I’m unwilling to wear more flattering (i.e. tighter and shapely) clothes when I’m a work-from-home entrepreneur.

So, where do I reconcile it all? Where’s the line between change and acceptance?

And most of all, do I want to be the invisible mom who isn’t in photos? What will it take to be seen? Even in photos that never leave our little family of three—what will it take for me to be happy to be in them, to see my assets and strengths instead of the huge physical changes motherhood has brought?

I have no answers. I have no plan. Only a solemn prayer:

Thank you God, for digital cameras!

The Writer Mom Chronicles: Why I’m Not Taking Maternity Leave

I don’t understand how some moms can happily take months off work after baby arrives. It’s not that I don’t understand and empathize with the new demands on the body (adjusting to less sleep and being a human pillow) as well as how much harder it is to get anything done.

But that’s just it: what do those moms DO all day, week in and week out, for months?

An acquaintance of mine – via Facebook – is expecting her first child. She’s already posted how she’s taking 4 months off from her business once her daughter arrives. I remember being jealous at that announcement… that this soon-to-be mom’s business, finances, and lifestyle afforded that. And mine, absolutely, did not.

Before C’s birth, my goal was to take a month off. But when Ben was laid off in February… that went out the window. Ben is working, but it’s not what the old job was paying.

And let’s be real: money matters. For little things like groceries and propane and the mortgage and dog food.

I made my peace with a much shorter maternity leave.

Then something unexpected happened…

C was born on a Friday. We were home on Sunday. Tuesday rolled around and my weekly newsletter needed to go out. I had a guest article already in my inbox, I just needed to edit it, post it, and prep the newsletter. Ben took C for a drive and I scooted into my office to focus. An hour later, I was finishing up: C breastfeeding and racing a lightning storm so I could shut down the computer. When I pushed “send” I realized…

I’d missed this.

It had only been 5 days and… I was done. I was so over the non-working “maternity’ leave.

Keep Reading!

,

Discovering Normal

In the last weeks of my pregnancy, I wanted one thing: to find my new normal. It wasn’t about holding my son in my arms and finally seeing if he got my husband’s nose or my own… I couldn’t wait for life to be shaken into the new rhythms and patterns of a family of three, five if you count the dogs.

I’m a work from home entrepreneur – with a business I love. I’m not naïve. I knew that work – that life – would look very different. But I was hungry for the new patterns of work and naps and feedings. I’ve never had a corporate job so I wasn’t missing maternity leave. And the business just isn’t something I could put down, or even automate, and step back into weeks or months later. But I’ve worked from home for years – through all manner of chaos and upheaval – and I know two things are true:

  1. You’ve got to do whatever it takes to get the job done – nights, early mornings, working from uncomfortable situations like the laptop in a hot closet.
  2. No amount of chaos lasts forever.

And even in the throws of chaos, a rhythm or pattern will emerge.

Bringing forth my son would be no different. A new normal would be created. I also understood that this normal would be flexible and changeable as he grew from newborn into infant into toddler and as I grew as a wife, mom, and business woman.

I had no illusions of being super mom. My husband cooks most nights (happily and to amazing results), laundry is normally clean but rarely folded, and dishes are done when I run out of tea spoons. I figured Ben would step up for housework (he has) and that we’d all find an acceptable level of house-work-related-chaos together.

In the last weeks of the pregnancy, NORMAL was all I could talk about. Think about.

I’m sure it alarmed some people that I was more interested in the new routine than I was in the baby himself. That wasn’t at all the truth – but I can see how it seemed that way!

(And hotdogs. I spent a lot of time talking about the hotdogs I’d eat after the birth, when deli meats and the worry of a sausage-induced infection were no longer a concern!)

Keep Reading!

The Writer Mom Chronicles: Week 1

I’m one week in as a new mom… And I’m understanding why so many moms turn into mommy bloggers – at least for a while. It’s because everything is just so new. Throw in hormones and interrupted sleep and we turn to writing as a way to process it all.

Moms, I get it.

But I’m realizing that no matter what, I’m a writer first and a mom second.

Sound terrible?

Well I’ve been a writer for nearly 30 years. I’ve been a mom for seven days. You do the math.

I will say this… a lot of those mommy blogs I read in the weeks leading up to the birth, hoping to get the insight that would ease the transition from Kim-Alone to Kim-the-Mom, well, they left a lot to be desired.

So for all you soon-to-be-mom’s out there, here’s the REAL lowdown from a Writer Mom.

Three things I wish I’d had before baby

1. Someone to hang out with

The last few weeks of pregnancy are miserable. You’re in a holding pattern and it’s nearly impossible to make plans. Because you don’t know when labor will start! You’re physically uncomfortable and mentally… well my brain was leaping around like a pea in a pot. But my body couldn’t DO any of the things my brain wanted!

Ditch the advice that says to binge-watch Netflix or read a good book. Or even to nap. NONE of that gets you out of your head. It dones’t help with the millions of thoguths (fears and excitement) that are spinning in your brain.

All I wanted was a girlfriend to come over and sit with me. (I didn’t want to go shopping – too much walking!) I wanted to just TALK and be Kim. Perhaps that would have been about the baby – but that that point I was baby-talked out. I wanted to dream about my business and hotdogs and what I’d do for me once the kiddo was here.

2. Pedicure and haircut

Make time for this. Spend the money.

You can still SEE your toes, even if you can’t reach them. And after the baby comes… well it’s been a week and I STILL can’t reach my toes because the c-section is too painful for me to bend that way. I did get a pedicure in the week before the birth – and that was perfect. I wish I’d had them cut my nails a bit shorter though. Those things grow fast and then they hurt. (TMI? Wait until you’re in labor and everybody and their cousin in in your lady bits… TMI goes right out the window. A little toenail talk will be welcome!)

And a haircut. Not a STYLE, per se, but a cut. My hair is well past my shoulders but hasn’t been trimmed in who remembers how long. Here’s the thing… it’s always in the way. And I can’t pull it back because then the ponytail interferes with how my head rests on various chairs.

Keep Reading!