In case you missed me…

Posted on by Steph

First off, I want to mention that this has nothing to do with cancer and I’m NOT dying (at least, not that I know of, and not any more or less than anyone else is). I’m fully aware that there are people out there whose hearts may stop when they see a new post here, after not hearing from me for 2+ years.

But I wanted to pop in because at one time, I had a lot of faithful followers over here who enjoyed reading what I had to say. Yesterday, I launched my newest writing venture over on Substack, and I’d love if you subscribed and joined me over there (and by “over there” I mean in your inbox, assuming that you subscribe). You can read more about it here.

I hope/think you’ll find it worth your while, and if you don’t, feel free to delete it (but don’t tell me you did that, because I’m a human with feelings).

*Note: There doesn’t appear to be any way to disable new blog post notifications for email subscribers, who would have already received my news of the newsletter because I imported that list. So if you’ve already subscribed, I apologize for spamming you again. Forgive me!

Hope everyone in the blogosphere (is that still a term?) is well, and I hope I get to talk to you soon…

Steph

A new beginning. Again.

Posted on by Steph

Wowzas, it’s been a long time since you’ve heard from me. My sincerest apologies. I just took a look at my stats and it appears people are still showing up here every day. Have you been waiting for me? Here I am!

Another reason I know people are still stopping by is that I get frequent emails (which I may or may not refer to as fan mail), mostly from young women who have just been diagnosed with breast cancer and want to know all the details of how I ended up having a baby. How cool that I get to be a beacon of hope for someone who is having trouble seeing any sliver of a silver lining.

And on that note, I have a very important update which I have been meaning to share with some of the people who I care about the most – you! My faithful readers, most of whom I do not even know.

If you think it was pretty exciting when I got pregnant the first time, well, break out the champagne and party hats because another little miracle baby is on his way, coming this June.

I’ve had people ask me if this was planned/if we expected it. Which means a lot of people forget that I had cancer and am not allowed to get pregnant without a lot of careful planning. But I don’t mind. I don’t need you to remember about my cancer all the time. You have many other things to remember. Sometimes, I forget too. Which is really terrific. But for the most part, I’m stuck with reminders everywhere, and that’s just the way the cookie crumbles. (P.S. Remember when I had cancer and everyone was sending me treats all the time, like cookies? Oh boy, that was nice. People don’t send you treats when you’re healthy. But overall it’s a very good tradeoff, and I do have other means of procuring cookies if need be.)

I’m really excited for this little boy who is kicking me from the inside right now. (My other boy has hit a fun phase of kicking me too, so I am doubly blessed.) What will he look like? Act like? Will he be like his big bro, or a completely different specimen? Will he sleep for more than 20 minutes at a time? A mom can dream.

I’m also nervous. And scared. I wrote a bit about that here. Things will likely be tough again for awhile. But hopefully a bit more manageable than the last go round.

I also get scared because having kids has really raised the stakes in terms of the importance of my being alive. I was always scared about possibly dying too early, same as anyone who’s had a cancer diagnosis before their life has really kicked into gear. But I could somewhat cope with it. Now I cannot let my brain go to that place. With two little kiddies who need me… it’s just an entirely unbearable thought. Sometimes my brain can’t help it, and those intrusive thoughts come in. I imagine my kids not remembering me, or being raised by someone else. Me not seeing them grow up. I can’t imagine anything worse.

Ugh cancer. You’re such a bummer.

But those thoughts are few and far between. I’m too busy making a human and chasing after a little human who tires me out way too much to have any deep thoughts beyond what I’m going to eat next and when will the next episode of The Bachelor air. My family keeps me grounded. And distracted. And for that, I am grateful.

Sometimes I think of my life like that Gwyneth Paltrow movie Sliding Doors, where there are two versions. In one version, things went the opposite way as they have gone, and it’s a pretty sad ending. I couldn’t have babies. The cancer came back. Game over. But in the other version, I turned out okay and continued on the path I was supposed to be on. A second chance, that I really did nothing to deserve.

By some stroke of luck, the second version ended up being the true story in my movie. I don’t know why and I don’t know what it all means, or if it means anything at all. And it’s probably not the real, final ending. I assume this is some kind of ongoing series, like a trilogy, or maybe an anthology. Who knows what the future installments will look like. I could choose to obsess over them, but we all know that would be a very poor use of my time. And if I’ve learned anything, it’s that you don’t want to waste whatever time you do have worrying about the things you have zero control over. Easier said than done, of course. But that’s where the reality TV and cookies come in. Thank goodness for life’s small pleasures.

And one day we will die
And our ashes will fly from the aeroplane over the sea
But for now we are young
Let us lay in the sun 
And count every beautiful thing we can see

My Job Ad

Posted on by Steph

pexels-photo-533444As I make my way through hundreds of job postings a day during my job hunt, I’ve been thinking about my current role, which I’d describe as an accidental stay at home mom. I didn’t plan to stay home past a year but finding a good job that’s worth leaving my little guy for isn’t an easy task, so in the interim, here I am.

I feel really fortunate to be at home with my amazing son, and I thank my lucky stars for him every day. But holy guacamole, this is by FAR the most exhausting, demanding job I’ve ever had. Babies are one thing, but toddlers are a whole different ballgame.

I’ve been thinking about how my role as a mom would look when laid out as a job description and what I came up with made me once again realize how totally bananas it is to be a parent, especially one who does it around the clock. So without further delay, here is my job ad. And if anyone is looking to take over my role and let me nap for the next month, feel free to get in touch.

Hello! Are you a natural self-starter who loves a challenge? Then boy oh boy, do we have the job for you!

Here’s a breakdown of some of the things you’ll be doing:

Reading the same book about cars and trucks up to 25 times per day

Playing with cars and trucks for multiple hours a day

Listening and remaining calm as your toddler throws fits of rage while ignoring your desire to scream even louder than he is

Extensive dishwashing

Frequent trips to the grocery store and return trips upon realizing you forgot everything you needed

Preparing meals every 2-3 hours, half of which will not be eaten or thrown on the floor

Singing ‘Wheels on the Bus’ and ‘If You’re Happy and You Know It’ up to 2,000 times per day

Changing 4-8 diapers a day with varying contents

Driving and walking in inclement weather to various activities filled with other toddlers, most of whom are sick  and want to lick your child

Getting poked, scratched, and bitten

Other miscellaneous duties such as: bathing, dressing, nail clipping, doctor’s appointments, music classes, counting, teaching the alphabet, dancing, hugging, chasing, crawling, wiping tears, wiping snot, administering medicine, etc.

Qualifications:

Heavy lifting throughout the day up to 30 lbs (or more if you choose to lift tiny human and stroller and diaper bag simultaneously) and constant bending and crouching in uncomfortable positions

Must be comfortable working with horrific smells and toxic waste

Ability to survive and thrive on minimal hours of sleep

Ability to accept your house looks like a bomb went off and will for the next 18 years

Ability to adapt to constant change in a high-stress environment with no guidance or feedback, except from random strangers on the internet, most of whom are just as clueless as you are

Comfortable having your entire existence controlled by a tiny person who doesn’t know how to wipe their own butt

No experience required. We like to just throw you right in the deep end and cross our fingers you don’t drown!

What do we offer?

One break between 30-90 minutes per day (note: 90 minutes is rare and zero minutes is always a possibility). You can use these breaks to quickly make and eat a sandwich, go to the bathroom in private, or research how to make your child nap for longer than 40 minutes

Ability to wear mismatched clothing, sweatpants, or pajamas all day. We encourage you to change your outfit daily but this is not a requirement

Unparalleled moments of happiness and joy that will take your breath away

Meaningful purpose and unconditional love

Unfortunately we cannot offer any vacation time, personal days, or sick days.

***Please note that the hours for this position are unpredictable and vary widely. Between 13-24 hours a day is expected. Average start is 5AM. Weekend work is mandatory.

Salary: This is a volunteer position and you will not be paid. Sorry, sucker!

5 things not to say to new moms

Posted on by Steph

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People love to offer tidbits of wisdom when you’re a first time mom. For the most part, these folks mean well and think they’re helping. But there are a few phrases that almost never help and in fact, they can be quite harmful – especially to those of us dealing with postpartum depression. At first I was thinking of a “What Not to Say to a Mom with PPD” list, but then I realized that A) some of these sayings may cause stress and anxiety to any new mom, regardless of her mental health status, and B) you may not even know that the mom you’re speaking to has PPD in the first place since a lot of women don’t speak about it. So in conclusion, I’d say you’re safe to follow these tips with all new moms you might know. Better safe than sorry when it comes to rubbing a hormonal, sleep-deprived, overwhelmed young mother the wrong way.

And so, without further ado, here are my Five Things You Shouldn’t Say to a New Mom.

1. Enjoy every second.

A lot of people tack this sentiment onto their good wishes. “Congrats on your new addition. Enjoy every second!” Seems harmless, right? NOPE!

First off, if there’s a mom out there who enjoys every single second of being a new parent, I’d like to meet her. And then I’d like to hook her up to a lie detector and watch as the machine goes bananas, because SUCH A PERSON DOES NOT EXIST. Even if you’re having a generally swell time with your newborn, at some point, you’re not going to enjoy it. You’ll get barf in your hair and poop on your face. These things aren’t enjoyable.

For moms with postpartum depression, being told you should enjoy every second is like a knife through the heart. It hurts. You already feel miserable, and guilty that you feel so miserable. You don’t need everyone telling you you should be doing a happy dance every time your little one screams for you at 3AM. Which leads me to the next thing I often hear that gets under my skin…

2. They’re only little for so long. Enjoy the extra snuggles!

Whenever a mom cries out that she’s exhausted because her baby only wants to sleep on her and she can’t get any rest that way, well-meaning people love to jump in and tell her how precious this time is and to soak it all up because one day her kid will be an ungrateful teenager and she’ll long for those early days. GAH. Not helpful! If a mom is looking for advice on how to improve her situation, and you just tell her to enjoy it instead, you’re completely ignoring her request and plea for help. She knows that this chapter in her kid’s life won’t last forever and that baby snuggles are wonderful, in theory. But she wants some goddamn sleep.

Offer to hold her baby while she rests, or lend her your magical sleep-inducing baby swing, or say/do whatever you think will help her. But don’t make her feel like she’s a bad mom for wanting a moment here or there where she can roll onto her stomach. Or go to the bathroom. Or do absolutely anything without a human attached to her.

3. Stop worrying so much. The baby feeds off your emotions.

Telling someone with anxiety not to be anxious is of zero help. Can you tell someone with cancer not to have cancer, and then it just instantly disappears? If that were the case, my life would have been a hell of a lot easier. Postpartum depression and anxiety is a mental illness. You can’t just tell someone not to have it, or not to feel a certain way. It’s not that simple. Not only that, but telling a mom that her emotions are going to negatively affect her child is a bad idea. You mean on top of worrying about my sanity, I now have to worry about messing up my kid as well? Thanks for putting a cherry on top of my guilt-filled sundae.

4. Sleep when the baby sleeps.

If you’re a mom, you’ve definitely heard this one before. And sure, it makes sense. When your baby sleeps, you drop everything and sleep, because otherwise you’ll never sleep. Easy peasy. EXCEPT IT’S NOT. Because when your baby sleeps, there are a million trillion zillion things to do that you can’t do when you’re tending to your baby. This is often when the rest of life happens, like ordering useless shit on Amazon that you’ve decided you need, answering an email, going to the bathroom, making a sandwich, cleaning the dozens of baby bottles in your sink, and washing all the barf and poop out of the sheets. Not only that, but not everyone is able to just fall asleep at the drop of a hat, the instant the baby is asleep. I’m not. And being told I needed to sleep constantly, by everyone, only made my anxiety that much worse — which in turn, made it impossible for me to sleep. Moms know that they need to sleep at some point in order to stay alive. You don’t need to tell them this.

5. You’ll know exactly what your baby needs. You’re their mama!

New moms are often told that they’ll know what their baby wants because they have a sixth sense built in that gives them an innate understanding of their child’s needs. I remember hearing/reading things like, “Your baby might be crying because he’s hungry, or tired, or sick. You know your baby best. Trust your gut!”

So you’re telling me I’ve known this thing for 24 hours, and I’m supposed to be able to tell the difference between a “I want more milk” cry versus a “I’m sick please take me to the nearest hospital” cry? THIS MAKES NO SENSE. And assumes that a mother is instantly bonded to her baby, which puts a lot of pressure on new moms who are raging with hormones and might not be feeling all that connected just yet.

My son is 14 months old, and I still often don’t know what he wants/needs/feels. Telling a mom that her spidey sense will kick in and she’ll instantly know all the answers is a load of poo-poo (yes, I only speak in baby terms now).

And there you have it! Five things not to say to the new mothers in your life. So what should you say? Try:

Congratulations!
That’s the cutest baby I’ve ever seen! (note: it’s okay to lie for this one.)
Being a mom is hard. You’re doing a great job.
Hang in there. It gets easier.
I’m here if you want to talk.
I’d love to come for a quick visit. Let me know when you’re ready.
Can I pick up some groceries for you?
I’m happy to wash all those dishes sitting in your sink.

And if all else fails, cook her a meal, or bake her a treat, and leave it at the door because chances are she has no time to fend for herself when she’s so busy enjoying every minute and sleeping when her baby sleeps.

To my baby, on your first birthday

Posted on by Steph

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My darling baby boy,

Today you are one year old. A whole year since that exhausting, frantic, world-changing day when you entered our lives. Today you are a man. Oh no, wait. That’s what you say when it’s your Bar Mitzvah. We still have twelve years until that whole deal. For now, you are still a baby. Officially a toddler. Just saying that word, “toddler,” makes my heart hurt a bit. Weren’t you just this wee little thing curled up on my chest five seconds ago? Please stop growing so fast. I’m not ready.

How amazing it has been to watch you change every day, learning and exploring and discovering. So much development packed into one year. You’re crawling now and so curious about the world around you. I love watching your little brain work as you try to figure out how to shut your bedroom door (a glimpse into what is to come, I’m sure), or how to take an object from one spot and hide it somewhere else (usually in a pair of shoes). You have turned the mundane into the extraordinary. I could sit and watch you all day. For the most part, that is exactly what I do.

The beginning of our time together wasn’t easy. Let’s face it, we were both miserable. You cried all the time. I cried all the time. You didn’t sleep. I didn’t sleep. We threw ourselves a pity party and it felt like the party would never end.

But then it did end.

A cloud lifted and we both decided, hey, this is kinda great. You saved your first smile just for me when you knew I so desperately needed it. And then you laughed, and that was pretty much the end of me. You know that feeling where you’re somehow sad and overwhelmingly happy at the same time? When you feel so much emotion that you can’t even describe it? That’s how I feel when you giggle. Your infectious howl shoots straight through me. How did I create this magical little being? Sometimes I swear I must be dreaming. To be this lucky. There’s a really corny saying: After every storm comes a rainbow. Or something like that. You are the most spectacular rainbow after a really nasty storm. Not a day goes by where I don’t appreciate your many vibrant colours.

As I was going through another round of “what do I want to do with my life” recently, I asked myself, if I found out that I didn’t have a long time to live, how would I spend the time I had left? And the answer was so clear: I would spend it with you. I’m already living my dream life. You are it, baby boy.

I dreamt about you for so long, even when I was worried the dream might not come true. And now that you’re here, you are so much more than I ever could have imagined. I won’t say I didn’t know what happiness was before you came into my life, because that’s kind of a silly thing to say. But I will tell you that I’ve never known this particular kind of happiness. I’ve never felt a more pure sense of joy than when you look at me. Like I am your whole world. Guess what? You are my whole world. You are everything.

What is it that I love about you? I could go on forever, and the list would be much too long. I love your wild head of hair that makes strangers come up to us wherever we go. I love how you scream with glee and crawl to the door when your daddy comes home from work each day. I love that you’re sensitive and gentle with others, without me having to teach you to be that way. I love all the silly sounds you make; they are the sweetest sounds I have ever heard. I love your toes and your fingers, and watching those fingers wrap themselves around mine. I love your kisses, when you finally give in and plant one on me. I love how you make even grumpy people in the grocery store smile and laugh. You’re already making this world a better place and you’re only a wee baby. I think that’s pretty special. You are pretty special.

Sometimes my mind wanders way into the future, and I imagine all of your firsts. First day of school. First sleepover. First best friend. First crush. First love. First heartbreak. So much of life ahead of you. But none of that right now. For now, for a little bit longer, you are still my baby.

Actually, scrap that.

You will always be my baby.

Happy birthday, baby. How wonderful life is while you’re in the world.

Five Years

Posted on by Steph

September 11th, here we are again. A date that is impossible to overlook on our calendars. That date became etched in our brains back in 2001, and became extra awful (as if it needed to become so) for me in 2012, when I was diagnosed with breast cancer a month after my 28th birthday.

So here we are again, another cancerversary, another trip around the sun. This one is a biggie, too: five years. When cancer stats talk about rates of long-term survival, they typically are talking about people who live beyond five years. It’s thought that after that point, your risk of biting the big one continues to drop and you can rest a little easier. Obviously there are all sorts of problems with measuring survival like this, as breast cancer can and does recur many years down the road. So it’s not really a clear indicator of triumph. But it’s the closest thing we’ve got, so for now, I’ll take it. Five years, I’m still here. Has a nice ring to it.

I wish I could say I’ve put it all behind me and never think about the big C anymore, but that would be a lie, and no one likes a liar.

I still have the occasional scare, one of which occurred early in my pregnancy that completely derailed me. The stakes have become infinitely higher now that I have my little baby to think about. Before there were all sorts of things that sucked about the possibility of death. Big time. But now that I’m a mom, I can’t even allow my brain to go there. It’s too much. So when something scary pops up, and my mind is forced to go there… it ain’t pretty. And I hate that I still have to live with these terrifying possibilities. I know so many young women who have died of breast cancer, I’ve lost count. Many of them gone in the past year. What makes me luckier than them? Why should my ending be any different? These questions burn inside of me, no matter how hard I might try to put out the fire. But fortunately, I have the most amazing little distraction to keep me occupied and prevent me from obsessing over my worst fears all day long.

And speaking of that distraction, he pretty much takes up all of my minutes and hours of the day, as babies tend to do. So I don’t have much time to flesh out deep thoughts about what this day means to me. I’m too busy feeding and changing diapers and participating in tickle fights and fits of laughter. And really, when it comes down to it, that’s what this day means. It means everything. Because I have him.

Five years, I’m still here.

A(nother) bump in the road

Posted on by Steph

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Before the birth of my son, I knew that having a child would be hard. I understood that I’d have some sleepless nights and that I’d be wiping up poop and barf. I understood that my days of meeting up with friends for brunch, or going out for 9PM dinners with my husband would be over for awhile. Although I was nervous for the huge life change, none of it scared me. I’d always had a knack with babies and children and loved being around them, and nothing excited me more than having my very own. I was ready, and I felt prepared. I knew what to expect.

And then I was punched in the stomach with an awful mental illness called postpartum depression and postpartum anxiety. And nothing and no one could have prepared me for that.

The research says that around 1 in 9 mothers will experience postpartum depression. But a lot of women don’t recognize it when it’s happening. Many will shrug it off as the “baby blues” a term used to describe the common emotional state most new moms find themselves in for the first several days after giving birth, due to hormonal changes and whatnot. But what happens when the baby blues don’t go away “after 10 days” like Google says it should? What happens when every day feels increasingly worse and you feel as though you are being swallowed whole by this new thing in your life called motherhood? What then?

In my case, I knew something was wrong fairly early on. I’d had anxiety all my life, but never like this. From night one in the hospital, I couldn’t sleep. And I don’t mean I was having interrupted sleep when the baby woke, or only getting a quick nap in here and there. I was not sleeping. At all. Do you know what happens when you stop sleeping completely? You lose your freakin mind. I couldn’t concentrate, my brain frantically racing every minute of every day. Is my baby warm enough? Is he too cold? Is he comfortable sleeping like that? Why isn’t he moving? Why is he moving so much? What’s that sound he’s making? Are his airways clear? How much milk should I be giving him? Is he eating enough? Pooping enough? Sleeping enough? I was overcome with panic and dread.

As the days went on, I continued to sink further into a hole of misery. I felt completely detached from my reality, unable to feel joy, unable to smile, unable to fake it. Everyone was so excited about the baby, wanting to see photos of him constantly, wanting to know what he was doing. It was such a happy time, for everyone around me. And I knew how lucky I was to have this beautiful little healthy baby. I knew that I loved him and cared about him more than anything in the world. So then why couldn’t I stop crying?

I began to feel and act like a zombie, going through the motions, doing the laundry, washing the bottles, getting the groceries, doing what I needed to survive. I was on autopilot. I stopped eating except to satisfy my basic needs for survival. “Wow, you look so great, you can’t even tell you were pregnant two weeks ago.” “Ha, yah, thanks,” I’d reply, not divulging that my secret to post-pregnancy weight loss was a combo of starvation and depression.

My baby, although cute as heck, was not an easy newborn. He fought sleep like it was the enemy, cried a ton, and would scream in pain while feeding due to reflux. I’d bounce him up and down trying to soothe him to sleep while he wailed for an hour, him sobbing, me sobbing, both of us miserable and angry at the world. We were quite the pair.

As the weeks went on, I felt incapable of taking care of my baby. I dreaded having to change his diaper. I didn’t want to take him out. I watched him like a hawk all night long, monitoring every movement and sound, my heart racing out of my chest at the slightest squirm or sigh. One night I heard my husband changing the baby’s diaper, while he screamed hysterically. I wanted to go to him and see what was wrong. I wanted to comfort him. Instead I sat on my bed in the dark, paralyzed, unable to move.

“Are you loving being a mommy?” people would ask. “Remember to enjoy every minute,” they’d say. “It goes by so fast.”

I sent an email to my doctor to tell her how I was feeling and to see if she was concerned. She was. She called me and I broke into tears, telling her how awful the past month had been. She asked me the questions that doctors ask when they screen for PPD/PPA and I passed the test with flying colours. I knew I had it, but hearing it validated by a doctor felt good. To know that this was an actual disease, I wasn’t just making it all up, and that I could get better.

She immediately referred me to see a psychiatrist in the postpartum program. She also prescribed me pills to help me sleep and told me that getting rest, even a little bit, would be critical to my recovery. My parents generously ordered a night nurse to come to our house to watch the baby at night, giving me and my husband the beautiful gift of sleep. As ordered by my doctor, I handed the nurse my baby, closed my door, put in earplugs and took a pill. I cried, feeling like a complete failure. And then, lights out. I slept.

As I began to repay my sleep debt, things slowly started getting better. But it was an uphill battle. I started seeing a psychiatrist regularly who prescribed me medication and monitored my mood. My parents came over for shifts during the day to help out so I could get a break. I began to have some good moments, and then some good days. My little guy saved his first smile for me, and it filled me with joy. Finally, I felt some happiness.

The change did not happen overnight. It was a slow process. I still had multiple meltdowns and full on panic attacks and needed to take drugs to force myself to sleep. This went on for a few months. And then things really got better. I started to feel like I was getting a grip on the motherhood thing and like I was actually really good at it. The things that used to send me into a frantic spiral no longer phased me. The tears stopped completely and I woke up happy to spend the day with my little guy. The dark cloud had been lifted and I felt like myself again. Myself, with an extra 15 pounds constantly attached to me.

Now I can say with full sincerity that I am loving being a mother. There are still hard days/nights/moments, and I imagine there always will be. But as I’ve said to my doctor, I feel like the lows I feel now are more run-of-the-mill new mom temporary struggles as opposed to crippling mental illness. It’s completely different, and now that I’ve been through it, I know they’re not the same thing.

So that’s what happened a few short months ago. In a nutshell. I once again feared for my life, but in a completely different way than I had before. It was horrible. But with amazing support, medical help, and time, I got better. If you’re reading this and are suffering from postpartum depression or anxiety, know that it can and will get better. There is hope. You’re not alone. And you’re not a bad mother.

I know it sounds so cliche, but my baby boy brings me more joy than I ever could have imagined. I stare at him in disbelief, that something so beautiful and special and amazing could have come from me. His laughter makes me forget that anything bad could ever happen in this world. I love watching him grow and change. I love seeing how he opens his mouth in awe over every tiny new thing he discovers, like a light fixture on the ceiling, or a car driving past our house. I love him in a way that I can’t put into words. He is everything. And as I sit here, covered in barf and mushed carrots, I thank my lucky stars for everything being exactly as it is. It may not be perfect. But it’s pretty darn close.

How I Met Became Your Mother

Posted on by Steph

On November 7th, 2016, I  went for an ultrasound to check on my baby. I’d been having issues with my placenta and they were monitoring it to make sure the baby was still getting everything he needed. After the ultrasound, I spoke with the radiologist to discuss the latest results.

“Your placenta is now at Grade 3,” she said. And then she went on to tell me something about overcompensating and getting blood to the brain, but mostly what I remember is her saying:

“It would be my recommendation that you deliver your baby now.”

My heart started to race and my body tensed. What was this crazy lady talking about? My due date wasn’t for a couple more weeks, and everyone had been yammering my ear off about how everyone delivers late with their first babies. I hadn’t yet finished purging crap from my kitchen as the last part of my “throw-everything-out-before-baby-comes” operation. I hadn’t added enough new releases to my Netflix list. I was not ready.

I called my husband and was frantic on the phone. “Some woman I don’t know just told me I should have the baby now, you should probably come meet me in case that happens.” I was mostly half-joking because it seemed so ridiculous, but he came to meet me nonetheless as good husbands do when you tell them you might be close to birthing their child.

I went across the street to discuss the results with my family doctor, who made me feel at ease and said we shouldn’t jump to conclusions yet. My husband arrived and she told us to go across the street (there’s lots of street crossing in this story, clearly) to get a non-stress test (what a funny name for a test you have to get when you’re typically very stressed) and then she’d come by and we’d discuss options with the OB who was on call that day.

I had the test and some time passed, and then my family doc (who delivers babies and was set to deliver mine) and an OB appeared.

“We’ve looked closely at the scans and feel it would be best to get Baby out now.”

WHAT.

They explained to me that the baby could be at risk if we didn’t act sooner than later and then went on to talk about some options for inducing labour and what did I think and what was our decision and…

“Sorry,” I interrupted, “you mean I have to do this TODAY? Or can we at least wait a few days?”

I was told that to prevent any serious complications with Baby, we should act pretty quickly. Unfortunately this meant that my beloved doctor who had been with me through cancer and through everything, would not be able to deliver my baby since she had to leave for a conference the next morning. I was devastated, but I did not appear to have any choice in the matter. We chatted some more and I negotiated and was granted allowance to go home, gather my things, and eat dinner before checking myself into the hospital. So I went home and frantically grabbed things and cried and panicked and ate a big bowl of pasta.

Around 10:00 PM, we got back in the car, picked up my sister, and drove back to the hospital where I checked myself in.

“Hi, I’m being induced for labour and need to be admitted because I’M HAVING A BABY!”

I expected some excitement from the woman at the registration desk, since that’s what happens in the movies and stuff, but she simply made me wait a bit, fill out some forms, and sent me on my merry way.

We made our way up to the labour and delivery floor and were brought to one of the delivery rooms to settle in. I met the resident on-call and OB and was given medication in a not-very-comfortable fashion and had some VERY uncomfortable internal exams that made me scream so loud you probably heard me from wherever you were at the time.

My sister went home to sleep and my husband pulled up the recliner next to my bed so we could get some rest. Unfortunately, it is very hard to rest when your wife is screaming bloody murder the entire night, which is essentially what happened.

The contractions came on very quickly and were only a few minutes apart. The pain was horrendous, but I was unable to get an epidural since my water hadn’t broken, and things needed to progress to a certain stage before an epidural would be on the table. So instead, I just attempted to take deep breaths, and every 3-5 minutes would wail uncontrollably, then try to sleep for about 1-2 minutes, then repeat. At some point I was given morphine, which didn’t really do much except make me feel nauseous.

I stared at the clock and watched the minutes pass, shocked that somehow the entire night had come and gone while I lay there moaning, half-conscious. Suddenly the sun was rising, and new doctors and nurses arrived for the next shift, eager to examine me and make me scream that much louder.

After plenty of confusion and debate between some of the staff, I was finally offered an epidural, to which I replied, YES PLEASE SHOVE THAT NEEDLE IN MY SPINE BEFORE I KILL ALL OF YOU. An angel soon appeared with a very large needle and shot me full of some magical potion that began to numb my lower half. However, the right side of my body decided to be stubborn and continued to allow me to feel the contractions. So I was offered something else that I now can’t remember, to which I’m sure I definitely replied, YES PLEASE. Eventually I couldn’t feel my legs, but still had one spot where I could feel the contractions, and would continue to do so until the very end.

More time passed and the pain continued, but I was so exhausted that all I could think about was sleeping. This proved difficult when the nausea suddenly got the better of me and I began to dry heave, several times. At this point, my mom had arrived, which was very lucky since she’s the person I most enjoy having take care of me while barfing into a bedpan.

More hands being shoved in uncomfortable places, more tears, and very little dilation. So far I was not such a fan of the whole labour thing.

I had been closely listening to the monitor playing the sweet sound of my baby’s heartbeat and noticed it slow down significantly. I started to panic and my sister rang for the nurse who paged the doctor. I was told the baby was still okay and they’d continue to monitor.

Some more time passed and almost no progress had been made. The baby’s heart rate continued to fluctuate. The doctor was starting to get concerned and wanted to give me a different medication that would speed things up i.e. cause even more ungodly pain. Even though I could barely process what was happening, something about this didn’t feel right to me and I asked if we could just wait a bit longer and give nature one last chance to do its thing. The doctor agreed and said she’d return shortly and we could talk about my options at that point. It was now past noon on November the 8th, about 13 hours since the contractions had begun.

Soon after, the doctor returned and poked around some more.

“Stephanie, it looks like you’re fully dilated, so I think it’s time to start pushing and get Baby out.”

We were all stunned, after having been told just an hour earlier that I was still far from the pushing stage. The reality of what was about to happen hit me like a ton of bricks. I had to push a HUMAN out from inside my body. NO THANK YOU.

A bunch of medical staff gathered around me and started preparing their stations. I started to cry.

“I don’t want to do this! Can I just go home? Having babies is stupid, why would anyone ever do this, waaaaaahhhh blerrghhhhh!!!!”

“Ok Stephanie, when you feel your next contraction come, I want you to push.”

“I DON’T KNOW HOW TO PUSH, HOW DO YOU HAVE A BABY, HOW DOES THIS WORK, GET ME OUT OF HERE PLEEEEEEASE GAAAAAAHHHHHH!!!”

My husband sat in a chair next to my head, so as not to faint, and my sister stood next to me, cheering me on. And then, I pushed.

“I don’t think it’s working, I don’t know what I’m doing!”

“Good job! He’s coming! We see a full head of hair, wow! Do you want to feel with your hand?”

“NO I DON’T WANT TO FEEL WITH MY HAND, AHHH OWWWWW AHHHHHHHHH BLEERRGHHHH!!!”

“Keep pushing, you can do this, rah-rah, sis-boom-bah!”

“AHHH THIS IS SO CRAZY, WHAT IS HAPPENING, WHAAAAAAAA!!!!”

“Almost there, just one more big push!”

One more big push. And suddenly I noticed the cries I heard were no longer my own, but those of a precious little boy who had just been thrust into the world.

My baby boy.

He was placed on top of my chest, against my skin, against my scars, against my heart. I held him close and I cried. Everything, good and bad, all of it, had led me to this moment.

I looked at my husband and sister, who were overcome with emotion as well, all of us frozen in a sort of shocked state at what had just transpired and at this tiny guy that was now in our lives.

My sister cut the cord, and he was weighed and measured and given back to us to hold and cuddle. We marvelled at his full head of dark hair. My family arrived and everyone took turns holding Baby E and swooning over him, our perfect little miracle.

I have never felt anything like that feeling of holding my baby in my arms for the first time. I could feel the change inside of me almost instantly, my heart feeling as though it may explode into a million pieces. I didn’t yet know what lay ahead of me. All I knew was this tiny, sweet babe had shifted my identity, my very core, from the moment he took his first breath.

At long last, I was a mother.

The Mommy Files

Posted on by Steph

It has taken me far too long to write this post. This is mainly due to the fact that back in November, I had a baby, and apparently newborns take up every minute and every hour of your life. I mean, EVERY. MINUTE. I have sat down to write so many times, and then a poo emergency strikes, or a cry is heard, or I realize I haven’t gone to the bathroom in 12 hours, and I quickly forget about any prior ambitions I had.

Besides the overwhelming, drastic life change that is motherhood, I have also put off writing anything because my will and energy hasn’t been there. Not too long after I gave birth to the most special little guy in the universe, I was diagnosed with postpartum depression and anxiety. Things got bad. Reeeeal bad. My goal every day was to just make it through and get to the next day, and pretty much everything else, including writing, fell to the wayside. But I believe that writing and sharing helped me through another very challenging time in my life (as you may recall), so I’ve been meaning to get to it.

There are so many things I want to say about the last (almost) three months, and so many thoughts I have on parenting/babies/postpartum, that I don’t think I can cover it all in one post. It will probably take much more than one post, so feel free to stick with me if you’re interested in reading about this stuff. One thing I have learned through all this is that there are many new moms who have experienced or are experiencing what I’m going through. Although everyone’s story is unique, many of us share a lot of the same challenges. And yet so few are openly talking about it. I have my theories on why this might be, but I’ll get to that later. It feels similar to my cancer experience, in a weird way, where it felt like I was going through this huge thing that many people just didn’t talk about openly and honestly. And I get it. It’s hard to open up about our personal struggles. It leaves us vulnerable, and exposed.

With cancer, there was so much pressure to be positive and sunshine-y, and with motherhood, there is a lot of pressure to be the very best mom and be happy and perfect and proclaim that every moment is just full of joy and rainbows and wonderful, cute baby things. Welp, I am once again here to burst your bubble and drop some truth bombs all over the internet, if you care to join me. Because, guess what? Motherhood is VERY HARD. And being a new mom while you’re also, unfortunately, dealing with mental health issues is super hard. It’s one of the hardest things I’ve ever done, and I’ve literally had cancer.

So where to even start, with so much to say? I suppose, as is often the case, the best place to start is at the beginning. My birth story. The day my life, once again, changed forever. But you’ll have to hang tight, because my baby is about to wake from his semi-peaceful slumber and duty calls. Stay tuned…

mommyfiles

 

Updates from the womb

Posted on by Steph

Well folks, we have officially entered the third trimester and I have clearly failed at mommy blogging considering I haven’t blogged at all. Oops. I thought it was time for an update, as I seem to be getting a lot of questions from a lot of interested parties.

After announcing I was pregnant, I was blown away by all the comments and messages from people I don’t even know, those of you who have been following me for years and seem almost to have been waiting for something exciting to happen. I forget sometimes that so many people feel connected to me through my writing, and feel like they know me in a very personal way. It’s bizarre, but also pretty great. Is this how it feels to be Beyonce? I imagine it must be. It’s quite lovely, to feel so much love coming towards this unborn little being. I know that he can feel it, because I can feel it, and we seem to be pretty connected these days due to the wonders of biology and what have you.

For those who are interested in the beginning of the baby journey, I wrote a piece for ELLE Canada last month which you can read here. I think that fills in a lot of the blanks. That also reminds me that I took a photo the night I stopped taking my cancer pills. Let me go look for that…

Oh, here it is!

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That was back in September. Sayonara pills, and hello prenatal vitamins! And here is another pic that I took several months later, after winter had come and gone.

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I took multiple tests and as each one turned up positive, I still didn’t believe it. I continued to keep testing every day, like a crazy person, and watched as the test lines began to darken.

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It took me a long time to really believe I was pregnant. It just seemed too good to be true. It still kind of does, but I’ve come to accept that it’s really happening. Or else I’ve just gotten very fat and am possessed by some sort of alien making waves in my stomach, which I suppose is slightly possible, but not too likely. Nope, this baby definitely is coming and I have the hip pain and indigestion to prove it.

So to answer some questions for those who like answers…

I am currently 28 weeks preggers, or in my 29th week. In some ways, it feels like it has gone fast, and in others, I can barely remember what it was like not to have this little guy in my belly. The due date is November 20th. Whether he presents himself early or late is TBD. Sometimes I feel as though he is already trying to escape and then I tell him firmly, YOU MUST STAY IN THERE LITTLE BABY WE ARE NOT READY FOR YOU and he seems to be a decent listener. So November 20 is the target. Feel free to buy him all his presents before then. (Just kidding, all we want is love and good wishes.) (PSYCH, as if, obviously I want presents, do you not know me at all by now?)

Speaking of gifts, you may or may not be aware that Jewish women typically do not have baby showers, although this trend seems to be shifting a bit. But traditionally, it’s not done because of fear of drawing the attention of the evil eye and bad spirits when you celebrate something that isn’t here yet. This is a bummer because I am a big supporter of celebrating this baby, but these age-old superstitions get stuck in your head and ruin a lot of the fun. I’ve felt on-edge most of the entire pregnancy, and having to add Jewish neuroses into the mix doesn’t make it any easier. When my non-Jewish friends talk about how they received everything for their babies at their showers, I feel a bit left out. But I don’t want to upset the Bubbies, so no shower for me… womp womp. It’s okay, there are lots of other great things about being Jewish, like bagels and lox.

Because of these superstitions, some Jewish couples also hold off on buying anything for the baby until he/she is born. No crib, no stroller, no clothes. NOTHING. For someone who needs to plan and prepare, the amount of anxiety around waiting for the birth to purchase a single thing is just too much for me. No thank you. I’ve been holding out as long as possible, but now that we’re starting to countdown the weeks until baby’s arrival, I JUST WANT ALL OF THE THINGS RIGHT NOW. People say, “Babies don’t need anything, just your love, don’t worry!” Ummm yah right. Babies need things. I need things. We both need things and are very excited to get things. I will not let superstition deprive us of the joy of material goods. We’ve already received some gifts and I’ve bought a few sleepers and books and just having these things makes me SO happy. So all that to say, I will compromise with no shower, but still setting up baby’s room before his expected date of arrival. And I feel okay about that conclusion. I assume that the evil spirits are bored with me at this point anyway.

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Need to find a matching Winnie the Pooh onesie for myself STAT.

To be honest, the financial costs that come with having a baby have been a big source of stress lately. I keep adding up all the immediate things we need to get and the ongoing things we will need to buy, and future dreams of buying a proper house in a city where it’s impossible to do so, and astronomical daycare fees, car payments, etc. etc., and then I end up wondering why anyone chooses to have children in the first place. It’s kind of a crazy thing to do.

But then the little guy kicks me and I can feel his tiny feet under my hand and I watch him as he wiggles around in there and I think, I would literally give up buying anything for myself ever again and give up anything else in life I ever thought I wanted just to be able to hold this little miracle in my arms and it’s all so worth it because he makes me happier than anything else in the world, and he’s not even here yet. So okay, baby, you win. I will buy you things. Just try not to give me too much ‘tude when you’re a teenager and we’ll call it even.

In terms of how I am feeling physically, which is another popular topic of discussion, I’m feeling pretty great. I’ve had some wicked bad leg cramps, which have left me screaming and crying on more than one occasion and sleeping is no longer enjoyable for me. But otherwise, can’t complain. My belly is getting quite large, and admittedly, I love it. Maybe I won’t so much in a few months when I’m trying to lose it. But for now, I’m lovin’ livin’ large. My entire life I’ve felt like I had to suck my stomach in after having a big meal, and now I get to just push it out and no one knows if it’s baby or bloat and, let me tell you, IT IS AWESOME. What a perk.

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Ice cream? Baby? Who knows!

I know the next couple months will bring increasing discomfort and I know the actual birthing of the child thing won’t be a walk in the park. But I feel strangely at ease about it all (for now, at least), albeit totally unprepared. I feel like my body has been through so much trauma that it wasn’t meant to endure, and somehow made it through. This time, it’s going through something it was made for, and that just feels a whole lot better. And at the end of it, I will get the greatest prize of all, which seems well worth any temporary pain and agony.

Oh my little baby, you have no idea how excited we are to meet you.

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