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Being Boxed. A Rebellious Nurse.

So I started writing a blog post awhile ago about all my LGBT clients who felt stifled by their families growing up, that they had to conform themselves into this box that their families and societies placed them in.

Then once again the state of our nation hi-jacked my fun and emotionally impactful statement about LGBT youth being put into figurative boxes. Because we, as a nation, literally started putting children into boxes. What the fuck.

I swear to God if #45 hi-jacks one more of my blog posts…

Because I can’t write about fluffy shit- and by the way LGBT youth being made to conform into something they aren’t isn’t exactly fluffy- when there are children suffering. The thing about it is that they are suffering needlessly.

#45 has been made the villain. But the true villains are all the assholes sitting by with their thumbs up their asses as this happens. Every member of congress who is not speaking out against this, every business, every organization that is remaining silent is complicit. Me, writing a blog post about being boxed, and literally not mentioning it, would have been just wrong. Homophobia and non-acceptance is a reality. So are children being put into cages. Actual cages.

I look at my sons. I think if I had to do something to get them to safety I would. I would literally do anything. Then if I got them to safety and someone tried to take them from me I would literally need to be killed. Because I would fight. I would fight until I was dead if someone tried to take them from me.

The idea that our nation is locking up innocent children and tearing them apart from their parents literally feels like a punch in the gut. If I actually sit and think about it and connect with those feelings it makes me feel sick. The sickest part is the number of politicians who haven’t spoken out against it.

The American Psychiatric Nursing Association released a statement saying to basically cut the shit. I was like, YES! I knew I made the right career move joining the ranks of psychiatric nurses. One of the comments said, “APNA should stick to nursing.” And I smiled and thought, if there is any one more in need of a nurse right now it is these children. Nurses are advocates, caretakers, trusted members of society. These families need nurses speaking up and saying cut the shit. Nursing is taking a hard line against wrongdoing even when it presents as being rebellious. Rebellious nurses make changes.

Rebellious nurses call out racism, homophobia, sexism, immoral and unethical decisions. Rebellious nurses have led the marches and made up the ranks and will continue to do so. Rebellious nurses don’t stay in boxes and we sure as hell don’t keep our mouths shut. We do “stick to nursing” though. Nursing is caring, compassion, advocacy, and fighting the fight.

Thank-you APNA and the ANA for making statements against this horrendous situation. I am with you.

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When My Son Sleeps With Our Wedding Picture…

Last week my son grabbed a wedding picture of my wife and I that has been sitting in a 4×6 black metal frame in our bathroom since we moved in last June. Our bathroom is obnoxiously large so yes there’s room for pictures. He was sitting on the counter while I put on make-up and he leaned back, swiped it, and has literally been walking around with it ever since. He brings it in the car to daycare. I put it in the diaper bag for the day when we get inside. He brings it home, sets it up next to him while he eats dinner at the table. He also sleeps with it every night. As we shut the door and say a quiet good night we can hear him whispering in baby talk to this picture taken on December 17th, 2011 on a bitter cold night in Connecticut during one of the best nights of my life. We both look younger, happy, and full of hope.

My wife wore a feminine black suit with a white silk shirt. I wore my dream come true princess wedding gown.

I’ve written before about kids of lesbian mom’s. There are studies showing there is no long term damage to kids of gay parents, I have friends who are kids of gay parents and gay parents of kids who have all turned out fine. But there is always a doubt in the back of my head because of our hetero-based society and homophobic administration that I am doing my son’s wrong.

But as he babbles peacefully while completely enthralled with an old photo of his two parents, Mama and Mommy, those doubts go out the window. Because instead of his soft doggies and his big blankies he chooses to fall asleep and wake up every morning cradling the images of his lesbian Mom’s. I try and put myself in his head and realize that he doesn’t think of us as “lesbian” Mama or Lesbian Mommy. We are just Mama and Mommy. He doesn’t know he’s missing anything, because he’s not. He is so loved and cherished, and that’s all he knows as he drifts off to sleep hugging a cold metal frame carrying the image of his two smiling Mommy’s.

I proudly identify as a lesbian Mama loudly, because I live in a place where I can and there are so many who live in places that can’t. But to my son, I won’t be his lesbian Mom, I’m just his Mama.

He doesn’t know that even having a wedding in 2011 was groundbreaking and new. He doesn’t know our wedding was not just a wedding but also a political statement as all gay weddings were when it first passed. He doesn’t know the location where we had the wedding had never had a gay wedding, but was completely open to it and had a couple gay waiters request to work that night, unbeknownst to us until they came and shook our hands during the reception. He doesn’t know that night was a night of hope and love and unity and acceptance. He just knows he loves his Mama.

 

 

p.s. Yes I wore a tiara. It was my damn wedding and I was a Disney Princess for one day. Through some twist of fate my Prince Charming came with the wrong parts and no horse. Love you babe.

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No One Says “I want a two year old.” Now I know why.

Everybody loves babies. Babies are cute, they smell nice, and they don’t move too much. My babies were snuggly and although they didn’t sleep well/ever they were so cuddly and beautiful that it was okay to be completely sleep deprived.

Then they started to grow. Now we have these two monstrous two year olds.

I’ve literally never met someone who has said “I want a two year old.” It’s always, “I want a baby”. But when you get a baby you eventually get a two year old, or in my case, two of them.

Now the wonderful part of having two year olds is they still mostly smell good. In my case they are still cuddle bugs. They say the cutest things like, “Got Mama,” as they squeeze my cheeks together and nuzzle my nose with theirs. They yell “Babe” when they can’t find my wife because they know it will make me laugh when they call her the name I call her. And they say it more like “Bayy” and try to mimic my voice. They are starting to sing songs and they point out the moon and the stars and the sun as if seeing them for the first time making me appreciate the things I take for granted. They also look at me like I am their entire world and I treasure those moments because I know in just a fleeting few years they will push me away when I try to kiss them. They will prefer their friends over me, and I know there will be a time when we cuddle up for the last time and that literally brings me to tears.

But the flip side of the heaven of two year olds is the Hell. The wanting to scream as I say things like “Don’t…bite, hit, lick, pull, follow, yell at, run into, run over, glue, color on, paint….your brother,” “Don’t slam the door,” “Don’t open the door,” “Throw that away,” “Pick that up off the floor,” “If you….do anything ever again….you will go to timeout,” “Don’t dance in front of the fireplace,” “Don’t push him in front of the fireplace,” “Why did we buy a house with a damn fireplace?” “Don’t put your foot in that…” shit.

Then you try and get them to say something and they won’t, then you swear in front of them when you drop a piece of firewood on your toe and of course they say “Shit.” Like perfectly enunciated. And yes I had a broken toe. Then the boys talked about “Mama’s boo boo” for the entire six weeks it took to heal.

Getting them out the door is a total shitshow. My wife says “It’s like herding cats.” And it really is. I’m always talking to them, always asking them to do stuff, and always trying to allow them to grow in their independence but seriously you can’t get your shoe on without my help and we are running late so give me the damn shoe.

They test my patience and my ability to not swear on a minute by minute basis. I go to work in psychiatry and my job is literally easier than my two year old twin boys. They are both so smart and they both totally try and play me. And sometimes it works.

I started to really pay attention to the new mom’s who come see me in my practice. Not just the fresh postpartum mom’s but the toddler Mom’s. For anyone who is a butch lesbian, when you see another butch lesbian there’s usually this head nod of acknowledgement. It always kind of irritates me because my wife gets the head nod and I never do, and I’m like hi over here, I’m also married to a woman but because I have long hair and cleavage I don’t get the recognition…anyway. When I have a client who is a toddler mom, not even twins but maybe a 3 year old and a 1 year old or something like that, and then I tell her I have twin two year olds….we have that moment. That, “Gotchya girl.” Like we are in the battlefield together and we know what it is really like down there in the trenches.

I’ve had Mom’s break down in front of me hysterical because they feel like failures because they yelled at their kids and they get so mad at them sometimes they want to hit them (they don’t hit them) and they look so ashamed and so sad and full of self loathing when they tell me these confessions through tears. That’s usually when I disclose I have two year olds. That I too know the pain of toddlers. That our society lives on Facebook and pretty images that mom’s should be these superheroes who never lose our shit, when in reality it would be weird if toddlers didn’t bring you to the brink of insanity at least once a day.

I reassure my clients (of course after a thorough assessment that they actually are not a danger to others) that actually what they are experiencing is normal. That it certainly doesn’t feel good, and they may need a medication trial, or at the least therapy, but that toddlers push us in ways we couldn’t possibly have imagined. That toddlers can literally make us feel bipolar because we are so in love with them one second and the next we are hauling them off to time-out about to watch an epic tantrum.

No one wants two year olds. Because two year olds start to make shit real. They start to be little people who make us feel in ways we never imagined we would or could.

I’m not a perfect Mom. I lose my shit. I swear. I listen to Eminem in the car when I just can’t take one more round of Let it Go. But even if I never said I wanted a two year old I’m so glad I have them. I am completely head over heels for my boys. They are making me a better person. They make me more aware of my anger and cues for when I am getting worked up. They make me practice patience. So much patience I could choke on it. They make me stop and look at the moon. They make me say “I’m sorry” and give big hugs when I freak out and I know I’m wrong because it was my fault for running late not theirs. They’ve made me better at time management. They’ve made me figure out how to communicate differently because going head on was not working and just hurting us all. They make me learn how to set age appropriate boundaries and consequences and follow through on them.

I thought having newborns made me love in a new way, little did I know what toddlerhood had in store for me. They exploit all my vulnerabilities without intention. They see books and movies with Dad’s and being married to a woman I wonder what they are thinking about. Are they already starting to wonder about not having a Dad? Does it even enter their heads?

No one asks for toddlers, and I certainly wouldn’t wish two of them on anyone. But on the flip side they are making me a better woman and honestly a better psychiatric provider. I am so much more empathetic to mom’s of toddlers. I get it. I give them space to feel like a bad mom and reinforce to them that they actually are not bad mom’s. They are just human trying to navigate this incredible journey of parenthood.

I’ll end with this. Our kids are always watching us, learning from us, becoming us. I will never be sorry or regret hugging them too much or cuddling too much. I will never regret the time I spend with them now and the bonds we are forging together. Toddlers have the ability to make you face and embrace love, anger, frustration, patience, and every other good and bad part of yourself. Enjoy the journey because it is all too short.

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When I was told to breastfeed on a toilet.

Pre-babies I had a lot of thoughts about breastfeeding. Some of them still hold true. I don’t need to see other people breastfeed. I am a very modest person in terms of nudity and seeing other people’s boobs is not something I’m into. However, I would never put another mom down for breastfeeding wherever and however they need to do it. It’s my issue so I look away. If I ever heard any one give a mom a hard time for breastfeeding in public I would immediately come to their defense.

Some stuff I learned about breastfeeding twins for twelve months is important. As a society we don’t talk about breastfeeding because it has to do with boobs and we as a society are extremely closed to these discussions because apparently we only like talking about boobs if they are sexualized.

There is a lot of pressure on new mom’s to do things certain ways. And the right way varies depending on who you talk to. People become very judgmental and invalidating. I’m writing this blog post to hopefully provide some encouragement and validation to new mom’s.

I decided to breastfeed my kids because I work in healthcare and I knew it was the healthy choice to make. I was not going to put a lot of pressure on myself to “make” it work though. Because I knew my mental health was more important when starting a journey as a twin mom. So here’s my breastfeeding story.

Immediately after being cut open and having two babies taken from my uterus and while I was still intermittently puking I had two beautiful little beings put onto my boobs. One of them took it to it right away, the other was not very interested.

They were born at 36 weeks, they were both 5 lbs. Having been a pediatric nurse I knew they were at high risk for weight loss and feeding issues. That is what would keep them in the hospital. So I was determined to make this breastfeeding thing work. I also agreed to supplement with formula until my milk came in. I wanted to bring them home.

Enter in pre-eclampsia. I had high blood pressure which is why we did the emergent C-section. The next morning I lost all peripheral vision in both eyes. I was put into maternal special care and started on a magnesium drip as they thought I was having full blown eclampsia. The next twenty-four hours sucked ass. I got no sleep. They check vitals every hour on a Magnesium drip. I was on bed rest, so I had the freaking catheter still in. My incision freaking hurt, and they would still come in every two hours and throw the boys onto my boobs. They also encouraged me to pump between feedings to help bring in milk supply.

So I had no vision, I was on a drip that made me feel shitty, and I was fresh post-op. People were texting us wanting to come to see the boys. I wanted everyone to go away and leave me to die. It sounds so dramatic but it was totally awful.

So that was my introduction to breastfeeding.

Luckily after some force-feeding of the boys with medicine droppers and the 24 hours of Magnesium we were all cleared for discharge. One of my boys was breastfeeding like a champ, the other one not so much. Every two hours it was an ordeal. One boy on each boob, and extra attention to the one boy who needed it.

About five days in my nipples felt like they were going to fall off every time they nursed. I’m not exaggerating. I actually had nightmares where they fell off. Because they didn’t get a break. There was no switching boobs, it was one baby on each boob every time they nursed. No breaks. Around this time we realized both my sons could not tolerate formula. We tried milk based, soy based, anti-allergy etc. The only thing they could keep down and sleep after having was my breast milk. No pressure.

After the first two weeks of me crying through every feeding because my nipples hurt I wanted it to be over. Now. But we literally tried every formula and it was not happening. They were both in pain afterward, up for twelve to twenty-four hours sometimes just miserable. So onward we went with breastfeeding. I did get my lazy feeder to start nursing well, so by about five weeks in they both were at least nursing easily but I was living life as a milk machine. I was always crazy about my supply. If I took six hours to sleep at night, I would wake up in the middle and pump. We were building up a freezer supply which thank God we did because we needed every last drop to get us through to a year.

Enter blocked ducts. I was making milk for two babies. My boobs were overloaded so I continuously would get blocked ducts. It feels like a hard lump in your boob. It’s extremely painful. The solution- nursing. One of my sons was a very vigorous nurser so he’d have to nurse on that side until the duct cleared. He did clear it every time. But it took a few tries sometimes.

Then we had family and friends over and they were sad they couldn’t give the boys bottles. They wanted to know why I couldn’t just not breastfeed them one time. It made me want to scream. I was working so hard physically and emotionally to keep up with twin supply. Every time they had a growth spurt my supply had to keep up with them. I also knew I was going back to work at eighteen weeks and we needed a freezer supply. I was working all the time on making breast milk to feed my sons. I didn’t want to hear it from anyone about giving them a damn bottle.

Breastfeeding twins who are not on the same schedule meant I was breastfeeding upward of eighteen hours a day. Mostly they were on the same schedule. But they never had growth spurts at the same time which meant those weeks were rough. Then one of my sons cut his first tooth at ten weeks. Yes that is rare. Yes it totally sucked. They didn’t use pacifiers at that time, and instead he was gnawing on my boob.

I couldn’t leave the house because if we left the house one of them needed to nurse. They weren’t the quiet nursers. They made a lot of slurping noises, they looked around all the time, and unless we were sitting alone on the couch at home it was not relaxing for me or them. Thus it was an incredibly isolating eleven months. The twelfth month we made it through on all frozen milk.

Had I not had two babies who were extremely sensitive to formula would I have stopped breastfeeding? Yes. Did I receive many opinions about my breastfeeding journey from many different individuals? Yes. Did this want to make me isolate even more? Yes.

Around the tenth month I was back at work already and had been sharing a double office with another new mom. We would both hook up our boobs to our pumps and do our notes while we pumped. It was a nice set-up because we could lock the door and we were both going through the same thing. But then there were some major office changes and we were told we would be put into a group room with three other employees, some males. When I asked my boss and the woman in charge of office space where I would pump they said well we don’t have a space. I said you have to provide me a space, and they said, “Well you can use a bathroom.” I said, “You want me to pump milk, food for children, sitting on an open toilet in a nasty public bathroom?” They both said “yes.” I informed them that this was against our state and federal labor laws to suggest I pump on a toilet. I ended the meeting, waited until I walked out and burst into tears. I was still pumping three times a day at work at that point.

I worked for a hospital, and both of those individuals were women one a mother. I could not believe I was being treated this way and I felt violated. I had come so far in this breastfeeding journey and put so much work into it and it literally was how we fed our children. I was angry and stressed and hormonal and I also knew it was illegal. So then I had to set up meetings with human resources and our executive director. I couldn’t believe that the three men I spoke to (while crying) about my whole experience were more understanding and more willing to help me than the two women.

The psychiatrist I worked with at the time and our chief resident immediately came up with a solution for me to use in the interim until the hospital got it’s shit together. I remember feeling so angry though that I had to even involve them. That my breast-feeding journey became this spectacle and source of gossip at work.

The whole experience was incredibly eye-opening for me. The more I talked to other women at work and online and in my life the more stories I was told about women being told there would be no accommodations made for them to pump at work. Teachers and nurses had it the worst or maybe that’s just who I was surrounded by. Women came forward having been told they could not take pump breaks or there was nowhere for them to pump, or use their car, the bathroom, etc. It was shocking to me.

Why do women not make a stink about this? Why are women treated this way by employers? Why as a society do we not empower women to feed their children in any way they want instead of making it impossible for them to do so without it being a battle? My place of employment should not dictate how I feed my kids. I should.

By the time the boys were eleven months they were big, healthy, eating solid food, and the last time I nursed them one of them bit me (he had a full mouth of teeth by twelve months) hard, and I was done. One of them was clearly ready to be done, one of them would probably still be nursing if I let it go on, but it was time. They went from 5 pounds at birth to over twenty pounds each by one year. My boobs will probably never look the same but it was worth it. There were moments when we would be nursing and they would cling their little hands together or hold onto my fingers. They would sigh and fall asleep on my chest. They would look at me and really see me with their big blue eyes. There were beautiful moments I wouldn’t trade for anything.

When a friend became pregnant with twins they asked me for advice. I said the number one thing I’d do is not stress about nursing. If it works it works, if it doesn’t and they tolerate formula just move on, the first year will be happier and easier and less isolating. Do I regret nursing? Never. Do I wish I was less isolated for the first eleven months? Yes. Do I wish I never had that experience at my job? Absolutely. It was horrible. But it also made me more aware of a problem our society has.

Breastfeeding is an incredibly vulnerable act. It exposes our bodies, it exposes our babies. It puts us into the position of not being able to defend ourselves if needed. It also makes us vulnerable to people’s judgements. Any mom who breastfeeds for any length of time deserves a medal. She deserves encouragement, pride, support, and NO judgement.

It’s taken me a long time to write this blog post. I stopped breastfeeding one year ago. But it still causes me to feel raw when I think about those eleven months. It was so hard for so many reasons. I could not have made it through without the support of my wife. I also would not have made it through if my son’s hadn’t absolutely loved nursing. That’s what kept me going. But I’m not going to lie. I’m very happy it’s over.

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Why I’m Not Wearing Underwear

So this whole C-section business is very misrepresented.

Also the whole twin pregnancy situation.

Here’s the situation. I’ve lost weight since giving birth twenty-two months ago. But there remains a couple things that people don’t tell you about before a C-Section. 1- a large scar and 2- a pooch. In my case a large pooch. A pooch my friends is stretched out skin and likely fat now, that may never go back into where it used to be. I did not have a six pack pre-baby but I could wear button jeans in a size 10. That was my happy slim size. I am 5’7″ and when I was at my healthiest in terms of diet and exercise it was a comfortable size 10. Now I think of a size 10 as some far off dream land that I will never see again.

Because even if I get pants in my “size” they don’t quite make it around the pooch and then they kind of push in on my scar, and the whole thing is just freaking uncomfortable. Enter the world of “Mom” pants. I never knew why mom pants had elastic waistbands. I assumed it was because all mom’s got fat and lazy. Just kidding. Sort of. I didn’t realize that it was because mom’s have babies which leaves your body a fucking mess.

I discovered the world of stretchy pants. Because buttons just freaking hurt. When I voiced this to my friend, also a mom of twins, she said it took her six years to be able to wear jeans with buttons. SIX YEARS! Other mom’s I’ve talked to have said 2-6 years yes.

Now let’s talk about underwear. Today I went to put underwear on after a shower. I had recently purchased some new sets. Yes they are the right size. But if they go above the scar then they kind of roll down because of the freaking pooch and if they go below the pooch it hurts the scar and has a weird look of muffin-top-ish through my pants. So I tried on three pairs this morning after my shower. Becoming more and more upset with each pair. The last pair I actually put the pants on too and was like come on suck it up it’s fine it’s just underwear.

I felt it start to roll down the pooch under my pants…I started to cry. I went to pull down my pants to try on another pair, when I remembered my cotton pairs are down in the dryer, so with my pants at my knees I grabbed scissors in my drawer and cut off the offensive pair threw them in the wastebasket, stopped crying, said “Fuck this” and am now not wearing underwear.

The first year I breastfed. I had to keep a supply up for twins and my breastmilk supply would tank without carbs. So I had a really hard time the first year trying to lose because I had to eat so damn much to keep up the supply. Now I am into the second year. I am proud to say I am losing. I am exercising more, and I am eating much fewer carbs and more vegetables. I’ve probably dropped pant sizes but I refuse to try them on yet. I’m good with yoga pants and dressier yoga pants. My bras got bigger and my shirts pre-pregnancy are starting to fit again which is great. But it’s hard. I have a lot more respect for Mom’s who are overweight now than I ever did before.

Because I don’t feel good about myself, and I’m sure other mom’s with baby weight still hanging on also don’t feel good. It’s also really sucky to not be able to buy sexy underwear or just any underwear that’s not plain cotton from the maternity store for going on two years now. Our society praises the young thin and beautiful. But most women’s bodies have scars. We have stretch marks. We are thick. We have droopy boobs because of breastfeeding. We have pooches- some bigger than others- and that’s okay. We have dark circles under our eyes because let’s face it even when they aren’t babies they still don’t sleep or maybe that’s just mine.

Recently I went to work with my hair done, jewelry on, make-up done, and looking confident because I was wearing a pre-baby shirt. Two co-workers commented on how good I looked and I’m like- so this is how I used to look every day- what the fuck have I been rolling in looking like for the past twenty-two months? But then I was thinking, well probably looking like I was up all night with two babies. Walking out the door getting spit up on. Walking out the door without my make-up on or forgetting to brush my teeth. I learned fast as a mom to have double supplies- one set at home and one set at work.

I remember feeling like I should get a medal every morning walking into work when I first went back with twenty week old twins. It was a freaking miracle we all made it out the door in the morning.

I’m going about my fitness and health journey in my own way and in my own time. I’m trying not to pressure myself and just letting things happen. I’m trying to make healthy choices and I’m seeing the results.

But I’d support any mom who says fuck it and eats her bowl of ben & jerry’s every night because that’s her five minutes of heaven after a day and night of hell.

My point to this is that we as women and Mom’s should support each other. We also shouldn’t be trying to live up to this crazy ideal society places on us. I mean did you see George Clooney’s wife three months after giving birth to twins? I wanted to kill her. But I recognize that she clearly had a different journey than mine. I’m trying to respect that and not want to kill her. It’s hard.

Anyway. Any time you or your wife loses her mind over underwear or jeans or a bra or a shirt in a post-baby body. Just hug yourself or hug her and say we will get there. But if you have to cut the offensive piece of clothing off to feel good, then fucking do it.