The Painful Truth About Breastfeeding

Wonderful, perfect, healthy breastfeeding. Or at least that’s how I see it. I am a huge advocate for breastfeeding. (Don’t worry.  I will never shame anyone for formula feeding.) It is, however, my hope that every woman who gives birth to a child at least tries. (Again, just my hope, not mad if you don’t.)

I love the bond that breastfeeding gives you and your baby. It’s a feeling I can’t describe. It’s a release of happiness and love. Knowing that your body is giving this baby everything he/she needs to stay healthy.

Here’s the thing. I love breastfeeding but there are some downsides. Everyone tells you what I just told you above, but rarely mention the other parts! So below I will give you a few examples of what’s actually going to happen, or at least what happened to me.

  1. Your poor nipples are going to bleed. Oh girl, that first time that baby latches on it will be pure bliss, then after a few more times you start to notice it hurts.  You take a look at your elongated nipples that now look like little worms and notice little blood blisters, skin peeling, and blood. OUCH! I mean, you may have let someone get rough with your nipples before, but to make them bleed?? Be sure to use that nipple cream.  Don’t be scared. Lather that stuff on girls.
  2. Your milk will come in. On top of having long, bloody, nipples, something else will happen to you. You are going to wake up about two days after having your baby and notice your hospital gown is soaking wet. You look down and there are puddles of milk on the floor.  Then sitting up you notice your boobs are slightly bigger, and by slightly I mean you went from an A cup to a XXX cup. Holy crap! You could knock someone out with those big ol’ things!
  3. Leaks. A week or two later you decide to run to the store. It takes three years, eight cups of coffee, and a xanax to get ready to take your baby into public. After arriving at the store, everything seems to be going smooth when a little old lady approaches you and says “sweetheart, you sprung a leak!” You look down and there are two huge wet spots over your massive boobies. Aaah! And you thought everyone was staring at your gigantic tatas! No, they were definitely not checking you and your unproportionally large fun bags out. Breast Pads ladies, don’t forget the breast pads. They will save you a ton of embarrassment.

If you come across any problems, breastfeeding, whether it be; baby not latching, pain, or any other problem. I strongly suggest contacting a lactation consultant! DO NOT BE AFRAID TO ASK FOR HELP! These women are AMAZING! They are angels sent down from Heaven to help you and your baby! If you ever feel like giving up just call one of these ladies and they will help you through any problems!

These are only just a few problems you will come across when breastfeeding. I’m sure I will be writing about 1,000 more posts on this subject alone. Do you have any breastfeeding stories? Any embarrassing times you sprung a leak? Tell me about it in the comments!

Thank you for reading! Please follow my blog, like and share!

He Peed in What?!

*This post contains affiliate links which means I make a commission for purchases made through the following link*

Potty training: One of the hardest parts of having a toddler. When our son E was about 20 months old, we went into full potty training mode. We read all of the books and articles; talked to friends who were parents of both boys and girls; we got all of the best advice. When we felt we had done our due diligence, we dove in.

We decided to go the route of letting him run around naked. Completely ‘butt-neked’. He picked up on potty training pretty quick. I only had to scrub pee out of the floor and break out the Febreze a few times. In my world, I call that a win.

Even though he was doing pretty well, we still let him run around naked. It was convenient for him. He could just run to his potty without having to notify us. Let’s be honest. What toddler doesn’t love running around completely nude? It was a freedom for him, a freedom he had never known before.

One day, E and Daddy were playing. They were rolling around on the floor, playing like boys do. Daddy was laying on the floor and E was standing on top of him. All of the sudden, I hear Daddy start to scream. A scream that you don’t normally hear out of a grown man. He jumps up off of the floor, and continues to scream.

I look at E, and he is sitting on the floor laughing.

Me: What happened?

Daddy: AAAGGGGHHHHH YUCK AAAHHHH $&%*!!!

Me: FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, WHAT?!

Daddy: He peed!!!

Me: AND?!

Daddy: HE PEED IN MY MOUTH!!!

That is when my supermom parenting skills kicked in. I handled the situation with grace and maturity.

Just kidding. I was in the floor within seconds, laughing so hard I could hardly breathe.

Poor E, just couldn’t quite control his wee. He was having too much fun and unaware he was about to give Daddy a little golden shower. When you gotta go, you gotta go, right?

My poor husband spent an hour brushing his teeth. At some point, I think he swished with bleach. By that time I had already peed my pants from laughing so hard. I do feel bad for Daddy, but better him than me.

Do you have potty training horror story? Tell me in the comments?

Please follow my blog, like, and share!

*Super Sirrious Mom is a participant in the Amazon Services LLC Associates Program, an affiliate advertising program designed to provide a means for sites to earn advertising fees by advertising and linking to amazon.com*

The Day I She-Hulked

I used to take my son to a playgroup for children three and under. I was trying to do my duty of being a good mom by not turning my son into a complete recluse(like his mother). It appeared to be working as E was very social at that time. One special day, a couple of kids showed up. E was by far the youngest, only being one.

There was a mom who brought her mother and a friend along. They sat in the corner talking; ignoring the kids the entire time. They were constantly swearing and kept going outside to smoke. I was irritated, but I thought maybe they were having a bad day. I just kept engaging with the children.

Finally, it was time to go outside. E grabbed a ball and was playing by himself. I stood back a little bit to give him free range. Then the little girl of the swearing mom came up to him. Let’s call her Rosie(she reminded me of a mini version of Rosie O’Donnell).

Rosie, who was about 3 but looked about 5, approached E and grabbed the ball from him. She took off with it, and E just stood there unsure of how to react. I gave him a second to see how he would handle the situation. I look over at Rosie’s mom, Ms. McSmokeface, who hadn’t even looked up to notice that her daughter just stole a toy from a little boy.

I decided to approach Rosie.

“Rosie, that wasn’t very nice, if you want to play with the ball you need to ask E if you can play with it. Please give it back to E.” I don’t know what the rules are on approaching other people’s children, but since her mother did nothing, and my son was so much younger I decided to say something. Not like Ms. McSmokeface even noticed.

Rosie gave the ball to E and stood by him as if she were going to play with him. I gave them some space again. I was thinking everything was fixed, and they would play together! Wrong. Little Rosie walked up to E, took the ball from him, and shoved him down!

I instantly “she-hulked” My eyes turned a dark shade of green. My muscles grew so big that my shirt was ripping, and veins were popping out everywhere. I was PISSED. I turn to look at Rosie’s mom while growling and foaming at the mouth like a rabid dog. She saw the entire thing and what did she do? She turned back to her friend and continued to talk. Something snapped inside of me, and I turned into the Mom-ster that no one should ever have to see.

I started walking towards Rosie, banging my fists against my chest like a wild ape. Helicopters swarmed the skies with snipers ready to shoot. The National Guard rolled in driving huge tanks, ready to put the beast down.

The friend of Ms. McSmokeface knew it was about to go down. She grabbed Rosie’s mom by the arm and made her walk over to Rosie. They must have seen the look in my eye, and started to run to Rosie.

Ms. McSmokeface’s friend, told Rosie, “That wasn’t nice, you need to say sorry,” and that was the end of it.

Rosie didn’t say sorry.

McSmokeface didn’t apologize.

I believe steam was coming out of my ears, and I could feel words coming to my mouth that should never be spoken in front of children. I picked up my son, who was staring at me wondering why I had turned into the incredible hulk, and we left.

I’m not the perfect mom, some situations I just can’t handle with grace and class. My way of handling this situation was turning into a wild animal, running circles around the kids all while foaming at the mouth.

Some of this post is contradictory to my post “Stop the Hate.” The name calling that appears in this post are for humor purposes only, to explain how I felt during this situation.

Have you ever been in a situation where your mama bear instinct kicked in? Have you ever “she-hulked?” Let me know below! I won’t judge you!

Thank you for reading! Please follow my blog, like and share!

Photo credit: Gwendal_ via Visualhunt / CC BY-NC-SA

Let’s talk about poop

Poop, is a subject no one wants to talk about, yet it is something we all do. Stinky, nasty, poop.

Let’s take a minute and talk about the hardest poop of a new mother’s life. That first poop. The first poop after you finally push that giant bundle of joy out of your hoodie hoo (or have it cut out of your tummy.) If you have given birth, you know what I am talking about. Yeah, THAT poop. Before becoming pregnant, you hear all of the horror stories. “I tore and got 4,325 stitches” or “I was in labor for 40 days and 40 nights and ended up with an emergency c-section,” but they all end the same way.  “As soon as I held that beautiful baby in my arms all of the pain disappeared.” That really is true.  You don’t notice your guts hanging out, or your vag is tore to shreds.  You just know you have that perfect little human in your arms, but that’s where the stories stop.  They don’t tell you what happens once you are home.

You get home, you are sore, tired, and trying to figure out life with that new baby. It’s been a couple of days and you notice that ache in your tummy. You think to yourself “When was the last time I pooped? Have I been taking my stool softeners? I don’t even know what year it is anymore, let alone the last time I took my meds or took a massive poopie.” So, you pop a couple of stool softeners, what’s the worse that could happen?

Okay, it’s coming, poop time. Your baby starts to scream, and your husband is nowhere to be found. Alright, give baby a boob then go poop. Nope, it’s coming now, you are prairie doggin’. Alright, baby must come with to the toilet, he/she can nurse, you can poop, it has to happen. You know it’s gross but there is no other option. All you need to do now is just give a little push and all will be…OH MY GOD WHAT IS THIS PAIN?! Holy crap, I feel like Darth Vader just jumped out of the toilet and cut my cooter open again with his lightsaber. I have to poop so bad, how do I do this?? I’m on the toilet, nursing my baby, crying from pain, trying to poop. I think to myself, I can do this, I am one tough biotch, ain’t no sore coochy gonna stop me from getting that sweet relief that I so deserve. Little push, ow, little push, oh, sweet baby Jesus it’s happening, Tears of joy, run down my face.

Fast forward to the middle of the night, when you are again, breastfeeding your baby. Then it really hits, your stomach growls so loud the neighbors dog started howling. You run into the bathroom, trying to pull down your pants. Explosion city starts to happen before you can even sit all of the way down. Lord almighty, those stitches are torn now. I probably should have only taken one stool softener. Lesson learned.

ed1faeb4d9862b76fafc72a8feda6971

Two hours pass, and I am finally done. My poor bum. My poor va-jay-jay. My poor toilet.
So, if you are expecting a baby anytime soon, just keep this in the back of your mind. It’s going to happen. It’s probably going to hurt, but you just have to poo.

Did this happen to you? Tell me your horror stories below!

Did this make you laugh? Please follow my blog, like, and share!

Sex And The Lack Thereof

Sex.

Sweaty, dirty, crazy, fun sex.

Or so it used to be before children. Before having beautiful little snot monsters, before shredded vaginas, or cut open tummies, we used to enjoy sex. We used to enjoy getting wild in the spur of the moment. Now it’s an entirely different story.

Now, we need about a week to physically and mentally prepare ourselves. I mean, last time I shaved my legs? Judging by the length of the hair, I’ll say it was when my first was born. Two years ago. Okay, maybe not that bad, but it is pretty bad.

Not just the hair, I also don’t like my body anymore. (Don’t get me wrong, I’m proud of my tiger stripes and wouldn’t change them for the world.) I don’t like myself naked right now. My hairy, flabby, exhausted, sometimes smelly, self. The fact that I look like a real life version of Chewbacca doesn’t exactly make me feel desirable anymore.

Let’s just for a minute pretend that I do get to take a nice long shower all by myself (HA!), and I’m able to shave every hairy spot and scrub off all of the boogers and spit up that coat my body, that is one problem solved.

Great. Let’s go to the next problem.

*This post contains affiliate links which means I make a commission for purchases made through the following link.*

Kids. The kids that keep me up all night long. The kids that never sleep. How am I supposed to get myself in the mood for some hanky panky when I have two little poop machines constantly attaching themselves to me? After corralling them all day long, scrubbing poop out of the carpet, and just generally trying not to lose my mind, how am I supposed to say, “Ya, I’d love to have sex now, I’m so relaxed.” When was the last time my husband and I were alone? I can’t even tell you. Or even both children asleep at the same time? Call me crazy but sneaking into the other room while one or more of my children are awake is not exactly ideal. The thought that they could just walk in on us and scar their poor little brains for life is kind of a turn off.

Another problem, sore va jay jays and leaky boobs. I’ll group these into one problem. One massive problem. After pushing out babies who ripped you open from butthole to elbow, normally you aren’t thrilled to jump back into the sack anytime soon. For some of us it takes an entire YEAR before we are ready to even try to have sex; and when we do, it HURTS! I really don’t want to do the dirty when it feels like my hoo-ha is being stung by a hive of angry wasps. Then, if you are still nursing your baby, you have to worry about leaky, sore boobs. Nothing is sexier than having boob juice leaking between your bodies causing wet, warm, stickiness.

Basically what I’m saying is, sex is different after you become a mom. I am sure not everyone out there feels the same. Some of you probably have magical vaginas that shoot rainbows out and heal instantly, and some of you have the sex drive of a teenage boy. To you, I say, Good for you and your magic peaches. For the rest of us, just hang in there, sisters. It will probably get better, someday. I hope.

I want to hear from you, do you have a magical vagina? How long did you wait to have sex? How do you make it work? Tell me in the comments!

Did this give you a giggle? Please follow my blog, like and share!

Stop the hate

This post is different than my usual. So please hang in there.

Although, this is not a funny, disturbing story of motherhood. It is a real, disturbing problem with motherhood.

Mom-shaming. We have all done it, myself included. We see a mom doing something that we wouldn’t do, or maybe in a situation we wouldn’t be in, and we instantly judge her. Sometimes we think judgmental thoughts to ourselves, sometimes we say something to the mom, or maybe we post on social media shaming her to the world.

Why? Why do we do this? Why, as women, do we not encourage each other and lift each other up? Why can’t we help a mom in need instead of shaming her?

We pretend to know everyone’s story. That mom at Target with a screaming three year old, having a full melt down in the middle of the store must not discipline her child. What if that three year old is autistic and is very overwhelmed by the amount of people in the store? What if his dad was just deployed overseas and he is having trouble coping with dad’s absence? Or maybe he is just being a three year old and simply having a meltdown! We don’t know.

So instead of rolling our eyes at this mom, or telling her you would never let your child act like that in public, why not offer her a helping hand? Why not offer her a compliment? Why not buy her a cup of coffee? Why can’t we lift her up? Why can’t we tell her she’s doing a great job, and we completely understand what she’s going through?

Does mom-shaming make us feel better about ourselves? In our own minds, do we think we are perfect parents? Do we put other moms down so we feel superior or so our friends think we are cool? Ask yourself, why do I do this? I bet you won’t like the answer. I know I didn’t.

This is my challenge to all moms, myself included. Let’s end mom-shaming. Let’s end it altogether. The moment that negative thought enters your mind, I challenge you to put a stop to it. Think to yourself, why am I thinking this? Why am I judging her? What if it were me? What would I want someone else to think or do for me? Then help her. Smile at her. Offer a helping hand. Offer to pray with her. Buy her a cup of coffee. (My way of solving all of the world’s problems is over a cup of coffee.) Talk to her. Try to understand what she is going through or why she is doing what she is doing.

My challenge to all of us is to spread love, not hate. Stop the dirty looks. Stop the mean comments. Stop whispering to your BFF about what you would do differently. Just stop. Then go beyond that and do something kind. No matter how big or how small a gesture, just do it.

I want to hear your stories. Will you accept the challenge? How will you end mom-shaming? How will you stop the hate?

Please comment below on a situation where you accepted the challenge, tell me how you stopped the hate. Brag about it. Inspire others to do the same.

 

 

 

Dr. Office Nightmare

Today, M had her 4 month check up. Lucky for me my mother-in-law works at the doctor’s office, so I get a little help. We arrive and it’s already going to be a shitty day. I hate shots. While we are waiting, I’m notified that the people who do dental/vision screening are here and they can screen my son, E, with my MIL while I take baby M to her appointment. PERFECT. WAIT. NO. Did I brush his teeth today? Oh well, it’s her problem now. She can be embarrassed when he opens his mouth and all of the flowers in the room wilt.
Shop Janie and Jack

Finally, the appointment gets rolling. Everything is going great. Then my MIL comes in with E and some lady and tells me his teeth are perfect (thank God) but, he has astigmatism in one eye (son of a Biotch!) SERIOUSLY? He needs to see an eye doctor for an exam. What is it with this kid?! We were finally done with his cardiologist and now we have baby doctor appointments, dental appointments, and this? Don’t they know how hard it is to go anywhere with two kids? What am I made of money and endless amounts patience? I can promise you that I am not.

When I get home, I go into mom mode, checking insurance and calling doctors. I need to find out who, in our tiny town works best with toddlers who haven’t sat still in two weeks. The awesome lady at the office I chose gets us an appointment for the very next day, easy peasy. Then it hits me. I have to go to the eye doctor tomorrow with both kids by myself. Maybe my husband can go? No, he’s mentioned he’s crazy busy at work. Mom? Yes, mom always comes through. Crap! She’ll be out of town. MIL, please? Nope, busy at work.
I imagine myself sitting there tomorrow, sweating from hauling two kids inside, trying to fill out insurance papers as I single handedly try to corral E who is acting like a Tasmanian devil who snorted crack. Meanwhile, the baby is screaming and I’m trying to pop a boob in her mouth without all of these people noticing, I’m sure M will detach and I’ll just soak everyone in the waiting room with boob juice and then die of embarrassment.

“We are ready for E, do you have his paperwork?”

“Paperwork? Ya it’s almost done.” I noticed I only wrote the first four letters of his six letter name. That should be sufficient. Hells bells.

That’s just the beginning and I haven’t even started day dreaming (day nightmaring?) about actually seeing the doctor yet.

If you thought this was funny please follow my blog, like, and share!