The Warrior Marks Formerly Known As Stretch Marks

I have felt bad about myself for the majority of the summer. I have felt guilty for my “lack of activity”.

Here is the thing...I like neither heat nor bright sunlight. Once autumn is in full swing I plan to spend epic amounts of time outdoors. I will exercise and I will keep a much cleaner house.  I will dress for the day even when going nowhere and I will open the curtains and embrace the world. Till then, I plan to live in cool pajamas in front of two fans in my air conditioned house with my curtains pulled tight. When I leave to go for groceries or to work at the church I plan to run from car air conditioning to church/Wal-Mart air conditioning while wearing sunscreen, weather inappropriate clothing (Because no one wants to see my post-baby body in a tank top and shorty shorts. Covering up is my service to the world.) and the darkest sunglasses imaginable. All this to say, I HATE SUMMER. 

I have decided to stop feeling guilty about my inactivity this summer. I have a chronic illness, I have a baby and I’m sensitive to heat. I am doing what I can to survive. Now, having said this, don’t think I haven’t kept my family in clean clothes and well fed with what is usually really healthy food. It’s just that if it isn’t necessary, I’m putting it off. The house is sanitary…but with a toddler whose main goal in life is to destroy, eat, disassemble or climb anything in her purview it’s hard to keep up with when you have fatigue issues. My main goal is to keep her alive, healthy and well-developed emotionally. If the formerly perfectly organized basket of diapering supplies winds up splattered across the floor I prefer to use my energy to be in a good mood for her instead of trying to reorganize it 32 times during the day. She will just take it as a challenge to pull out all the diapers and spread them across the room again.

In addition to no longer feeling guilty for a cluttered house, I plan to stop feeling guilty about my body not being as thin as it was when I got married. That dress size took starvation…and I need the energy that food provides in order to keep up with the Lil’ Miss. Also, I plan to no longer look in the mirror at my stretch marks and C-section scar and sigh in disgust. Stretch marks are a beautiful thing even if our culture disdains them.

I have decided to start calling mine my “warrior marks”. I have had a difficult time dealing with my changed body and coming to terms with it. While yes, it is a constant reminder of the beautiful child I carried within my body (and the C-section scar is a reminder of how you cannot truly control anything in life, especially not your children) it is sometimes difficult to look at myself without feeling somehow disappointed with myself for my appearance…like I should be better than to have these marks or to not have lost the weight. 

Our culture has “learned” what motherhood looks like from celebrities who spend thousands on reconstructive surgery, trainers and laser treatments. This is disingenuous and creates an unfair expectation of ourselves and each other. It doesn’t matter that we know they’ve had work done. When we see a famous size 2 back in her jeans two weeks after giving birth it makes us look in the mirror and think all sorts of negative things about ourselves. It doesn’t matter that I have NEVER fit in a size 8, let alone a size 2. A part of me sees these hyper skinny moms in the tabloids, showing their air brushed abs and going on and on about how “I breast fed and the weight just FELL off…” and I want to scratch their eyes out. 

We have a little extra skin, we have a few extra scars and we have a few extra pounds (or more than a few…) and you know what…that’s is okay…we did something amazing and our body went through trauma to do it. Women should wear these beautiful warrior marks proudly to remind us of the incredible thing we created--life.

Self-Esteem and The New Mom

I was getting ready to go to the gym this morning and I started thinking about my emotional journey these last six months since Serenity was born. When I say emotional journey…what I really mean is self-esteem continuum. I will be honest, my self-esteem has taken some major hits as a new mom. 

I loved how I looked pregnant. I didn’t turn into a beached whale like I’d always assumed I would. I looked like my normal curvy, muscular self…just with a beach ball under my shirt. When it came to being postpartum, I was fine with how I looked at first. I missed the taunt skin of my belly but I understood things would tighten up eventually. I had a big baby so things stretched out. It happens. I gained 35 lbs while pregnant. I lost 20 of that on the table. Like I said…BIG baby.

I was doing okay until one day when Serenity was about three or four months old. I was on Facebook and I came to find out that a rather mean person had taken a very unflattering picture of me (made me look like I had a serious gut and a double chin) holding Serenity and posted it with the caption: “We promise we will feed you! Just don’t eat the baby!” I probably don’t have to tell anyone how devastating this event was. It felt like my logical brain and my emotional brain took two separate paths. My logical brain said “Do not retaliate. It will make things far worse and can undermine your ministry.” The emotional side of my brain cried….just cried. 

My husband David was furious like I’ve never seen him. He was practically calling for blood over it. He had never seen me cry like that. He’d seen me shed tears while angry…even seen me crying silently when moved or sad…but he had never seen me just collapse into such heart wrenching sobs. It wasn’t so much about a stupid picture. It was because that picture reopened a lifetimes worth of wounds. 

I’ve never been what one would call skinny. I’ve worked very hard my entire life to remain my “normal curvy, muscular self” living on diets for decades at a time and visiting the gym 3-7 times a week depending on how bad my symptomology was. Some very insensitive kids made some very unkind jokes about me as a child (“Could you tell me how to be fat? You seem to be good at it.”). As an adult my talent as a musician was undermined because of my weight (“She’s a great singer and songwriter but she needs to lose weight. She’s what…a buck fifty?"...and if someone would judge me at that weight what would they say now!).

So there I am…sitting on the bed beside my infant child…and she looks very confused…probably can’t understand why Mommy is crying so hard. She’s never seen Mommy anything but happy…well, maybe annoyed but usually that bounces back to happy pretty quick. I felt a little dead inside, to be honest. That picture opened some pretty toxic wounds and I’m not proud of the over-reaction that followed.

I didn’t do it on purpose…but my body didn’t want to eat anymore…or better yet…my brain wouldn’t let me. Slowly I started skipping meals. I have health reasons why I need to eat every three hours…but I’d go almost eight hours without touching food. Going into the kitchen started a steamroller of self-hate rolling that would knock me over with its vehemence. My blood sugar stayed completely unbalanced and I started having emotional/physical breakdowns on a bi-daily basis.  The scale wouldn’t move and I knew logically that every time I had a crash my body converted everything to fat…but eating was so hard…everything tasted like ashes. I’d go to the gym as much as possible…but when that failed to move the scale I got so depressed I could barely make myself go at all. Once I walked in…worked on one machine…and felt buried by depression…so I got up and came home to have a good cry. Some might think that I let the pain of my Fibromylagia compromise my workouts but I’ve always been pretty pro-active about that…and usually pretty good at ignoring the pain as a general rule…but the subconscious voices of self-loathing…those were harder to ignore.

It got to the point where things were extremely stressed in my home. My health was being undermined and David was getting understandably frustrated with me. I thought constantly about falling back on old habits that “helped” me back before I rededicated my life to Christ. I knew in my heart that it would just make things worse…but temptation is a hard thing to fight when coupled with depression. I realized I was starving for more than food. I started reading my Bible daily…devouring large chunks of the Word…and slowly it became easier for me to eat again.

Things in every area of my life got better as my self-talk turned more positive. I realized that my focus should not be on the loss of weight but on endurance and health. If I go to the gym I should focus more on what allows me to be a better mother physically and when I eat my focus should be on what allows me to retain the most level mood (glycemic index) to allow me to be a better wife and mother. 

It might seem elementary to most…eat right and regularly, work out to be strong…but when you have such profound issues with food…it isn’t nearly as easy. This place I’m at right now was hard won. While I know logically that “the picture” was just a bad picture and was taken only one day after a photo shoot in which I do not look fat, it swept me up in a current of self-doubt and depression. I just didn’t see it coming. I’m still a little tender emotionally, but I’m healing from this…and I hope that maybe my story can help someone else dealing with issues of weight and self-esteem. 

Love you all. God bless.

The First Word: Bragging Rights

Lil' Miss said her first word today.

Now, on a few occasions when she is hungry or tired she will cry and it would sound as if she were saying "Ma MAAAAAAA!" However, its seemed as if it might be just a coincidence of sound combinations so we didn't count that. She also said what sounded like "IloveYOU" and "Hiya!" on a few occasions but again, she was probably either parroting or just making noises.

This morning David and I were both pretending to still be asleep. We were pretending because Serenity was cooing... LOUDLY. We were both hoping she'd go back to sleep...or the other would give in and get up with her. Just in case, I had an eye on her, watching her, from underneath my hair. I was being careful not to move. David turned over...and it got her attention.

She has been doing a signal for when her diaper is full for awhile now. She will hold up her legs and pointedly look you in the eyes as if to say: "CLEAN MY BUTT!" 

She tapped David on the back said a clear as day "Dada!" and then made the dirty diaper signal.

 David quickly rolled over and I pushed up to look at him. We both heard it. 

"Better reinforce that behavior, David, and clean that diaper." I said, pouting... and also happy I didn't have to clean the morning diaper. They are usually quite fragrant. I still kind of wanted the bragging rights of Mama coming first...but eh...still proud.

I was reading that its normal for a baby to start saying "Mama" or "Dada" around 4 to 5 months but they say they don't understand what they are saying, the relationship between word and meaning, until about a year of age. No one can tell me that Serenity didn't know what she was saying this morning. She wanted to have Daddy change her diaper and she communicated her wishes in order to make it happen. 

Smart kid. 

She is currently watching a Disney cartoon on David's lap. She's dancing to the music, with David's assistance, a gigantic spit bubble hanging from her bottom lip. She has this look of complete fascination on her face. Not sure what's cuter...her or David. He was already a good daddy but this morning's confirmation has added a special little twinkle to his eye. I wouldn't trade that for all the bragging rights in the world. I love seeing his confidence in himself as both a husband and father grow by the day.

He's dancing around the living room with her now. They both have gigantic grins on their faces. 

I love my little family.

Favorite Lullabies

So today's subject is a little less controversial than my last update. Today's subjects is lullabies. I have two that I sing to Serenity the most. If I get desperate for material I sometimes start delving into the back of mind for old songs but these are the ones that never fail to calm her. I've included lyrics and clips for both.

The first one "Flying Dreams Lullaby" was in the movie The Secret of Nimh and it is like instant sleep.

   
"Dream by night
Wish by day
Love begins this way
Night's a friend
With love to send
Each new day
Bless your heart
Bless your soul
Let your dreams come true
Future songs
And flying dreams
Wait for you
Love, it seems
Made flying dreams
So hearts could soar
Heaven sent
These wings were meant
To prove
Once more
That love is the key

As you wish
As you will
Dream of flying starts
Love and care
The power's there
Trust your heart
Trust your heart"



My other favorite is called "Galway Bay" and was sang to me by my mother when I was young. It was always my favorite.

 "If you ever go across the sea to Ireland,  
Then maybe at the closing of your day,  
You can sit and watch the moon rise over Claddagh,  
And see the sun go down on Galway Bay.
 
Just to hear again the ripple of the trout stream,  
The women in the meadow making hay, 
Just to sit beside the turf fire in a cabin, 
And watch the barefoot gosoons as they play.

For the breezes blowing o'er the sea's from Ireland,  
Are perfumed by the heather as they blow,  
And the women in the uplands digging praties,  
Speak a language that the strangers do not know.
 
Yet the strangers came and tried to teach us their ways,  
And they scorned us just for being what we are,  
But they might as well go chasin after moon beams,  
Or light a penny candle from a star.
 
And if there's gonna be a life here after,  
And somehow I'm sure there's gonna be, 
  I will ask my God to let me make my Heaven,  
In that dear land across the Irish sea."




So what are your favorites that either your mother sang to you or that you sing to your children?

Let Her Cry It Out

“Let her cry it out!”

I have heard this phrase on a daily basis since I gave birth to my daughter. I have been given many, many reasons why crying it out is the best way to go. Even as recently as yesterday a few women in their seventies were advising me to let my daughter “Cry it out” because in their words: “It’s good for her lung development.” These women in question have obviously never heard my daughter shrieking right before bed time (the only time she is ever anything but smiley and happy). Let’s just say, my serene, little Kewpie doll could put a banshee to shame. There is absolutely nothing wrong with this child’s lungs.

Granted, past the initial night or two of awfulness I’m sure my daughter would learn not to count on Mommy to save her when she gets lonely, scared or hungry. Honestly, though, that’s not exactly a lesson I want my child to learn.

David and I didn’t exactly set out to be “attachment parents” but whether we planned to be or not, that’s what we are. We followed our instincts and hashed out a parenting style that is a combination of attachment parenting techniques, other child development theories and what we learned from our parents.

Doctor Spock (not Mr. Spock...because I’d totally be down with raising my kids according to Star Trek. “Go play in the holodeck, Serenity, and make sure the safety protocols are enabled.”) advocated the idea that a child needs to cry it out. He even said that it was okay to wait a full hour to feed a hungry, crying child because it wouldn’t kill them. No, it will not kill a child to wait on a feeding… but if all the parent is doing is watching a movie in the other room or playing a video game…that is just bad parenting in my book. Not to mention, the son of Doctor Cry It Out committed suicide as an adult.

Crying uncomforted does considerable damage to a developing child’s brain due to the extended exposure to the cortisol released. New studies using brain scans have shown that controlled crying not only damages babies' brains but produces angry, anxious adults.

Professor Margot Sunderland, a leading expert in the development of children's brains and a British Medical Association award-winning author said: “If you ignore a crying child, tell them to shut up or put them in a room on their own, you can cause serious damage to their brains on a level that can result in severe neurosis and emotional disorders later in life.”

Most of the people who advise me to let her cry it out are extremely well-meaning and really have the best interest of my child at heart. They advocate this theory because it was told to them and it made their lives easier…at least when their kids were little. The resulting emotional damage in their adult children is not quite as easy to deal with…

I don’t know a single parent who willfully sets out to harm their child. However, parenting practices change as we see the result of each generation, or so many kids get hurt that immediate change is necessary. While a badly designed crib or high chair can easily be determined as harmful to a child, parenting theories that become common practice for decades upon decades aren’t quite as easy to fight.

No one would advise a person to damage their child’s brain if they realized what they were really saying. But previous generations also allowed babies to ride in cars without car seats and gave babies aspirin. Times change and with it the common practice of raising children.

If my baby cries, I’m going to her. She may cry directly in my ear, I may go deaf…but my child will know without a shadow of a doubt that she is safe and loved. Once she’s old enough to learn to control her emotions I will adapt and so will she.

http://theattachedfamily.com/membersonly/?p=1557

http://www.attachmentparenting.org/parentingtopics/calmingyourbaby.php

http://www.nytimes.com/books/98/05/17/specials/spock-father.html

Life As A New Mom

It’s been a long time since I wrote anything resembling a blog, a song or even a letter. Motherhood is wonderful and while it still allows the potential for self-reflection, time to write it down is never quite as plentiful as when you were single and autonomous. However, at the moment my child and husband are both napping, I have hit my limit on television and I’m in between books.

Mama Mandy, a title which is no longer ironic or self-mocking, has thoughts on life, love and motherhood (thus far). I plan on sharing them when I get little windows of time like I currently have. If you want to “hate” please find another place to do so. Trolling a mommy blog is about as low as it gets so feel free to go elsewhere with the negative energy.

The first thing I’d like to share is that I have recently learned that as a new mom there is nothing wrong with taking some time off from your previous identity and just snuggling your kid. For me, this meant I am taking some time off from my music.

There was a time that if I didn’t have a guitar in my hands I didn’t feel…whole. This also applies to careers outside of the arts. In addition to being a musician (and an actress…another blog entry all together…but I’ll get to that at some point.) I was also a therapist. I worked almost exclusively with high risk children and teenagers, most of which had been sexually or physically abused. Needless to say, a lot of my identity was wrapped up in what I did, into what I put out into the world. Once my daughter was born I suddenly realized that the most important thing I’m putting out into the world now is my child. Thus my focus has understandably shifted.

Feminism is a fine idea in theory…but when you try to combine it with motherhood it just gets exhausting. If you try to add that on top of a chronic illness as well it gets downright impossible. We try to combine what our instincts tell us to do with what the world tells us we should do and it results in an arduous and shattering mess of assumed responsibility. Whether we realize it or not, most of the women in my generation were raised to believe that we should be able to work a full time job, raise a family, keep a clean house, actively participate in church and/or society and keep up with at least three hobbies. If we aren’t capable of doing all of this (with a smile) then there is obviously something wrong with us.

Truth is…there isn’t. If you need to work to feed and clothe your family then do it. If you need to write a blog (ahem), sing a song or act in a play in order to retain your sense of self, then do it. If you need to have a spotless house in order to feel sane…go right ahead. However, just don’t feel like you have to do ALL of that in order to be a good wife/mother/woman/feminist/labra doodle. (Yes, I make TV references. Get used to it. That was for my Scrubs loving friends.)

Do what is needed to be fulfilled enough to be a good mom/wife/person in and of yourself but don’t feel like all of that is necessary in order to retain an aspect of yourself that isn’t really you anymore. Life is long and periodically boring so at some point you can pick that part of yourself back up, dust it off and say to yourself: “Self, I used to be really good at dancing the polka. Let’s get our Lawrence Welk on!” I’m sure I’ll pick my guitar back up… and probably soon…but for now it was just causing stress for me that was negatively affecting the way I parent.

Music, specifically songwriting, was my way of doing self-therapy through a lot of bad years. At the lowest points I wrote some of my most poignant works. Now that I’m happy, I just don’t know what to do with myself artistically. I taught guitar for a few years, I started making mash ups and medleys of old hymns and gospel songs, I explored new styles and mediums…but I honestly don’t find guitar as necessary to my day to day life as I once did. I don’t find it necessary to write out my dangerous and self-harming thoughts in lyrical form in order to keep myself from taking desperate actions anymore. If things get bad in my head I just talk to my husband until I feel better.

As I’m writing this my daughter Serenity (Yes, a Firefly reference…) is about 4 months old. She is a sweet, pleasant child who likes to cuddle, play and get kissed, specifically on her neck and toes. She recently discovered said toes and she likes to hold her own feet up out of the way during diaper changes. The Lil’ Miss also makes this pose to let us know she is sitting in poo and is ready to have us fix that problem. She is just learning to crawl and likes to eat a variety of fruits in baby food form. She shows the proper signs of having a secure emotional attachment to both her father and I. I love my child so much that it has shifted the focus of my entire universe to wherever she is at that specific moment…which right now is about two inches to my left.

All of this is preamble to say, I love my kid and I love my wonderful husband. I am extremely blessed and I am well aware of it. It doesn’t mean I don’t struggle with a lifetime of social programming. I was 28 when David and I got married and 29 when Serenity was born. There was a whole other me for a lot of years before they showed up. I’ll be bluntly honest and say that I was sick of that person and ready for a dramatic alteration but that doesn’t mean there aren’t moments where I’m struck by how radically this old life of mine has been transformed.

Some might say I’ve changed… but I say it was about darn time.

Stay tuned…I have lots of fun stories and rants to come.