My Hope For You

In two short months three of my children will be celebrating birthdays. In three we will be adding our final family member. How is it possible to feel so much joy and sadness all at the same time?

Each year I notice more and more that time seems to be moving faster. Soon summer mornings will be filled with my voice urging you to get out of bed. Making breakfast will become a thing of the past since I'm sure I'll be lucky to have any of you up before noon.

Days spent annoyed because I'm answering a seemingly endless stream of questions will be filled with the longing of getting you to speak to me without an eye roll and a shrug of your shoulders. Dolls will be replaced with ipods; imaginary tea parties with bickering about your sisters not staying out of your clothes; legos with phones; and cartoons with music videos.

You are growing up my loves. More independent every day. Nap time has become chill time for all of you but one, and soon that peaceful quiet time of my day will be gone altogether. You'll want to leave to visit friends or to hang out at the park. My heart will ache and I'll hold back a tear for the babies who are long since grown.

With your advancing years will come new struggles and challenges. Both for you and for your father and me. Our parenting mottos will change and we'll have to scramble to figure out the new set of tears flowing down your sweet faces. We'll have to control our desire to deck the first boy or girl who breaks your heart. Or bite our tongues when we hear your anger at your current "bestie" because of the malicious and untrue rumors that they have started.

We will have to learn how to guide your self image so no matter what your peers say, you always see how beautiful and special that you are. Right now, my loves, you are still so young and impressionable. It pains me to admit how scared I am of the years to come.

How someone like me can raise you to be confident in your skin; respectful to all you encounter through life; and motivated to reach your fullest potential. Someone like me, who cared way too much about the opinions of others. Who ignored and disobeyed my own parents at every turn. Who never embraced the opportunities I had in front of me.

But, I carry on. I do it because I hope for you. I have hope that our constant reminders of your intelligence, your confidence, your beauty, your wonderful little hearts, will always be ringing in the back of your minds. When the doubters come to you. When you face the people who refuse to see what's inside of you. I have hope for you.

My hope for you will outlast my body kiddos. It'll be there when you are old and gray and having your own hope for your children. My hope for you will surround you on your worst days. When you can no longer hear my voice urging you on, you can read my words and feel them touch your heart.

My hope for you is never ending. My hope for you will endure even the darkest moments of your lives. The moments when your judgement lapses and you've hit rock bottom. My hope for you will help raise you up because you will know that I don't expect perfection. My hope for you is that you live your life always staying true to yourself. My hope for you is that you find your joy in life and ride it through the rest of your days.

My hope for you is to know that you will always be my babies. Even when your skin begins to wrinkle and your hair takes on a silvery hue. When your eyesight weakens and your body starts to give. My hope for you is you never forget you are the most beautiful gifts in my life.

Why Size Really Doesn't Matter

My favorite mommy blogger has been known on several occasions to post that any amount of kids is a lot of kids. I couldn't agree more with this observation.

It seems like no matter how many children I have welcomed into this world, my hands have somehow always remained full. Each time I was convinced that I couldn't do it again, I have surprised myself with my flexibility.

I'm a part of a pregnancy group on Facebook and have repeatedly seen the conversation come up to whether or not the women in the group are finished after this baby, or if they plan to have more. It's pretty enlightening reading the comments about how many kids these families have and their reasoning behind being finished. Some moms are content with two, some are currently cooking number six and still remain undecided.

The biggest thing I commend these women on are their abilities to not look down their noses at the women who have accepted that they don't want a large family. The ones who have realized they are stretched thin enough with the one, two, or three that their family currently have.

Which brings me back to the statement that any amount of kids is in fact, a lot of kids.

With my personal circumstances I always knew I wanted a large family. Being around kids a lot in my youth I felt confident in my ability to maintain composure in the face of the chaos that comes with them. I have since learned that I am definitely equipped to handle the Brady Bunch of children I have, but maintaining composure is a feat that I need to cut myself some slack on. No parent is perfect and that's okay.

Truth is, my hands were full when it was just me and my son. I lost my cool a lot with his energetic self. He has a personality that is go, go, go all of the time. So I can completely understand those who have decided that their one child is enough for them.

My hands became slightly more full when my second daughter came. Her personality being the complete opposite of her big brother gave me confidence that maybe I was figuring this whole mom gig out better than originally thought.

Then naturally with each additional child I grew in my understanding of motherhood and realized how much each kid's individual personality affected that. I had my doubts about what I could handle, but for the most part believe I've done a pretty good job of rolling with the punches. I started to question if there ever would be a number that I would deem "too many" for our family.

I know scary thought right?

Well good news, this mother has definitely reached her limit. Not in the sense of finally realizing that there are too many to handle, but because I know how thin I can be stretched before my older children start to lose the individual attention that they deserve.

Every child deserves to feel special to their parents. They each deserve an equal amount of one on one time so they can create memories with their mom and their dad unique to that of their siblings. My younger children will never get what my oldest has. Four years of just him and me. Four years of creating a very special bond.

Six kids, is enough. Too many for some, too few for others. Determining which side you see for that is solely based on individual preferences and I, for one, celebrate that.

I will never be a mom who hears a mother of two (or even one) venting about the stressfulness of motherhood with a condescending stare down of "imagine having six." Mama... You do have your hands full and I'm here if you need an ear to let those frustrations out!

One person's struggle will always be another's walk in the park, but that doesn't mean that we should spend that stroll judging each other.

I sometimes see or hear comments made by mothers expressing how they just knew two children was the right amount for them. Being human, I get a fleeting feeling of self consciousness about what these women must think of a family like mine.

In reality, these women are doing what is best for their family, and their opinion holds no merit in what is best for mine. I wouldn't trade the blessing of my six children for any amount of sanity or free time in the world. They are worth it a million times over.

So, yes six kids is a lot of kids. But one, two, five, ten, nineteen are all a lot as well. Kids are the most (and best) work you'll ever put in in life. Embrace what you can handle and never let anyone make you feel like your hands aren't full. Household size is a subjective endeavor when discussing how many are too many. Stick with what works for you!

Because One Time I Almost Lost

Today I want to talk about something difficult. Something that very few people know about me. Something I've kept silent on for a long time for fear that my weakness would be exposed and that I may be looked at or treated differently.

I'm sharing this with you today because I need to. I need you to know you aren't alone. As alone as I felt. I need you to know that there is hope. That you matter.

Many years ago, I was lost. Constantly surrounded by people, but always alone. There was a darkness in me that I couldn't hide from and trust me I tried. I spent everyday drinking and smoking this darkness away. Trying to mask it's devastating affects with the help of little blue pills.

One day it almost won. One day I had decided I had had enough. My best friend was dating the person I was in love with. I had dated him for two and a half years before he broke up with me to date not only her, but my other best friend as well. 
He was dangling our "love" on a string trailing it behind him for six months after he ended it. Seeing them but seeing me too.

I was young I know. Naive and stupid. Not really sure what real love is. But I felt something so strong for him that it made me blind to what was happening.

Everyday I went to school I was high. 
I couldn't sit still in class from the uppers I was taking. If it weren't for the colored contacts I wore I'll bet my teachers would have caught on. My pupils took over my eyes. The artificial coloring helped mask the craziness that anyone would see if they had actually been looking. 

It was a cold day in January. A fight between me and this man pushed me past anything I could've ever imagined I'd feel. I sat in my bedroom. Music blaring, tears flowing.

So I tried.

I couldn't tell you how many pills I took. Or how long the belt was tied around my throat. I can't remember how long I laid there before I came to. I can't describe the hopelessness I felt. I was a failure at love. A failure to myself. And now a failure at finding a release.

I was more lost than ever. How would I ever explain to my mother where the marks on my neck came from?

She never even noticed.

I spent the next couple of weeks letting loose. I went wild. Nothing left to lose I no longer cared about anything.

Two weeks after my failed attempt I got so wasted I lost an entire weekend. To this day the stories people tell me still don't register in my memory. I don't remember anything past the alcohol, past snorting the klonopins, past making it to my house with a handful of friends.

I woke up two days later to my mother standing over me. Telling me I wasn't going to spend another day in bed. Then she was gone.

Two days later my life changed.

Two days later I found out I was pregnant.

Fear isn't even the word I would use to describe how I felt. The guilt for everything that I had done washed over me in an instant. What had I done?

It was in that moment where my failed attempt at release started to make sense. It was my first step in my journey towards God.

To say I was fully reformed would be a lie. While my battle with drugs and alcohol was over in that instant, I was still at war with this feeling of hopelessness and despair. Probably more so without their numbing release. 

My son helped me through the thick of it, and I had a temporary bandaid-like fix because my pregnancy brought me and his father back together. Which at the time, I thought was the only reason I was feeling the way that I was. Looking back, however, it's clear to me I was in a volatile relationship. We brought out the worst in each other. I had no filter when I saw red and everyone knew it. He was a master at getting me to that point.

Two years five months after my failed attempt I found myself at yet another low point. After enduring so much negativity in my life. Everyday we fought. Everyday I heard that I was a terrible person and a terrible mother. He was still chasing my best friend. I sat back and watched. Believing that this was all that was meant for me. Believing that I indeed deserved the treatment he gave me. Believing I wasn't a good mother.

It was June. My son wasn't quite two. His dad told me he was going fishing with our friends. That I wasn't allowed to go even though all of my friends were going as well. A fight ensued to the point where the police were called.

He went fishing, I called his brother to see if he could take our son. Which he gladly did. I was devasted. Swirling in the darkness once more. Lost. Alone.

I sat staring at a cup of bleach. Bawling. I wrote out a long letter to my son. Begging him for forgiveness. I'm sure if I looked hard enough I probably still have this note somewhere.

I gathered every bit of courage I had and raised the glass to my lips.

" Please forgive me."

There was a knock on my door.

It was my mom coming to see if I was ok. I told her I was, but I just needed to be alone and I sent her on her way. It took me nearly thirty minutes to gather up the courage to bring that cup to my lips again.

"I love you Damian."

There's another knock at the door. My son and his uncle.

I dumped the glass and put it away and opened the door.

I found God that day.

While many would brush this off to coincidence, I can't.  I can't believe that a coincidence would knock on my door at the precise moment I'm ready to succumb to the darkness. Not just once but twice.

I can't believe a coincidence would allow me to just wake up that moment two and half years ago and walk away with only a few marks on my neck and a massive headache.

My life didn't change overnight, but my heart did. I stayed with him for a couple more years. Trying to make it work for our son. Believing it could. It couldn't.

Now looking back I see that every rough spot I went through, I went through for a reason. I had to believe my life was worth something. Even if I couldn't measure it in my own mind. God wanted me here.

If I would have succeeded at least two lives would have been forever changed. Four lives wouldn't have even came into existence. I wouldn't have been able to share this with you.

I would like to believe that my life has touched many others in the eight years since. That I have made a profound difference to at least one other person. I believe with one hundred percent of my being that God put me here because I am needed.

You are too. You may not be able to see it right now. You may be lost and scared like I was. You aren't alone, I promise. You matter to more people than you realize and you owe it to yourself to reach out to them. Some choices can't be unmade, but they can always be worked through together.

If you're having trouble talking to someone you know, the suicide prevention hotline is available 24/7. 
1-800-273-8255

Only You Can Determine Your Self Worth

Small confession before I begin this post. I do not feel fully confident in giving relationship and/or marriage advice. Not because I don't feel like I have an amazing marriage, but because I don't feel like we have put in the time it takes to make one qualified to say.

That being said, I have to get my thoughts out here. I have been in two major relationships in my life and they were like night and day.

My first relationship lasted from 2001 until 2008. He was a few years older and I was incredibly young. The premise of every parents nightmare really. My parents were otherwise occupied with work and their own marital problems though, and being the youngest of four children I got pretty good at sneaking around.

I look back at that relationship and the only question I ask myself is why?

Not why did I date him; not why did I try to grow up so fast; not why didn't my parents stop me; but why didn't I stand up for myself?

I was not perfect or without blame in the Hell that was our relationship. I was a teenage girl. For those who know what that's like to be or live with, I'll bet you're nodding in understanding right now.

To say I was bipolar and crazed would be an understatement. We fought from day one. We didn't care where we were or who was around, we fought. I wouldn't leave him alone either. That was a huge mistake on my part, but it was like this uncontrollable magnetic charge that completely prevented me from letting him walk away from me.

Sure, he was mean. I remember it vividly. He said horrible things that he knew would cut me deep. However, he always managed to do it in such a controlled way that no matter what I was left to look like the psycho. People I thought were my friends began making me and his relationship the center of their conversations. Never knowing both sides of the story or seeing the insane things he'd do to me.

We split briefly in 2003 for what I thought was his chance to gain custody of his son. It turned out to be six months of him and I not officially being in a relationship so he could date not one, but two of my best friends. All the while still seeing me in secret. Yeah... It's honestly embarrassing to admit.

This is what happens when you are a little girl trying to pretend you're an adult. A fifteen year old has no business chasing after an eighteen year old with a two year old son. But there I went, heart on my sleeve, running as fast as I could.

Life changed quick when I got pregnant and had our son in 2004. The foolishness of him chasing both my friends dwindled down to just one. Bonus, he was nice enough to only occasionally do it in front of me. Lucky me.

He moved in with me when I was six months pregnant. Me with this naive notion that all of our problems would disappear once we were living together and our son was here. Instead I was left with the choice that he could leave during the day or he could leave at night, but he was going to leave one way or another every single day.

I look back and I think about every opportunity I had to say No. This is not how you are going to treat me. And how many times I just didn't. It took me so long to realize that I did deserve better. No matter what anyone else thought.

I didn't stand up for myself until 2007, when my best friend and I moved in together. Looking at him and telling him I was moving out was one of the most freeing moments of my life. I had waited six years for him to show me that I was worth fighting for. He did... For two months. Long enough for him to move in to my new place and then we went straight back to where we were. Hearing cunt more than Megan.

The worst part of all of it and what eventually brought me to my senses was all of this; every fight, every push, every name that was called, random thing that was thrown; it all happened in front of our little boy. That poor innocent child that had no say in what was going on.

Our final split and my eye opening transformation came in 2008. I went through a huge life change and our relationship ended as it was meant to. All of that year was spent figuring myself out. Reflecting over the idiotic mistakes of an inexperienced and impressionable teen girl.

I spent all of my teenage life trying to skip it. I didn't realize it until those years were over, but it is exactly what I did. The summer I turned thirteen and gained the tiniest bit of freedom I was immediately drawn to kids three to four years my senior. I immediately acted like I was grown instead of embracing all that was in front of me as a kid.

My first boyfriend turned into a seven year relationship that produced my first child. I know that everything was meant to happen that way because my son changed my life, but I can't help but feel cheated out of my last five years of childhood. I unknowingly cheated myself and it is a regret I hope to prevent my own kids from repeating.

The one major thing I have going for me with this goal is being with a man who is the complete opposite of my ex. Our relationship started with me knowing exactly what I wanted and how I expected to be treated. It started with a let's see how this goes type of attitude. We both had just ended major relationships within the last few months and we were in no hurry to jump into another.

Alex and I had known each other years before, being neighborhood friends at age five. Our hometown is unique in the sense of being very small, but divided in half by the Indiana-Ohio state line. For the first three years of him living in our town he lived with his Aunt at the end of the alley behind my house. We spent a lot of time playing together before he moved across town and went to the other school.

My mom was a consultant of sorts for the few years he lived close. His mom and aunts loved the home decor she sold so I spent a lot of time coming with her to the parties they'd throw. During this time Alex and I grew very fond of each other and little did I know then that we both had developed our first little crush.

We lost touch once his family settled into their new home. Only to be reunited twelve years later through the power of the internet.

I knew from our first conversation that he was different. Everything felt natural. He asked for my number and when I gave it to him I said you can call now if you want. Being the ass that he is, he responded with something to the effect of whoa now let's not rush things. I was embarrassed to say the least and let it be known. He called and apologized saying that it had been a joke.

That was my first taste of how our relationship would go. Never being able to be mad at him because he can always make me laugh.

We spent the first three months testing the waters. Spending late night hours watching corny movies and eating pizza rolls and tator tots. Not wanting outside interference or to confuse my kids we didn't spend anytime together during the day. No one knew who the person was making each one of us happy. Though everyone spent many weeks trying to guess.

I know now that that is exactly what we should have done and I'm so grateful we did. By keeping our budding romance to ourselves we gave us a real shot. We got to know one another. We got to talk about what hurt us in the past and what we didn't want for our future. We got to have our space to remember that we still needed it. We spent time together because we wanted to not because we had to.

Sure no relationship is without its downsides. We are not perfect all of the time. We do have to put work into us and the problems that we have. The difference between this relationship and my last though is overwhelming.

My husband never calls me the c word. Ever. In fact, I could probably count on one hand the amount of times he has called me a bitch and we've been together for six years. His biggest flaw in our arguments really is the amount of effort it takes to get him to talk at all. His response usually being I just don't know what to say or I don't want to make it worse.

We didn't even have a "real" fight until about six months into seeing each other and our second came probably six months after that. We bickered and disagreed sure. Still do a lot, but it is easy (for the most part) to talk it through and move on. We both remember what is it we want and that is each other.

It's effortless to love him and I have never once thought to myself that I don't think I can spend the rest of my life with him. We've never publicly blown up at one another or disrespected each other outwardly. We are playful towards one another and tease each other all the time. We are united in all things that we do. We remind each other daily that we're in this for the long haul. We have a forever kind of love.

Alex knows how to treat a woman. He tells me everyday that I am beautiful. Everyday he gets up and works hard so I can be home with our kids. Every day he comes up to me wraps his arms around my waist and whispers I love you in my ear. Everyday.

He has his faults and I have mine, but together we bring out the best in one another. That's how I know that we have a relationship worth fighting for. When I got with him I told myself I would never again allow a man to make me feel worthless. Never again allow a man to tell me that I didn't deserve to be treated well. That I wasn't worth spending time with.

Alex has never made me have to remind myself of those things. He has never put me down. This is why I ask myself why I put up with it for so long with my ex. How I could have allowed someone to tell me I was a horrible mother and person. I remember so many hurtful things he said and did to me and I remember so many times I cried and told him I would change. The mere fact that I considered even once being the person who needed to change in that relationship makes me ashamed of myself.

Sure, I did need to change, but not in any way that he told me I needed to. I needed to change by becoming a stronger woman. Being someone who developed a damn backbone.

The hardest part was convincing myself that I would survive without him. That I was worth so much more than what he tried to make me believe I was. Years of being told I wasn't good enough or any other person who I tried to get with would treat me the same made it nearly impossible. Once I did though there was no turning back.

I found out that being alone wasn't the worst thing that could happen. That year I spent being a single mom was the best gift I could've given my children. They got to see their mom transform from a doormat to an independent happy woman. I gave them the opportunity to grow up in an environment free from watching their mom suffer from mental and emotional abuse.

My kids get to see what it's like to have parents who love each other more than life. Who are more than just a husband and wife, but are best friends. Who laugh together and bicker; who are affectionate and childish; who respect one another and give each other space. It's an amazing feeling.

We are still very much in the early years of our marriage. I have several years ahead of me before I feel like I can begin sharing the secrets of what it takes to make it a success. I just wanted to take the time right now though to say that I know what it feels like to feel defeated in love. To wonder if there really is a man out there for me. One that won't make me feel like something's wrong with me and instead make it feel like my whole world has split wide open and all the possibilities are poring out in front of us.

I want anyone reading this right now who feels even the slightest bit relatable to know that the only person standing in the way of your happiness right now is you. I don't say it to be mean, I don't say it to make you feel bad about yourself, I say it because you need to hear it. Being alone is terrifying, but being with someone who doesn't treat you like the incredible person that you are is by far the worst thing you can do to yourself.

You have to sit back and take a long hard look in the mirror. Do you know what you deserve? Because I do.

You, my dear, deserve the world. Please, don't let anyone make you feel like you don't.

Realizations of a Social Networking Mama

Socializing has come a long way since I became a mom. Discovering I was pregnant was not met at any point with the thought of when to make it Facebook official. Or any other equivalent social networking site either. Eleven years ago Pinterest, Instagram, and Twitter weren't around, and Facebook had literally just come about.

I never gave any thought to unique and exciting ways to announce my pregnancies. Or tried to pick the perfect timing. Nor did I consider celebrating the milestones of my kids' childhood this publicly. Or open up my family's life like I've done. However, today that has become a big part of the decisions I make all the time.

It's as present on my mind after I see those two little lines as "oh crap when was my last period?" This thought may not be relatable to everyone; but living so far away from the majority of people who matter in our lives, I honestly can't help it.

Social networking is a huge part of my family's day to day. Some days I'm perfectly okay with this, some days not so much. I accept, however, that this dulls a lot of the pain for the grandmas missing their grandkids right now. So I will continue to do so.

My kids' grandparents, greats, aunts, uncles, cousins, and friends get to be a part of their lives because the power of Facebook. To me that makes it worth it.

Since these sites have become increasingly popular over the last few years it's hard to ignore the desire to join in on the fun. Even not being far away from family and friends.

With my last two pregnancies and my own increased use it has become more apparent that there are so many ideas I wish I would've recorded for my first four kids.

Exciting pregnancy announcements, gender reveals, crafty celebration pieces for your home, milestone markers for ages, grades, life events, all things I never thought about until I became addicted to Pinterest. All things that now that I'm adding a sixth child to my brood feel slightly less exciting to share.

Seriously. How many people are enthusiastic towards a mother of five inviting you to her gender reveal party for baby number six? How many enjoy seeing the many growing belly shots of yet another pregnancy? How many people care what you're craving? Or what's happening in this week of pregnancy?

Now swap out mother of five with first time mom. Tell me I'm not the only person who can see the difference?

Google "pregnancy announcement for fifth child" though and see what you find.

I think it would be awesome to be a first time mom right now. The ideas you have at the tip of your fingers because of social media are endless. So for veteran moms like me it's kind of sad missing out on moments like these.

I know. I know. There are many people out there who couldn't care less if this is your first or your twelth. Babies are either exciting or they aren't. But, being a veteran mom, expecting yet another bundle of joy, I can't help but notice how silly I feel posting anything about the milestones of this pregnancy.

Maybe it's because there aren't many new and exciting things that happen when you've been pregnant as many times as I have. Sure there are plenty of new things that can happen, but "new" is usually never coupled with "exciting." It's usually more in the ballpark of horrifying, hellish, or at the very least unpleasant.

When I scroll through my news feed and see the updates of a first time mom, I can't help but feel nostalgic. The wonder of the unknown, the joy of what's to come, the nervous anticipation of what to expect. All amazing parts of experiencing child rearing for the very first time. Or even the second or third for that matter.

When I see the awesome YouTube videos, the amazing photography ideas, the effort and love that reaches all corners of the earth; I battle the urge to be overflowing with happiness for them with being incredibly jealous.

When it comes time for your fourth, fifth, or sixth, to me, it seems like you aren't expected to act as happy.

Having another baby are ya? You do know what causes that right? Were you trying for another baby? So who's getting fixed now?

Questions people seem to think are perfectly within their right to ask. So imagine the reaction to that group picture you're trying to take with everyone saying "Saaayyy Susie's Pregnant!" Instead of the usual "say cheese." Sure you're going to wind up sharing some interesting expressions, but how many of those are going to be looks of excitement instead of the again? faces.

Now, do any of these feelings of hesitancy stop me from pinning four hundred pins of baby gear, announcement, and photo ideas on Pinterest? Hell no. A good idea is a good idea. At worst, I just owe my older kids an apology for not doing as many awesome activities through the early years with them. My bad kids. I was a newbie at the internet.

Facebook and Instagram become a whole new arena though. Being that these two platforms are specifically designed to socialize on. As much as I try to I can't get over feeling like no one cares about how big my belly is, what week of pregnancy I'm on, if I'm craving gummy bears and French fries, or what piece of produce my unborn child is measuring in line with this week.

I want to proceed on my way capturing these moments regardless. I just feel reluctant to share my excitement with those I connect with online. And yep, it is my Facebook and yes I can post whatever the Hell I want. I'm just considerate of my friends and I do take the time to decide how well a post will be received before I put it up. You're welcome by the way.

So I suppose to the other veteran moms who feel this way, I say to you, screw everyone else. Yeah, I don't share as much as I probably would've been able to with my first or second, but I'm not going to refrain altogether. I will go on about the next several months celebrating this new life I'm adding to my family. And for the record, I am one of those people who are excited to see any new addition you have to your family as well. No pregnancy will be identical, no child the same, so do whatever you want during this time.

With all the negativity in the world it is a welcome change to see so much positive in your life. And I will stand by my desire to see a growing bump next to a chalkboard before another damn bathroom selfie any day of the week.

Embrace each moment because the way I see it, it may not be your first child and you may already have one of each gender, but this very well could be your last experience as a pregnant woman. This may be the last time you feel the kick of life within you, the last time you have an opportunity to blame all the nasty moods, excessive sleeping, weird food cravings on something other than just being a strange and crazy person. Document and share at your leisure because you have the ability and no one has the right to make you feel like you shouldn't.

Why My Husband Says He Hates Me When I'm Pregnant and I Completely Understand

One thing I believe every mother can agree on is how much men just don't get it. The havoc creating life can wreak on a woman's body is mind boggling and miraculous. But when you're in the throes of it, it only feels like tourcher.

I've never pretended to be an easy person to get along with. I'm highly emotional even during the calmest times in my life. I wear my heart on my sleeve and analyze even the smallest statements directed towards me. It's not something I'm necessarily proud of, but it is something I've accepted about myself. I feel too much.

At this point you would think my husband halfway knows what to expect. For the most part I guess he does, but it's a very superficial type of understanding because he just can't wrap his brain around the amount of work my motionless body is doing. He doesn't understand why I can't just suck it up and push myself to get things done that need to be done.

Maybe I've spoiled him? Or maybe he's just as stressed out as I am?

I wish like hell I could stomach standing at the kitchen sink long enough to tackle the foul smelling collection of dishes that have piled up over the last few days, but I just can't. I wish I could cook a fabulous supper and enjoy the one moment of the day where my family is all together, but I just can't. My stomach won't allow it. My energy won't cooperate. My body hates me right now because it's focus is where it should be: On creating new life. Maybe tomorrow will be better. Tomorrow is as good a day as any for me to have a "good" day. My body may decide to loosen the metaphorical umbilical cord and allow me a few gulps of fresh air.

This isn't a post to bash my husband nor one to write my pregnant self a pass. It is to acknowledge that right now I'm a barely functioning, hormonal nightmare; and my poor husband reacts accordingly because he gets the shittiest end of all of it.

We have gone through a lot in our six short years together. Seven pregnancies, 3 miscarriages, relocation, estrangement, death, financial hardship, everyday stress. Our marriage isn't perfect. Thankfully, neither of us expect it to be.

When I break down crying because he hurt my feelings he's rightfully confused. He didn't really even say much of anything, but I read between the lines and forgot to cut him some slack. He can't fix what's going on with me right now and it bothers him. I'm his wife. I can tell.

When my emotions are too much for him he snaps. He looked at me the other day and point blank to my face said "I hate you when you're pregnant." I won't act like it didn't cut me deep. Because it did. More so than any other thing he has ever said to me. But I've thought about it a lot and I realize I hate me when I'm pregnant too.

Whoever thinks pregnancy is some marvelous experience that opens you up to how strong and amazing you truly are has clearly only been pregnant once or twice. Or is some freak of nature that never experienced the real "joys" of pregnancy like morning sickness, sheer and utter exhaustion, and mood swings from hell to name a few. Don't get me wrong. Having a baby truly is a gift from God, and the good parts always outweigh the bad otherwise why would I put myself through this for the umpteenth time?

I can only speak from my experience and I'm just not a nice person during this time.

Memories of Your "Mean Mom"

You know kids... One day you'll read this and memories of me will come to mind. Sometimes those memories won't be very pleasant and I think we should take a minute to explore that.

As well intentioned as I may be, sometimes I'm slightly ... Let's say, unbalanced.

Sometimes the crying and the arguing; the 12:30 am wake up calls from the puking five year old; the stabbing pain from misstepping while walking through the Lego minefield that's been on the bedroom floor for the last three days; and the tiny little hands that have permanently attached themselves to the side of my leg throws something off inside me which in turn makes me a not-so-nice mama to be around.

As much as I want to take a deep breath and find my center before addressing the unfavorable situations we find ourselves in, I also know that trying to pass on a logical solution to a four year old is going to go over about as well as vacuuming our lawn.

The reality is sometimes your mom has bad days. Bad days that make me your "mean mom." Bad days that cause you to roll your eyes and stomp your feet. Days that make you scream and cry and threaten to run away and never come back.

Sometimes I lose my shit and say things I don't mean. Sometimes those things are more funny than scary, like the time I told Penelope that if she didn't let me brush her hair I would just shave her head. Sometimes those things are more mean than helpful, like the time I told Lydia to stop throwing a fit about her shoes and look for them because if I found them first I was going to leave her home alone.

Others may not see the gravity in the things I've said to you, but Lydia your gentle heart broke at the thought of being left behind. My frustration in trying to get everyone ready so we could leave and still not being ready myself made me lash out unfairly at you. Sure, you really did need to stop walking around in circles crying because it was clearly not helping you. But, I could've started asking where you looked and gave you places to check to help the situation instead of leaving you in a panic from the unfair ultimatum I handed out instead.

There are many times I yell first and ask questions later. Times I don't give you a chance to explain yourself before I say "I don't want to hear it, go to your room." There are days you get in trouble for stuff your brother or sister did and had no control over. Or moments I am disappointed because I expected more from you than what (in hindsight) was reasonable.

I know one day when you read this you'll remember the mom that was angry and belligerent. The mom who told you to shut up and leave her alone. The one who only wanted five minutes of quiet before she lost it. The one who made you feel like an inconvenience instead of the incredible blessing that you've always been.

I wish I could give you a childhood free of these experiences. I wish I could picture a future where you read this and say "what in the world are you talking about mom?" But I'm realistic kids. Your mom is a basketcase. For better or worse.

Someday, you'll have your own unstable moments. Moments where you snap at that mini version of you. The one who isn't really the reason you are frustrated. The lack of sleep and non stop go, go, go energy that radiates from them will grate on your nerves and the exhaustion will get the better of you. You'll hurt that sweet kid's feelings.

At the moment it may seem like the biggest parenting fail of your life. I promise you it's not. I'm not a perfect parent you guys. As your memories may remind you. But my imperfections don't lessen the amount of love I have for you. They just make me human. Just as they do for you.

Fact is guys, there's a lot of things I may not do right. There's probably a ton of things I could do better. But, being a parent is not about appearing like you always have your shit together. It's about providing an example of embracing all parts of who you are as a person. Accepting you are flawed and showing how to push on, admit when you're wrong, and strive for better.

And sure sometimes "angry mom" could be avoided. But sometimes "angry mom" is the result of you kids acting bad as Hell.  Sometimes I can't handle that tantrum over your marshmallow being smashed. Or the fit because I can't make the sun move out of your eyes. I'm sorry that's the best corner of the couch, how about you scootch it over an inch and ta-da no more sun in your face.

Sometimes I can't deal with one more mess. The kid that is covered head to toe in baby powder, or toothpaste, or marker. The make-up that is wiped all over my mirror and carpet and clothes in my closet. The lake you've created on the bathroom floor and fishing toys out of the toilet.

Sometimes I just want you to get along. Stop touching your sister, stop making that humming noise your brother has repeatedly asked you to quit for the last five minutes. Stop taking that toy, or that spot, or that blanket. No one cares that you wanted the red plate. Not the blue, not the yellow, not the green. The red. Babe, they all have the same food in them.

You kids have been the greatest blessing God has ever given me. You have gotten me through so many of my own self doubts and you have made me a better person than I thought I could be. So when you reminisce about the kind of mother I have been all I ask is that you remember, you outnumbered me six to one. Please be thankful you survived. Lord knows I am.

Love you all forever and ever,
Mama