Tuesday, March 24, 2020 - After dinner rant
I shed my first COVID-19 tears today. And it was all surrounding my middle son.
When I became pregnant with Blaine, I had a difficult decision to make; should I try for a VBAC, or schedule a cesarean. My first birth was 24 hours of labor with 2 hours of hard pushing only to end up in an emergency cesarean because Parker's heartbeat started doing 'wonky' things. Fast forward a short 7 months and I was pregnant again. I mean we knew it could happen, but in my mind, it was difficult conceiving Parker and we suffered through the loss of one pregnancy so we just left it up to fate.
Well, fate is a funny son of a bitch and I was dumbfounded when the doctor looked at me and said, "oh you've been feeling sick because YOU'RE PREGNANT!!"
I think I could count on one hand how many times it would have been possible for this to happen, but as the doctor reminded me, it only takes ONE.
With so little time between my very traumatic first birth and now being pregnant with my second, I didn't have the confidence in my body that I was ready - or that I was fully healed. But I HATED having a cesarean. In my mind, in some stupid way, it was a sign that I wasn't meant to be a mother. I mean I didn't BIRTH my son. I didn't do it. So he shouldn't be mine. I wanted so badly to 'deserve' the title of mother and to me, that meant giving birth naturally.
I poured over all the statistics. Read medical journals. The latest studies. They all pointed to one thing. When something goes wrong, it usually means that the baby is harmed. I couldn't put my baby at risk. I couldn't put my want over his health. So I scheduled another cesarean at exactly 40 weeks. If I went into labor before, it was meant to be. If not, I would move forward with the cesarean.
That cesarean broke me. I didn't know it fully at the time, but something deep inside of me broke that day. I fell into a deep depression and it took me a lot of therapy hours and soul searching to get out of it.
Blaine's life started with a tormented decision, and then the first months of his life he had a mother struggling with two babies and a deepening depression.
His life didn't start out like I would have chosen for him. It was hard. And then there was the colic. He would just not settle. Hours of walking up and down the halls with a screaming baby. I remember calling my father in tears one night asking him to come over.
"Well, I don't really know what to do with a baby," he said nervously over the phone. "But I guess I could come and just hold him."
"Okay, that sounds great dad!" And I got a good hour of sleep I desperately needed.
Then came time for school. Blaine was a Momma's boy and loved being close to me. Leaving me, and his new baby brother, who he became a little mother hen over, was really hard for him.
Blaine has never really found his passion when it comes to extracurricular activities. Although, we've tried it all. Soccer, baseball, hockey, curling, piano, drums, voice lessons, swimming, horseback riding, skating, and the list goes on.
I guess at the heart of it all, I just feel like, in life, Blaine has always struggled just a little bit more than everyone else.
And now, his grade 8 graduation year from elementary school, he's going to miss it all. RIGHT after his brother just celebrated it all just a short year ago. How life can change in a year.
He will miss his grade 8 trip. He won't have a ceremony with his friends. He won't have a cap and gown and a diploma to receive. He won't have a dance. He won't have an afterparty. And the way things are looking, he won't get the 'after grade 8 trip with Mom and Dad' either.
And what actually reduced me to tears is a tradition our school puts on. The whole school gathers in the hallways outside of their classrooms and the grade 8s make one last round around the school on the very last day and all the students 'clap them out'.
He won't be clapped out.
And that's when I lost it. That's when big hot tears streamed down my face.
And then, that's when I got angry.
As a family, we have been on lockdown since the announcement was made that March break would essentially be three weeks instead of one. Friday night we didn't order take out. We didn't go out at all. We were home and we've been home. WE HAVE BEEN HOME. We have limited our errands. We have not seen our friends. We have not made plans. We have been self-isolating so that we may and others may stay safe.
But that won't be enough. 11 days we have self-isolated. 11 days we've canceled plans. 11 days we have stayed inside. 11 days we have sacrificed so that this may pass.
And others don't care. They don't care that my son will lose his celebrations. They don't care that there are grade 12 graduates trying to get into university. They don't care that there are elderly dying. THERE IS MORE HAPPENING THAN PARTIES BEING MISSED!!!! PEOPLE ARE DYING!!!!!!
I'm angry because if you are not staying home, you are telling me you don't care.
And I don't know about you, but I have SO MUCH to care about.
💗
When I became pregnant with Blaine, I had a difficult decision to make; should I try for a VBAC, or schedule a cesarean. My first birth was 24 hours of labor with 2 hours of hard pushing only to end up in an emergency cesarean because Parker's heartbeat started doing 'wonky' things. Fast forward a short 7 months and I was pregnant again. I mean we knew it could happen, but in my mind, it was difficult conceiving Parker and we suffered through the loss of one pregnancy so we just left it up to fate.
Well, fate is a funny son of a bitch and I was dumbfounded when the doctor looked at me and said, "oh you've been feeling sick because YOU'RE PREGNANT!!"
I think I could count on one hand how many times it would have been possible for this to happen, but as the doctor reminded me, it only takes ONE.
With so little time between my very traumatic first birth and now being pregnant with my second, I didn't have the confidence in my body that I was ready - or that I was fully healed. But I HATED having a cesarean. In my mind, in some stupid way, it was a sign that I wasn't meant to be a mother. I mean I didn't BIRTH my son. I didn't do it. So he shouldn't be mine. I wanted so badly to 'deserve' the title of mother and to me, that meant giving birth naturally.
I poured over all the statistics. Read medical journals. The latest studies. They all pointed to one thing. When something goes wrong, it usually means that the baby is harmed. I couldn't put my baby at risk. I couldn't put my want over his health. So I scheduled another cesarean at exactly 40 weeks. If I went into labor before, it was meant to be. If not, I would move forward with the cesarean.
That cesarean broke me. I didn't know it fully at the time, but something deep inside of me broke that day. I fell into a deep depression and it took me a lot of therapy hours and soul searching to get out of it.
Blaine's life started with a tormented decision, and then the first months of his life he had a mother struggling with two babies and a deepening depression.
His life didn't start out like I would have chosen for him. It was hard. And then there was the colic. He would just not settle. Hours of walking up and down the halls with a screaming baby. I remember calling my father in tears one night asking him to come over.
"Well, I don't really know what to do with a baby," he said nervously over the phone. "But I guess I could come and just hold him."
"Okay, that sounds great dad!" And I got a good hour of sleep I desperately needed.
Then came time for school. Blaine was a Momma's boy and loved being close to me. Leaving me, and his new baby brother, who he became a little mother hen over, was really hard for him.
Blaine has never really found his passion when it comes to extracurricular activities. Although, we've tried it all. Soccer, baseball, hockey, curling, piano, drums, voice lessons, swimming, horseback riding, skating, and the list goes on.
I guess at the heart of it all, I just feel like, in life, Blaine has always struggled just a little bit more than everyone else.
And now, his grade 8 graduation year from elementary school, he's going to miss it all. RIGHT after his brother just celebrated it all just a short year ago. How life can change in a year.
He will miss his grade 8 trip. He won't have a ceremony with his friends. He won't have a cap and gown and a diploma to receive. He won't have a dance. He won't have an afterparty. And the way things are looking, he won't get the 'after grade 8 trip with Mom and Dad' either.
And what actually reduced me to tears is a tradition our school puts on. The whole school gathers in the hallways outside of their classrooms and the grade 8s make one last round around the school on the very last day and all the students 'clap them out'.
He won't be clapped out.
And that's when I lost it. That's when big hot tears streamed down my face.
And then, that's when I got angry.
As a family, we have been on lockdown since the announcement was made that March break would essentially be three weeks instead of one. Friday night we didn't order take out. We didn't go out at all. We were home and we've been home. WE HAVE BEEN HOME. We have limited our errands. We have not seen our friends. We have not made plans. We have been self-isolating so that we may and others may stay safe.
But that won't be enough. 11 days we have self-isolated. 11 days we've canceled plans. 11 days we have stayed inside. 11 days we have sacrificed so that this may pass.
And others don't care. They don't care that my son will lose his celebrations. They don't care that there are grade 12 graduates trying to get into university. They don't care that there are elderly dying. THERE IS MORE HAPPENING THAN PARTIES BEING MISSED!!!! PEOPLE ARE DYING!!!!!!
I'm angry because if you are not staying home, you are telling me you don't care.
And I don't know about you, but I have SO MUCH to care about.
💗
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