Category Archives: advocate

Flying Test Babies, Flying food… No difference

(Again, if you are fragile, please avoid this blog post. It gets graphic at the very end.)

I didn’t have the same reaction. I have a plethora of children, survivor of abuse in my past, survivor of loss, survivor of PPD. I saw a light hearted commercial about a family being in a rediculous situation and something ridiculous happening.

Not to belittle your reaction, but there are infomercials put there, you know the ones, food flying everywhere because people can’t chop food, we all laugh. There are also people out there that worked in factory settings with limbs chopped off, get where I am going with it?

I am truely sorry you had that snap reaction, I even understand it, and it shows that you have more healing to do.

I hope that you are able to move beyond your pain soon, and laugh at the ridiculous again soon.

 

The above is a comment which was left in response to my post on February 6 in reaction to the “Test Baby” Super Bowl Commercial. I’ve not edited it at all.

Why am I sharing it with you?

I’m sharing it because as I have thought about what my response to this comment would be, I realized that it needed to be an entire blog post. I have so much to say in response to this person’s reaction.

Here goes.

Dear Justthe10:

I believe everyone has the right to their own opinion and I thank you for leaving yours here at my blog. Just as I allowed your comment, please allow me to respond.

Congratulations on your plethora of children. I hope they are bringing you great joy on a daily basis.

I am deeply sorry for the pain you have suffered throughout your life. It sounds like you have been through the wringer more than once. Abuse, loss, and PPD are no laughing matter.

Neither is child abuse or Shaken Baby Syndrome.

Throwing a baby against a plate glass window is no laughing matter. There is no situation in which this action is anywhere near comparable to that of food flying everywhere. And as far as factory workers go, I can’t remember the last time I saw a commercial with that subject matter.

Food flying everywhere does not cause anyone to be severely brain damaged. It does not cause anyone to live in a persistive vegetative state. It does not harm an innocent person with gratuitous violence.

Furthermore, this commercial was aired during a family event. Children saw this. Children in homes who have suffered violence and abuse themselves. Children who have no real way of processing this the same as you or I. Children who may now think it’s cool to pick up their little brother or sister and throw him or her against the glass window, door, etc, because someone on TV did it.

The manner in which I chose to react on my blog was not a “snap” reaction.

In fact, I did not see this commercial air live. I had stepped out of the room when the commercial aired. It was only because of Twitter that I became aware of the existence of this commercial.

My reaction, was not based on a “snap” judgment. I watched this commercial several times prior to blogging about it.

For nearly four years now, I have worked tirelessly as an advocate and Postpartum Peer Support person. All of my work is unpaid and on a volunteer basis. I come in contact with women and families on a daily basis who share with me their struggles through PPD, their struggles through infant and child loss, and their struggles with past abuse.

My reaction was anything BUT snap. It was a very deliberate and well thought out reaction meant to raise the awareness that it is not okay to use an act of child neglect and/or abuse to turn a profit.

If you Google this topic, you will quickly find that I am not alone in my “Snap” judgment. Well-known and reputable journalists, websites, advocacy groups, parent groups, etc, are all calling for this ad to be completely pulled from the company’s website. Have you seen this article at USA Today?

To call into question my mental health because I refuse to find a gratuitous act of violence against an innocent infant (real or otherwise) is also crossing a line. We are all different and have different boundaries. It’s okay to have different boundaries. It’s what makes us interesting.

If you knew me better, you would also know that I do laugh at the ridiculous and inappropriate on a regular basis. Just ask my husband. I have a very dark sense of humor. I grew up surrounded by a lot of grief and laughter at the darkness of it all was one of my coping methods. I’ll be one of the first people to laugh at dark humor in a group. I’ll tell dark jokes and regularly watch things filled with inappropriate references. There are several people who will back me up on this one.

But for me? Harming  a Baby CROSSES A LINE.

And it’s okay that I feel that way. It doesn’t mean I need to heal. It doesn’t mean that I am still hurting. It doesn’t mean that I am crazy. What it means is that  I care. I have compassion. I have a moral compass.

Bottom line here:

There is absolutely NO situation in which harming an infant is okay to use as source material for humor. None. Harming infants is off the table for me and for much of America. If it’s not, I worry about where our society is headed when Child Abuse is on the table as a selling point for any company, especially one targeting families.

Furthermore, the company has a customization option at their website now which lets you decapitate the baby. Last I checked, doing that to a real baby will get you locked up and is a real reason to question someone’s sanity. If you really think this extension of the commercial is okay, then perhaps you should check yourself into a hospital. Sadly, this very situation DID happen in Texas not too long ago with a new mother suffering from Schizophrenia and believed to have developed Postpartum Psychosis. I didn’t find it funny then and I certainly don’t find it funny now.

I sincerely wish you all the best in life and hope things continue to go well for you so you are able to “laugh at the ridiculous.”

Me?

I’ll laugh at the ridiculous.

It just won’t ever include harming infants in any way, shape, or form.

Lots of love,

Me

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Just Talkin’ Tuesday 01.25.11: Buried under Mama Guilt

 

Original Graphic by Lauren Hale, Author, MPV

Mama Guilt.

What does this mean to you?

In your life, right now, what invokes this emotion within you?

Is it when you work? Is it because you don’t work outside the home?

When you do something just for YOU?

When something goes wrong? When you lose control? Fail at perfection? Compare yourself to another mom who is perfectly wrapped and coiffed?

Yelling at your kids instead of gently guiding them toward the desired behavior?

Sleeping when you should be up at the crack of dawn because it’s just not motherhood unless you throw yourself under the bus every second of every day?

Wondering if your child is missing milestones because of something you did or didn’t do?

Are you enrolling them in enough extracurricular activities? Engaging them?

Or are you sitting on your computer chatting on Twitter, reading blogs, commenting at blogs? Judging other moms?

Chiding your husband? Wishing you could stay home with the kids instead of going to work?

Doing ANYTHING without your kids?

Loving bedtime?

Loving naptime?

Mama Guilt.

Dangerous ground, this emotion.

This week’s Just Talking Tuesday isn’t really a conversation starter. Perhaps it is – but I want to issue a challenge along with it.

This week? Pick ONE thing which causes you the most Mama Guilt. Write it down on a piece of paper. BURN THE PIECE OF PAPER. TEAR IT UP. DESTROY IT. LET.IT.GO.

Then Post here. Tell us what you destroyed, how you destroyed it, and why. Let us know how we can help you keep moving away from your guilt. Alone, we are powerless. But together? Unstoppable.

Let’s do this.

Then & Now: Why I blog turns three

Three years ago and thirty nine or so weeks ago, I was driving home from my therapy appointment for the Postpartum Mood Disorder I struggled with after the birth of our second daughter. It was THE DAY. The trees were greener. The rain drops sparkled. The sun breaking through the grey clouds summed up my mood perfectly. My heart soared. My oldest daughter would soon be three years old. Our youngest had just turned one. I was heading out to a relative’s house for the weekend with my mom, my first weekend away from the kids in a very long… well, ever. The Sunday after that weekend, I would discover I was pregnant with our son. And would totally freak out.

I did not want to go back to that dark place. So I read. Intensely advocated and prepared. Began to blog as an outlet for myself and to help other women.

Little did I have any clue that my first post would lead me here.

To three years and thirty nine or so weeks later. Never did I have a clue that I would interview Karen Kleiman, the author of What Am I Thinking: Having a baby after Postpartum Depression, here on my blog. Her book was what inspired me to begin to blog in the first place as it urged moms facing subsequent pregnancies to reframe them. So I did.

I haven’t stopped yet a nor do I plan on stopping any time soon.

I am ever so grateful for my positive Postpartum experience after the birth of my son. After struggling so hard with the first two, I finally got to immerse myself in the bliss of motherhood. I smeared Vaseline on the lens of my life and it totally rocked. Having been through hell it was certainly even more cherished and certainly not taken for granted.

I remember losing myself in the sweet scent of new baby. I remember holding him close and feeling our hearts beat in sync with each other. I remember him nuzzling my neck as he cuddled closely after nursing. I also remember curling my toes in pain because nursing was rough with him. I remember Thrush. I remember cracked nipples. But mostly I remember all the good stuff.

And these days, he is the light of our lives. Our little boy is a joker, a prankster, a caring and concerned three year old who loves to kiss, hug, and watch Cars. He doesn’t snuggle nearly as much but that’s okay. He will sit down on the couch with his toy laptop and blog right along with Mommy & (now) Daddy.

I am ever so thankful for his presence in our lives. Ever so thankful for his laughter, his camaraderie, his energy, and his caring spirit. Even when things get challenging with him, it is hard for me to keep a straight face. Damn his adorable infectious cuteness.

Who knew that when God decided to bless us with our son, it would also birth in me such a strong advocate for women with Postpartum Mood Disorders?

Thank you, little buddy, for motivating Mommy to put herself out there for so many women. You have no idea how many lives you have helped touch. None.

5 Postpartum Survival Tips from a Zombie Apocalypse

Zombie: [zom-bee] n. 1. a person who is or appears to be lifeless, apathetic, or totally lacking in independent judgment; automaton

Who among us has not at one time or another felt as if we were a Zombie? Going through life trapped in repetitive motions, functioning because we had to instead of so desiring to function? Come on.. raise your hands!

New mothers are at particular risk for this – new dads too!

Bringing a little creature into your life is enough to suck the very life blood from your own veins. It’s as if you’ve been infected – it’s your very own Baby Apocalypse!

Nursing, feeding, crying, fussing, playing, mixed up nights and days, toss in a Postpartum Mood Disorder for good measure and you’re totally screwed in no time.

Just as with Zombies, many humans have their own theories about Postpartum Mood & Anxiety Disorders. Some people believe they exist. Others don’t think they exist at all. Those who do believe in PMAD’s are likely to prepare for a second round with them while those who do not believe in them choose not to prepare at all. It’s this population I worry about the most.

A few things you need to know about fighting off a Postpartum Apocalypse:

1) Educate yourself. Get intimate with the signs and symptoms of all of the disorders on the spectrum. Know what it looks like to have Postpartum OCD vs. Posptartum Psychosis. What does Postpartum Depression look like to someone else? What about Postpartum Anxiety or BiPolar? Which one is an imperative medical emergency? (BTW, any of them are an imperative medical emergency IF mom is suicidal and/or threatening harm to others – but Postpartum Psychosis is ALWAYS a medical emergency!)

2) Pull together several sources of personal support. Just as in fending off Zombies, there is strength in numbers. Find a support group. For you, this may be your parents, your partner’s parents, leaders from your church or center of faith, a local support group specifically for Postpartum Mamas or you may find something online like the Online PPD Support Page, #PPDChat, or iVillage’s Postpartum & Pregnancy Depression Message Board. Build up your arsenal of support early. The stronger your support system is, the better chance you have at fighting back and getting ahead of the coming waves.

3) Call in the Army. Well, not literally. In your case, the Army will be your physicians, your Therapist, your Psychiatrist, Psychologist, Midwife, Herbalist, Pediatrician, IBCLC, anyone involved in care for YOU or your baby. These professionals are trained and know just how to zap that depression. If you have these folks on you stand a much better chance of really obliterating the Postpartum Zombification heading your way. If you need help locating an ever-growing group of knowldgeable professionals, let me know. I’ll be happy to help.

4) Don’t stay home. Get out. Get moving .Believe it or not, research was actually done in regards to a popular Zombie movie – Night of the Living Dead. Their conclusion? Quarantine was riskier than Offensive responsive behavior. I know, my jaw dropped too. Get out. Walk. Go to the library. The local track. A zoo, museum, local fitness center. I found out I can join a public county gym for just $60/year. Guess what I’ll be doing in January? Shaking my groove thing around their track, on their elliptical’s, and using their weight machines.

5) Be an active participant in your recovery. Simply sitting on a therapist’s couch or in their office will not heal you. Neither will staring at a bottle of prescription medication or herbal supplements. You have to share your thoughts, experiences with your healthcare professionals and close support people. Twiddling thumbs is not what gets the Zombies off the front porch. It lets them in them in the front door. You might as well serve Sweet Tea and Cocktail Weenies for crying out loud. Skipping this important step is not recommended at all.

With a little bit of preparation, you too can strengthen the your survival of and recovery from an attack of a Postpartum Mood Disorder.

We won’t leave you all alone out there. We promise.

(This post inspired via Twitter discussion with @BrerMatt and @herbadmother. I’d like to thank the poor innocent spider who may have lost his life at the hand of @herbadmother in order to lead us to this post.)

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Prematurity Awareness Day: Remembering to Breathe

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jPz3YaIJkjQ&fs=1&hl=en_US&rel=0]

2 AM and she calls me ’cause I’m still awake

~Anna Nalick, Breathe~

I couldn’t sleep. It was time to pump again. If I did not pump, I stood to lose the precious supply of breastmilk I struggled to establish. Every three hours I hooked myself up to a yellow hospital grade Medela pump. The plastic horns were cold. Hard. Definitely not the warm natural manner in which I expected to be providing milk to my new baby girl. Never-mind she was in Atlanta about an hour away.

I sat on the couch, in the dark, hooked up to a whirring machine via tubes. 70+ miles away, my daughter was doing the same thing, hooked up to machines, whirring and straining to keep her alive.

‘Cause you can’t jump the track, we’re like cars on a cable
And life’s like an hourglass, glued to the table
No one can find the rewind button, girl.
So cradle your head in your hands
And breathe… just breathe,
Oh breathe, just breathe

~Anna Nalick, Breathe~

She was a little over 4 weeks early, my second daughter. A late-term preemie but a preemie none the less.

We had no idea she had a cleft palate. Or a recessed jaw. Or a compromised airway. Or a floppy tongue.

No idea she would be in an ambulance less than 24 hours after birth heading toward a NICU in the nearest large city.

No idea we were about to get a crash course in medically fragile infant care.

No idea of the plan to take our lives and turn everything completely upside down.

The plan was to have a baby. Go to the hospital, give birth to a healthy baby, nurse, go home.

Our plan failed. I failed. I wailed. I cleaned. I screamed. I cried. I wanted to leave her at the hospital. She was not mine. The hospital had made a mistake. They could keep her. I could not do this. I couldn’t. I just… I…. I was delusional. In shock. Processing but yet…. not.

Detached. Clinging to a series of routines. Clean, brush, wash, change, pump, meds, yell, scream, argue, repeat.

Stuck at home.

What I wouldn’t have given to have had her stay inside for a few more weeks.

To have known before we had her of the issues we would face.

But we did not.

I do not know if knowing would have changed a damn thing. I think it would have sometimes. But then I realize I cannot change what has been. Only what will be.

There’s a light at each end of this tunnel,
You shout ’cause you’re just as far in as you’ll ever be out
And these mistakes you’ve made, you’ll just make them again
If you only try turning around.

~Anna Nalick, Breathe~

The day we were to learn how to place an NG tube, I sprained my ankle as I got up from pumping on the couch. My husband freaked out along with me. Then I instructed him to bring me an ankle brace and ace bandage, bag up some ibuprofen and tylenol, and grab an ice pack. There was a grown up hospital across from Children’s. If things got worse, I would go, I promised. I never went. The nurses asked why I was limping. When I told them, they chided me. I did not care. I had limped around since arrival. 42 hours of labor wracked my body. I had the shakes, fever, signs of trauma. I kept going. I burned and re-tore. I should have slowed down. Rested. But I could not. My daughter needed me so I threw myself gleefully under the bus, a Cindy Crawford Pepsi ad smile glued to my face.

Why?

Because this is what a Mother does. Right? Right?

Everyone told us just get through the first year. The first year is the worst.

What they didn’t mention was the follow up appointments. The speech therapy. The potential for behavioral disorders. Allergies. Orthodontia. Additional surgeries. Ear Tubes. Feeding Tubes. Depression. Developmental delays. Hell.

They also did not mention the joy we would feel when our daughter, at four years old, finally blew out candles on her birthday cake all by herself. I cried.

Or the joy when she finally started talking and could TELL us in her voice instead of with her hands how much she loved us.

Or how much joy would spread across her face as she blew up a balloon after surgery #6 which created a pharyngeal flap to close off excess nasal emission of air previously preventing her from blowing up a balloon.

Or her giggles when she first blew bubbles.

Or how big we would grin as we listened to her teach her 2 year old brother talk.

How good it would feel to as she finally made progress.

How good it would feel to understand 80-95% of her speech instead of 25-50% of her speech.

How good it felt as we both recovered from depression and felt the sun’s warmth on our faces and in our hearts.

How grateful we would eventually be to God for carrying us through such a huge storm.

2 AM and I’m still awake, writing a song
If I get it all down on paper, it’s no longer inside of me,
Threatening the life it belongs to
And I feel like I’m naked in front of the crowd
Cause these words are my diary, screaming out loud
And I know that you’ll use them, however you want to

~Anna Nalick, Breathe~

When I became pregnant with her brother, I began to blog here. Not so much for others at first, but for me. I needed the support. I needed to vent. I needed to know I was not alone. Writing became a solace for me.

I know I am not alone.

You are not alone.

We are together.

There are thousands of us scattered across the world, just as scared as the next one. But we are not alone. We are not alone.

But you can’t jump the track, we’re like cars on a cable,
And life’s like an hourglass, glued to the table
No one can find the rewind button now
Sing it if you understand.
and breathe, just breathe
woah breathe, just breathe,
Oh breathe, just breathe,
Oh breathe, just breathe.

~Anna Nalick, Breathe~

Today I breathe. In. Out. Just as before.

But everything around me, in me,  has changed.

I have changed. For the better, I think.

Today I am stronger. I am braver. I am not stuck in that moment. I move forward. Not because I have to but because I want to do so. Because I choose to do so.

I am far from perfect. Far from June Cleaver.

I am me. Unapologetically me and unapologetically me as a mom. I do not worry about what I am doing right or wrong according to others. I don’t worry about what she says or she says or she says. What she says does not matter. All that matters is if my daughter has laughed with me today. Has she felt loved? Has she been hugged? Is she warm? Clothed? Fed?

Our house is a wreck. My kids watch TV. My kids eat junk food occasionally. I do too. We are imperfectly perfectly us.

And for that?

I am grateful.

So I breathe. I exhale. I move forward as an empowered unapologetically me.

The day I gave birth to my daughter four and a half weeks early was the same day I gave birth to a stronger me.

It just took me nearly five years to really figure that part out.

(This post is part of the March of Dimes Blogger’s Unite to Fight for Preemies event. You can learn more about Prematurity Awareness at the March of Dimes website.)

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