We decided to go a little more light-hearted on the blog this week. Please enjoy a collection of the times small things felt like a big deal (thank you hormones), moments that “mom brain” took our thoughts hostage and some of the most laughable moments from the beginning of our journeys into motherhood to now. We hope you feel a little less alone in your journey, knowing we’ve probably done something worse.
-Anna and Tori
The Taco Incident
During my (Anna) pregnancy, I had to be monitored a few times due to blood pressure spikes. We were leaving the hospital at 2:00 a.m. one morning after being discharged from monitoring, and I had a pregnancy craving for Taco Bell. I wish we would’ve just gone home, but I have a husband that spoils me, especially during pregnancy, so off to Taco Bell we went. About halfway home, I am suddenly overwhelmed with nausea. Like the kind that reaches up with a death grip and locks onto you. Sort of like your mama pinching your thigh in church, but it’s your stomach. I always kept a small trash can in my car for such moments as these, except my husband had taken it out to empty it and forgotten to put it back the evening before. I urgently state that he needs to pull over, but it’s too late. Looking at my options, I had the choice to puke all over the console or hang my head out the window at 65mph like a golden retriever with their jowls flapping in the wind. I made the wrong one. Knowing the blowback is going to be what feels like nearly fatal, I try to position myself to prevent as much spray as possible, but it doesn’t work. While my husband is attempting to stop the vehicle, the acidic eruption of tacos that once were whole takes place. Previously enjoyed tacos, including shredded cheese, half processed lettuce, and all come back at my face, unable to stand against the now 55mph winds of the slowing vehicle. Up my nose, through my hair, down the vehicle, splattered across the headliner, and the worst part, all over my husband they went.
There’s more to this story, but I’ll just end for now with this. If you’re ever faced with the choice to puke in the glove box or out the window at 55mph. Choose the glove box. There’s no way it’s worse.
The Pancakes Were Not Fluffy
I (Tori) was around four months postpartum when I became pregnant with my second child. This said, I was still dealing with fresh, new postpartum hormones and shall we say- BIG FEELINGS while also experiencing the hormone shifts that happen in early pregnancy. It was a wild time!
Your girl wanted pancakes. From scratch, fluffy, buttery pancakes. So I decide I am going to make them. If you have been around here any time you know that I just go in the kitchen and whip things up all the time. It usually turns out fine, I have a good base knowledge of how to cook just about anything. But in walks my wonderful husband. Trying to be helpful I suppose, he decides to recommend that instead I use a recipe from the Betty Crocker cookbook his mother always used. His mom is a pretty good cook so I figured why not?
Well about a minute into the first pancake I can tell these are not going to be fluffy. At least not the fluffy I was craving. I am trying to hold it together at this point but they just are not fluffing up. I lost it. I absolutely cried while flipping these limp, not fluffy pancakes! And now when my toddler cries over food not being everything she hoped it would be I kind of think, “Me too girl. Me too!”.
Nipples and a Measuring Tape
It’s the third night home from the hospital with my newborn. My (Anna) hormones are a wreck, and I’m having a meltdown because my baby is screaming hungry but has forgotten how to latch. My husband, being the “fixer” he is, starts searching for a way to help us. Before I even realize what’s going on, here comes Philip with his professional grade tape measurer and starts measuring my nipples with it. I’m crying, Jackson is crying, and Philip, well, Philip is holding a tape measurer across my chest. He adamantly states that I need a product called a nipple shield to help baby latch, and he’s figuring out what size I need. He says he’s going to the store as soon as they open, and he’ll be right back. All the hormones, sobbs, and baby screams, and there’s my husband with his tape measurer. The image of this in my head cracks me up every time I think about it, but you know what, he was right, and it worked. I ended up using it for a few months before being able to transition Jackson away from it. Postpartum is a wild ride, y’all!
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The Induction Saga
It was my first baby. I had researched all the things and I was very anti all the things. I already have this thing with doctors, the medical system, and a couple conspiracy theories that are a big deal in my brain. So you better believe I had no plans of having an induction!
When my daughter stopped gaining weight according to their ultrasound indications I was told I would need to be induced. This was completely shocking due the fact that no one had prepared me for what exactly we were monitoring and the fact that I might need an induction. They were also not at all prepared for my lack of cooperation in the process!
I guess they thought I would be happy about it, or relieved. Instead, not really knowing exactly why we were needing to be induced, I began asking questions and pushing back on the whole idea. I was actually somewhat hysterical!
Especially when my husband said the words, “I really just don’t see why it’s such a big deal.”
And the red head was set off! At this point the nurse practitioner had left to get the doctor that was in charge at my request because I wanted more information STAT. It is a good thing too because this is when I unleashed every conspiracy theory, fact, and static to my husband on exactly why the was a HUGE DEAL! I must have looked pretty concerning because when they all walked back in the room everyone was looking at me like I was crazy. Irrational or not, this was a big deal in my mind!
You can read my full birth story here. (Side note, I did not get an induction!)
