My Minions in Motherhood

M is my oldest, he’s sensitive and shy with his affection, P is my second born, he’s wise beyond his years, J, my baby girl who is fearless, and the baby F, he’s developing quite the personality.

I’ve always wanted to be a mother. The way most people feel their purpose is to be a nurse, a lawyer, an architect… is the way I’ve always felt about being a mother. In my late teens - early twenties, I was told that I wouldn’t be able to have kids. I had a terrible miscarriage in my early twenties. The devastation I felt was so real. The depression… Oh my gosh the depression. I can only thank God for placing my (at the time) best friend KR in my life. She knew I was sinking into depression and refused to let me give in. She made sure that even on my worst of days, that we floated. Whether it was being the odd third wheel to blind dates (gosh that’s a story) or girl days with my Goddaughter, or having me teach her how to crochet so we could just have our granny days where we’d drink coffee and crochet. KR was the kind of friend that I could call and not say a word for 45 minutes and she would hear everything I didn’t say. She made sure I believed that motherhood would happen for me. I remember finding out that I was pregnant with M and she cried more than I did. She was there for the snuggles, the belly rubs, the mood swings and the cravings.

Anywho, when M was born, my mother was there for my emergency C-section. We cried hearing M’s first cry. I remember his first cry. I screamed and said, “God, I did it, Ma I did it. I’m a mom now!!” My mom cried and said, “you did it..you really did it.”

No one tells you about all the fears you’ll have as a first time mom. They don’t tell you about how you’ll constantly watch your baby sleep and check their breathing a million times…or that you’ll still do that years down the road. They don’t tell you about how bad postpartum depression can be or about how it will make you feel like you’re failing your child because you don’t have all of the answers. No one tells you how beautiful the sleepless nights are. How every frustration melts away when you hold your little one close to your chest. Or how you’ll make so many promises you’ll make to this tiny human in your arms.

When I got pregnant with P, I had the biggest (silly in retrospect) fear of not knowing how to love baby P with the same amount of love I had for M. My whole world revolved around M and I didn’t know how I was going to give that same quality of love to a second child. A silly but very valid fear. When P was born, he didn’t cry at first. The nurse took my baby and went into a different room. I remember the dread I felt, how it seemed to take over my whole body. I told my ob/gyn to bring me my baby. I only wanted to see my baby. My epidural and my tap were wearing off. I got pissed off after my ob seemed to neglect my need for seeing him. I was able to move my leg (she hadn’t even started to sew me up). I told her if I couldn’t see my baby then I would go get him myself. She screamed at the nurse to bring P to me. As the nurse was bringing P to me, he let out the biggest cry. I held P on my chest and cried and whispered loving nothings into his ear. I learned right then and there that your heart just makes room for another minion and that my fear was ridiculous. When I tell you that I would cry being afraid that I wouldn’t be able to love two kids the same way… It was a real fear.

Moving on to J. When I was pregnant with her, I told myself that it was a boy, because gender disappointment hurts. I saw her ultrasound and before the tech could ask me if I wanted to know. I was already crying and said, “Three lines… Omgosh that three lines… It’s a giiiiiiiirl.” The whole office new I was having a girl. I FaceTimed everyone that had been praying for me and for my girl and we celebrated. M and P were big boys when they were born and throughout their baby phase and toddlerhood. Little Ms. J was my smallest baby. At the time I thought healthy babies were chunky. I spent a lot of time checking in with her pediatrician about her height and primarily her weight. She didn’t really have a chunky phase. She (Ms. J’s pediatrician) explained to me that girls don’t grow as fast or as stocky as boys and that J was perfectly fine. J is still a tiny kid. Over the last summer she finally grew to look her age. When she was 9 months old people thought that she was 6 months old. When she started walking I had to bend slightly to the side so she could reach my fingers to hold my hand (I’m barely over 5 feet tall.). J has this dress that was so long you could barely see her ankles. She still fits the dress but it’s now a tunic on her. How many kids can fit a dress from when they were a baby as a now toddler? Most kids her age are growing out of 3t and wearing maybe 4t/5t clothes. Ms. J can still comfortably wear 24 months clothes (hopefully that explains how petite J is.).

Finally the last of my Mohicans. Baby F. That pregnancy was rough. I don’t know if it’s because I had him as I was nearing my thirties or if it’s because I worked myself to the bone until I nearly went into labor. My fourth and final c-section. It was quite a traumatic experience. My father was there with me. He took me to an appointment thinking that I was going to return home the same day. Baby F’s pregnancy was considered high risk. I had to go out of town for all doctor appointments and to eventually give birth because the hospital that’s over an hour away was more equipped for anything that could go wrong. I was having contractions that rivaled my first pregnancy for maybe a week or two. One morning I felt like something wasn’t right and called my ob and told them how I was feeling, my ob called my high risk ob and told me to go in. My dad drove over an hour. I told my dad that this would be routine check up and I’d be going home. Turns out I was very wrong. Shortly after getting hooked up to all the monitors I was told that I was going to have an emergency c-section. I knew the baby was fine because he was steadily kicking. My dad didn’t want to have any parts of being in the OR with me but I didn’t want to be alone and my man was well over two hours away from me at work. I didn’t have time to text or call my man to give him a heads up. As I was immediately prepped for surgery. Everything started out fine. Baby F was born, he had a strong cry, I was able to hold him…then everything wasn’t. They had brought in bags upon bags of blood into the OR. My dad looked like he was trying not to cry, he held my hand and started cracking jokes to get me to laugh… It was at that moment that I got scared. I don’t know what happened, suddenly my dad told me he loved me as him and Baby F were rushed out of the room. What should have taken maybe 45 minutes before being taken to recovery ended up being hours. My last thought before they put me under was that I didn’t want to die…. Which I did, at least twice, according to my father. His exact words to me when I woke up in recovery were, “Girl don’t have anymore babies, I don’t know what I would do without my baby girl.” A couple of weeks later, due to a wound vac I had in recovery, I nearly lost my life again due to an infection caused by the wound vac that I was completely unaware of.

Moment of transparency.

Through all of the ups, downs and near fatal moments, I wouldn’t change a damn thing.

This beautiful journey called motherhood is one I will NEVER regret. God blessed me with the greatest little humans that call me Mami.

The best title I have and will ever hold for the rest of my days.

Thank you for choosing me, M, P, J and F. Mami loves you!