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Tag Archives: having kids 18 months apart

Dear Mothers Expecting Baby #2,

I saw a friend this week strolling her 8-month-old baby in the mall.  She looked on the verge of tears. She had left her older child with her mother for an hour so she could have a break.  She said the previous day had been very bad.

“Oh the kids were driving you crazy?” I asked nonchalantly.

“No, I had a bad day as a mother…..and as a person,” she answered gravely, tears threatening to spill over.  She went on to tell me how she was feeling – but I didn’t need to hear the details.  I could just look at her eye sockets and the despair on her face and it all came flooding back to me.  I remember all-too vividly how I felt everyday for 3 years when I was home with two babies.

But this is the kicker….nobody warns you how difficult it will be with two children.  Nobody mentions how your whole world will get turned upside down and you will end up on the verge of a nervous breakdown.   As a result of getting blindsided you end up walking through Nordstrom with your baby in a haze of tears, guilt and despair.

That’s what I am here for….TO WARN YOU!!!

To keep it real for you people.

When you are pregnant with your first child, people shower you with gifts, compliments, foot rubs, unsolicited advice, old wives’ tales, hand-me-downs…..

When you are pregnant anytime after that – the general attitude you will get from people (including your husband) is – “You got this, right?”

Nobody cares anymore.

When you have one kid – you have to adjust and it is difficult at first.  You have to get used to running on empty.  You have to get used to putting someone else’s needs before your own.  You have to be a little less narcissistic, but yet, once you get used to all of this – it’s totally manageable.

When the second child comes, you are completely caught off-guard.  You have done this before, so you should be a pro.  It should be easier this time around….right?


Remember how tired you were with one baby?

Remember how guilty and confused you were with one baby?

Remember how much you wanted to smother your husband with your boppy with one baby?

Remember how fat you were with one baby?

Multiply all of that by 1 million percent.

I know what your thinking… can one extra little person make the percentage jump one million percent?

Trust me.

It just does.

Oh yeah – and remember that little bit of “me time” you had carved out when you had one child?

Oh, that’s actually completely gone now.  That little snippet of time is now alloted for the baby.

Oh yeah, and if there is an act of God and both children are sleeping or otherwise occupied – you still don’t get a minute to yourself – because that’s when the old needy, neglected husband will come a’ knockin.

You will have to find another avenue for your narcissism too, (thank you blog and Facebook.)

Just don’t say I didn’t warn you……

When Michael was 9 months old, with what little faculties I had at that point, I realized that if I were to ever come out of the state of shock and sleeplessness that I was in, then I would probably tell Mr. Gaga that I was done and put that shit* on lockdown.

(*”That shit” can be loosely defined as baby swings, diapers, and my uterus.)

If you saw me or spoke to me from 2005 to roughly mid-2009 – this is all I remember from the conversation….Sorry.

So in my baby-induced stupor I suggested that we have our children close in age.  Mr. Gaga basically just rolled over in bed and I was pregnant….Michael was 9-months-old.

This arrangement is not for the faint-of-heart.  Two boys came into my life  in an 18-months time span and I thought I would actually die.

If not from just sheer mental and physical exhaustion – but from the loss of self, the sucking up and vanishing of my soul…my actual being.

It was all gone.  My hopes, my dreams, my desires…they were all gone buried under a cloud of nipple pads, burp cloths and “Good Night Moon.”

One time I got a sitter and I went to the nail salon, and acted really crazy. I was hoping to get put away for “exhaustion” – but nobody cared……

I remember sitting on the couch attempting to breastfeed Sam while Michael cried and pulled on me.  Sam would cry because he couldn’t latch on to my boob, Michael would cry because he wanted me and I would cry because I was starting to realize that my life would never be mine again.

FYI – Nursing a baby while an 18 month old jumps all-over you is not recommended for the preservation of your sanity or your nipples.

At Sam’s 3 month check-up, the doctor asked how the breastfeeding was going.

I stared back at him and without emotion stated, “Well, this kid will have a super-duper immune system and no ear infections, but sadly he will also have no mother….because I will be in the institution…”

I thought for sure he was writing down that he advised a quick hospitalization for “exhaustion,” but when he left the room I looked at the notes – and it just said “Mother still fat and complaining about breastfeeding.”

Thankfully, my doctor did suggest switching to formula, time marched on and I survived.

When all was said and done – I always say it was an extremely tough 3 years and then things started to get easier.

The great pay-off now is that they are the best of friends.  They love each other so much and are inseparable.  I am grateful to think that they have each other and will always be close.

Of course as is to be expected they fight incessantly – but I know that they care about each other very much.  When I hear them in their rooms laughing together or watch them playing, I absolutely know that all of my hard work and loss of my soul is worth it in the end because they have each other.

Especially this morning when I went into Sam’s room and saw a little note folded next to his bed from his brother.  I love how they secretly communicate with each other with notes or pictures.  Sam idolizes his older brother, so much that he will keep every little scrap of paper that Michael gives him.

I sighed and thought how sweet my two little angels are as I opened it up to read it and saw this…..



Stockholm Syndrome and other possible side-effects

I just finished reading the book “Room.”  It is a story about a mother who is held captive in a small confined space with her child for 5 years.

I did not want to read this book because I am already neurotic and worry about child molesters and kidnappers on the daily.  I don’t need additional information to torture me at night (this is also why I can’t watch House or Intervention.)

Anyways it was very good – the mother and the boy made this “Room” their home – and sought comfort in aspects of the room and daily rituals.

I could completely relate to this.

Do you know how people like Elizabeth Smart get kidnapped and they don’t try to escape?

They have a condition called “Stockholm Syndrome”, where they relate to their captors  and begin to feel comfortable in their role as prisoner and they are afraid to escape.

Yeah – I have that condition.

I am not comfortable trying to escape from my captors.

I have been held hostage for the better part of 6 years and have been forced to do things that I don’t want to do.  I have been stripped of my freedom.  I have been forced to be fat and wear clothes from the Old Navy.  I have been forced to stay awake for ungodly amounts of hours and entertain small children that at times behave as though they are spawns of the devil.

And yet … I don’t try to escape.

When I had my first child I had a hard time adjusting to having a baby coupled with the fact that said baby was INSANE and never slept and never got tired and catapulted himself from his crib at a bizarrely young age.

I made sure that I would be dangerously close to being admitted into the nearest mental hospital by getting pregnant when ‘Crazy Pants” – was just 9 months old.

Basically what ended up happening was that when adults tried to talk to me from about January of 2007 until quite recently – I could barely respond and was in a complete fog.

This was me. Like Goldie Hawn's character - after a day of housework and child-rearing I could no longer speak or respond appropriately to those around me......and if you were wondering - that shirt is from the Old Navy Men's Department.

I was a fat, hot mess – with very little control of the English language.  When I could form sentences I could be heard saying my 3 favorite phrases which are: 1 – “I am going to open the door and throw myself into oncoming traffic.” (when I was in a car.)2 – “I am going to gouge out my eyeballs.” (when I was in a kitchen near a sharp object)3 – “Why is this my life?” (to any adult that would make eye contact with me when I was out in public) Then one Christmas when Michael was 3 and Sam was 1 1/2 Mr. Gaga (this is his new official name) surprised me with a 4 day/3 night trip to Vegas. Exciting, luxurious and decadant…yes. The plans were made to stay at the Bellagio hotel with dinners at Nobu and Spago, massages at the spa, lounging at the pool with drinks…. What more could someone want? Well someone with Stockholm syndrome is just fine staying home with her captors.

As the trip approached I became more and more distraught.  I cried.  I hyperventilated.  I tried to cancel the trip. I was terrified that something would happen to us and my babies would be orphans.  Plus I had never left them – and they would be with my in-laws the whole time. For reference about that SEE HERE. “All you do is complain that you never get a break and now you have a chance to relax and have fun and you are still not happy.” my husband said with disgust as he polished his Elvis sunglasses and steamed his clubbing shirt.(Oh by the way – research has shown that he DOES NOT have Stockholm syndrome.) “I know but it’s not worth it” I cried. (I literally cried for like 2 weeks prior to this trip – I was not well.) It’s not like I am going on a business trip…..If I die in a plane crash – my kids will have to forever know that I am dead and left them to go to Vegas like a trashy 2-bit whore!!” I said throwing myself on the bed. My husband wouldn’t budge. “You need to take a Xanax.” my mother said unsympathetically when I would call her in hysterics.”No – I can’t.” I said flatly.”Why?  You will feel so much better!””I need my anxiety……it is part of me.”  I would say. I know.
Hardcore Stockholm in the house…… So we went – we survived the flight.I got there – I forgot I had children altogether – never even called to check in.I began to focus on how I could get a boob-job work as a burlesque dancer and only go home at Christmas. Then it was time to go home….back to reality….to my captors. So my 10 year anniversary is coming up and Mr. Gaga insisted on planning another trip. (Apparently my bitchiness and nagging has not deterred him from wanting to spend time with me.) At least the kids are older now – so that makes me feel a little better.But when I think of the pending trip – I start to get a pit in my stomach and a little bit of tightening in my throat……….gulp. I received no form of monetary compensation or product for this post. The opinions expressed in this review are my own and were not influenced in any way.  I just really enjoyed the book “Room!”
But I will be reviewing another book towards the end of this week….
 In the meantime – please click on the banner below to vote for me!!If people like me and think I am funny maybe I won’t be so insane…….

LINKING TO POUR YOUR HEART OUT and Mama Kat’s writing workshop

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