3 Things I'd Tell My Past Self

I recently published a post on LinkedIn about entering the marketing world--and all the things I've learned since then. The more I think about where my life is right now (from my professional career to motherhood), I find myself in awe of how far I've come and how different my life is from what I planned. 

When I graduated from college in 2011, I never expected to go into marketing. I wanted to be a writer and that was my focus. But, looking back, I had no idea, really, what I wanted to write; I just wanted some general job where I was a writer. Obviously, that's not a great strategy when it comes to the job market and it's probably what contributed to my difficulty getting a job post-grad. I couldn't define my skill set if I couldn't define my ideal job--so I flailed, applied to anything and everything and waited and waited and waited. 

As a result, I worked a lot of crappy jobs. A lot. They were far from glamorous and ultimately served as lessons for me on how I wanted my future career to go--so I guess it isn't all bad! 

On LinkedIn, my friend Sarah mentioned that she wished she'd taken a marketing class in college--at least one! That got me thinking, if I could go back in time and tell my past self anything to help my transition to my current life easier, what would I say? Here's what I came up with. 

1. "Take more diverse classes." 

"But future self," my past self would say, rolling my eyes (undoubtedly), "I already takes LOTS of diverse classes! Sociology, history, journalism, art! You name it!" 

I would roll my eyes in return and say, "Not course catalog, liberal arts-subject diversity--I mean, actually diverse." 

I took a ton of diverse classes my senior year, it's true. But they were diverse in the sense that they got my enough credits outside of the English department. I wish, as my friend Sarah said, that I'd taken a marketing class and potentially a business class as well. I feel like having a more well-rounded, realistic idea of working and business management, as well as marketing, would have made a huge difference for me as a new graduate. 

2. "Relax & have more fun."

Anxiety is a way of life for me; it's just how I happen to live! That's not necessarily the greatest thing in the world, but hey, it is what it is! Looking back, especially to high school me and college me, I wish I'd just had more fun. My anxiety makes me incredibly driven and self-motivated (because I don't want to fail), but it also meant that I sometimes didn't enjoy life the way I should. I spent more time being high strung and anxious than I actually spent living my life in some ways. I wouldn't necessarily change the trajectory of my life (for example, I'm glad Danny loves and accepts the high strung, anxious me), but I wish I'd let myself relax a little bit more. 

Just a little bit though. I'm still super proud of my magna cum laude distinction on my degree! 

3. "Travel more."

I don't say this very often (because I hate traveling), but: I wish I'd traveled more when I was younger. Who knows? Maybe I'd enjoy it more now. I wish I'd seen more of the world before I buckled down for college and for work. I wish I'd seen the places I wanted to (London, Germany, Disney World) before facing the prospect of taking a child! 

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As the old cliche goes, hindsight is 20/20. I wish I could tell my past self lots of things (like "Don't take that job, even though it seems like a great idea" or "don't let Danny drive to work today--he'll total the car"). Fortunately, I can't--and I really think that's for the best. If I didn't make all the mistakes I've made, or perhaps the decisions that I've made, who knows where I would be now? 

Adopting a "Me First" Attitude

"Moms put themselves last" is a phrase I hear probably at least 2-3 times a weeks--and it's a good one to hear. It's easy to allow myself to slip to the bottom of the pile, to be the last one who gets a shower or to eat. It's easy to think that, as a mom, I should come last. The tides are changing though and as much as some still cling to the notion that moms should, no matter what, be at the beck and call of their children 100% of the time, people are waking up the idea that, surprisingly, the minute you become a mother you don't lose your identity as a person. 

Before Forrest was born, I remember being so sure that I would never lose myself to motherhood: I would never be one of those women who finds themselves unshowered, in PJs, feeling stressed and unloved. I would also never, I assumed, co-sleep or bottle feed or any other those other things, right? It's crazy how my thoughts and mantras and plans come back to bite me in the ass. 

A few weeks ago, something clicked inside my brain: for probably 6 or 7 months, I didn't spend any time during the day not thinking about Forrest. Shout out to Forrest, he's great and interesting and very funny, but conversations are a little one-sided at this point. During my maternity leave, it was even worse; I had nothing to talk about with anyone. All I had to talk about was, in this order: Forrest, pumping, Forrest's poop, my diaper preferences, how many wipes, on average, I used during the day, grocery shopping and how stressful I found it, and random daytime TV. I didn't go anywhere, I didn't do anything. I stayed home with Forrest; I fed him, he napped, we played. That's it. 

Last week, I decided to start doing a few things to help myself, I don't know, get away from being just a mom sometimes. It's true that I go to work and during my work hours, I'm in work mode--but that's still not being me. That's not taking care of me or participating in something that makes me feel revived. 

For the sake of holding myself accountable, here are just a few of the things I've been doing: 

• More writing about things other than being a mom. If you saw me in person as I typed that, you'd see my shifty eyes, as I'm still, technically, writing about being a mom. But I'll have you know I have written almost an entire short story in a week. If I even produce one piece of non-mom, non-work writing a month, that's a plus. 
   
• Less photos of Forrest on Instagram. My Instagram went from a fun, 20-something feed full of pictures of coffee, notebooks, outfits, and food to a feed entirely dominated by pictures of a small baby person. It's probably not interesting to 65% of the people who follow me and it doesn't really serve to promote my blog either. So, sorry Forrest, less you, more me. 
   
• Demand time to myself. Sometimes, this thing happens where I cook dinner, Danny gets home from work, we eat, and then... Danny says something like, "I want to go finish this article." Then he's reading for 20, 30, 40 minutes. After dinner, it's a countdown to Forrest's bedtime of 6-6:30pm, so if we finish eating at 5:00 or even 5:30, that means I only get 30 minutes to an hour to myself, since I rock Forrest to sleep and lie with him in bed once he's asleep. The past few days, I've been handing Danny the baby and saying, "I'm going to do this, this, and then this." Those things might be "wash bottles, pay bills, and wash my face" or they might be "take a bath, write, and fold laundry." I deserve those minutes and I will take them.

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There it is. It's all out on the table now. As much as I love taking care of Forrest first, it's getting to be personally draining, that's for sure. I don't ever want to be annoyed at taking care of Forrest, so if that means sometimes he plays while I read or take a shower or eat lunch... then so be it. 

The Truth About Losing a Passion

"I used to be really into photography," I say. I'm talking to a relatively new coworker and, even though the conversation continues without a hitch, I find myself drifting back to this. I say it a lot; I used to be really into fashion; I used to run a fashion blog; I used to be very into makeup; i used to be, I used to be, I used to be. 

It's been 7 months since I really had time for hobbies. I haven't been to the gym, gone running, scrapbooked, or written in my journal in 7 months. I just have more important things to do. Make up is a necessity now (and I praise whoever invented concealer, the beauty blender, and contour palettes) and so is clothing (one that I hate with a passion). I take pictures of Forrest and that's about it.

It's not that I don't enjoy these things anymore; I just don't feel passionate about them like I used to. I can still peruse the make up aisles forever, but I know I won't be posting reviews or anything else. I still use my camera, but it's less about getting better at photography and more about just taking some quick photos.  

There are no more pictures of stealing cups of coffee for me, or journals beautifully laid out on my desk. I drink my coffee cold more mornings and my journal sits on my desk expectantly. Right now, I'm wearing Forrest in the Ergo while I write this and I have about 20 minutes to write before it's time to play and roll and read books (all of which are super fun, admittedly). 

I miss being passionate about things, though.  

There is part of me that realizes I'm never going to be super into photography or make up or anything ever again. I'll probably find new hobbies, I'm sure, but I've moved on from the old me. I'll probably never run a fashion blog again. And that's ok, I don't need to. 

Sometimes, I feel embarrassed about how different I am from the person I used to be: I used to be thin and put together; I had hobbies and passions; my house was relatively clean and nice. But I have to remind myself that people change--I've changed. I'm just not the person I used to be anymore, and that's ok. I have other things to do now, things that are just as fulfilling and fun as photography, fashion, and make up ever were. 

Stop Telling Me to "Cherish Every Moment": It's Not Your Job to Police My Feelings

Having a baby made me lonely. I don't think I'm alone in this, although it's a fact that very few moms talk about. It is a very lonely and isolating experience. In the early weeks, I spent hours by myself: during the day while Danny was at work, Forrest too fragile and sick (and my pumping schedule too messed up already) to leave the house; during the night when Forrest wouldn't sleep or when he ate every 2 hours. I was desperately, painfully lonely, sad, and sleep deprived. 

Thankfully, technology has blessed us (and potentially cursed us) with the invention of mommy groups on Facebook. I joined all kinds when I was pregnant: due date groups, breastfeeding groups. After Forrest was born, exclusive pumping groups, lactation cookie manufacturer groups. Recently, formula feeding support groups. If nothing else, I had someone to ask questions (when I felt bad texting my mom for the 100th time that day) and people to talk to. It got less lonely. 

However, I've began to notice this tendency, especially in these groups, but occasionally on Facebook as a whole, for people to correct others on both their opinions and feelings. It's not just Sanctimommies telling you how wrong you are about your parenting choices anymore: it's emotion policing. It's complaining about your child waking up every 2 hours during the night and having someone reply, "But it could be so much worse! You are so lucky to have a baby!"

"Don't you know it could be worse?" they chirp, from their pedestals carved of gold, cherishing every moment.

The posts about "your child only has 900 Saturdays before COLLEGE!" and appreciating every ding-dong little detail abound.

The lines have been drawn: if you complain, someone will tell you to "cheer up!" or "it could be worse!" 

And you know what? That's no one's job and it's completely unnecessary

It's not anyone's job to police my feelings. When I vent about my son not sleeping or my husband forgetting to let me sleep in or my dog puking, I don't need to be told it could be worse. I know. I know it could be worse. But that doesn't stop my feeling right now in this moment and it does not mean that my feelings are not valid.

There will always be things I want to change about my pregnancy: I wish I hadn't gotten preeclampsia; I wish I hadn't had Forrest so early; I wish he had been admitted to the NICU so we could have better cared for him in those early days; I wish I had better educated myself about breastfeeding; I wish, I wish, I wish. Saying these things--and feeling these feelings--does not mean I don't appreciate how healthy Forrest is now. I do. And honestly, the reason he is so healthy now is on me: I did that, no one else did, I sweated and bled and pumped and washed and rocked. I did that; I told myself I would make him better and I did. He is my child and my feelings about his care and life are mine. 

No one has the right to tell me I can or cannot feel a certain way. It's no one's job to follow me around and say, "Cherish this moment!" when I'm mad or angry or frustrated. It's no one's job to say, "But aren't you sooooo glad he needs you?" when I complain that we are still co-sleeping. It's no one's job; it's honestly no one's business why I feel the way I do or how I raise my child. If anyone thinks differently about the way I feel about something related to my child, they have two options: they can scroll past and say nothing (ideal!) or they can say something like "it could be worse, you know! You should cherish every moment!" and have me reply with, "My feelings are valid and they are none of your business." And if the latter makes them mad, that's not really a me problem. 

That's a them problem. 

I don't need to "cherish these moments"; I already do. And it's okay for me to also say, "Man, today is shitty. I can't wait for my kid to sleep." And it's entirely possible for me to complain about the little things (co-sleeping, diapers, blow outs, laundry, whatever) and still cherish and appreciate them. It's funny how humanity has an array of emotions and I can feel multiple things at once. 

I don't need anyone to butt in and say otherwise.  It's no one's job to tell anyone how to feel, to repeatedly remind them to see the bright side or be more positive. That's not a personality trait; that's not seeing the bright side; that's being annoying, dismissive, and rude. I have the right to be able to express my feelings somewhere. I have to be able to say how I feel. 

No one is perfect. Everyone deserves to have their feelings validated and heard and appreciated. Everyone experiences motherhood differently and invalidating the emotions of other mothers is potentially the lowest form of being a Sanctimommy. 

The "cherish every moment!" slogan of apparently perfect moms everywhere is grating for one reason: it makes mothers feel as if their feelings are bad or as though once you become a mother you are not allowed to feel negative or complain ever (because someone somewhere has it worse than you, apparently). As if feeling guilty or sad or angry or upset or just plain tired are feelings that mothers should never have.

And if there is one thing I know for certain, mothers are too often told how to feel or what not to feel; we're told how to feed our babies and how not too; we are lectured on car seats and cribs and SIDS and hundreds of other things; we are sent home from hospitals blubbering piles of sadness and leakiness and pain and rawness and expected to just morph into happy little Stepford wives overnight. Our opinions and decisions are judged and second-guessed at every turn. Mothers--and women, as an entire group--do not need to be guilted or invalidated for having real human feelings as well. 

All The Things I Wish I'd Known

I wish I'd known how tiring it would be to have a child. Not how hard--I knew raising a child, and taking care of a baby, would be hard work. I knew I would dedicate hours every day to doing things I didn't necessarily want to do. But I wish I'd known how absolutely overwhelmingly exhausted I would become: the kind of exhausted that a good nap or a good nights sleep won't cure. I wish I'd known that my days would start at roughly 4:30am and I would not stop, with a break for myself, until I fell asleep at 9pm that night. 

I wish I'd known that my hobbies would cease to be hobbies, but rather activities that I fondly remembered. I wish I'd known I would have to ask for help, for time for myself. I wish I knew how to ask for it without getting angry. 

I wish I'd known the right things to research. While I scrutinized mattresses and the amount of diapers I would need, I should have read about breast pumps, breastfeeding holds, and nursing pillows. I should have understood how to breastfeed better and maybe I would have been more successful. I wish I'd known that it's not as easy as it seems: there is more than just putting the baby to your chest. I wish I'd known it was ok to not succeed that this particular endeavor, that there are other (just as good) ways to feed a baby. I wish I'd known how to stand up for myself in the hospital better. 

I wish I'd known how all-encompassing a tiny person would be. In my long days of pregnancy, I imagined nap times and nights in the crib. I imagined a world that was completely different from how things ended up. I wish I'd known to stop planning, to stop having expectations for what would happen, what would come next. I wish I'd known that, regardless of where the baby sleeps, my work would never really stop. 

I wish I'd known, earlier rather than later, that no matter what happens, no matter what amount of planning goes in to having a baby, things will always change. The baby will or won't sleep; the baby will or won't eat the way you want them to; the baby will or won't follow the "guidelines" for development. I wish I'd known that babies change their schedules as rapidly and suddenly as everyone else on the planet: they are criminals of spontaneity, making you think one thing and then doing another. I wish I'd known to throw the plans, everything I ever thought about having a baby, out the window. 

Mostly, I wish I'd known to savor more: to stop crying about breastfeeding in those early weeks and, instead, cuddle with my little baby who is now not nearly as little; to let myself co-sleep from the beginning without worrying; and to stop worrying about every little possibility and just allow myself to enjoy the time I had. 

I wish I'd known that being Forrest's mom would be the most challenging, rewarding, demanding, and exhausting thing I've ever experienced--but I wouldn't change it for the world. 

The Many Steps to Dressing a Postpartum Body

1. Avoid looking in full-length mirrors. Or the bathroom mirror. And definitely not when you get your rare shower. 

2. Diligently fold all your maternity clothes up and put them in a box. Two weeks later, find that box, unearth the maternity leggings in it, and sigh. 

3. Go shopping for a new pair of jeans. Cry. 

4. Wonder how new jeans can somehow emphasize the mound of jello that has mysteriously replaced your belly. 

5. Pull on jeans while saying things like, "That's it, no more pizza!" and "I'm gonna snack on carrots from now on!" 

6. Yell about your bra size. Just get in someone's face and yell about it. Yell about how none of your dresses fit on top, none of your shirts button, your formerly light and flowy tops have been reduced to ill-fitting boob drapes, your sweaters look funny. 

7. Wrap yourself in sweats and flannel shirts and whisper, "I will never wear real clothes again. I am the mom, one with the yoga pant, so forgiving." 

8. Vow to eat healthier. Immediately think about the jar of lactation cookies that you need, seriously. 

9. Make yourself cry by trying on your old jeans. 

10. Be comforted by the fact that your workout clothes still fit. 

11. Declare your lazy days of postpartum bliss over and start working on. Attempt a 21-day no junk food rule. 

12. Eat junk food after a mere 3 days. 

13. Google at least 3x: "how many calories does breastfeeding burn really?" 

14. Wonder how many moms actually lose tons of weight exclusively breastfeeding. Upon asking mom group, find out it's basically the unicorn of postpartum life. 

15. Thanks, doctors, for making us all believe in unicorns. 

16. Vow to do a big closet clean out and repurchase stuff to make you feel better. Vaguely wonder just where you'll find the money to do such a thing. Push those feelings aside. 

17. Put your trusty leggings back on. They look pretty ok, anyway, and the baby never judges you. 

5 New Years Resolutions I Wish My Baby Would Make

It's January, which means it's time for everyone to make (and probably break) a few resolutions. I've made my list of resolutions, but when my sister-in-law asked what Forrest's goals for the new year were, well, I had a few ideas. 

1. Sleep in the crib, Rock'n'Play, Swing, Bassinet, ANYWHERE

Forrest is a certified catnapper and he hates being put down for said naps. If he could work on taking a nap anywhere than craddled in my arms, it'd be pretty cool. 

2. Find Hands

If you hang out with Forrest and I enough, you will inevitably witness me grabbing his hand or foot, waving it in front of his face, and saying, "Find your hand/foot!" Get on it, kid, I'm ready for you to enjoy toys. 

3. Become a Car Seat Lover

Danny and I have big plans for Spring Break (an Idaho trip) so I'm really hoping Forrest turns into a road warrior this year. He is so far indifferent regarding his car seat--sometimes he falls asleep, sometimes he screams. 

4. Give Mama Some Free Time

Mom spends a lot of time holding, rocking, playing, and feeding, not to mention pumping, washing bottles, and sanitizing everything in the house. A nice, long nap during the day (in a swing, bassinet, anywhere? See resolution 1) would be awesome. Even once a week. 

5. Continue to Rock at Everything & Be Awesome

Ok, let's be real--aside from the co-sleeping, the catnaps, the cuddling obsession, and minor car seat aversion depending on his mood, Forrest is a pretty fabulous baby. He sleeps 4-5 hour stretches at night, doesn't spit up too often, eats really well, smiles a lot, and is adorable. Keep on keepin' on, kid. Hey, and how about we skip the 4-month sleep regression? That would be cool!

10 Tips for Soon-to-Be New Moms

No less than 7 of my friends and acquaintances announced their pregnancies over the week of Christmas. As I look back wistfully at my pregnancy (and the fast-approaching end of my maternity leave), there are some things I wish I'd known about what was about to happen to me and my life. I survived the first 3 months of Forrest's life. That's a pretty big achievement. Here's what I've learned: 

1. The baby is either going to sleep or it won't. Don't sweat it. 

"My baby wakes up every 2 hours. Help!" 

"My baby has been sleeping for 5 hours, at what point should I call 911?" 

Every baby is different. Some will sleep, some won't. Some will want to eat and play every two hours. Some will be out for 6-8 at night from the beginning. And, at any moment, this could change. A typical every-two-hours baby will suddenly sleep through the night. And those magic babies that people brag about will suddenly start waking up every two hours. Because, here's the thing, babies like to keep you on your toes. Nothing is permanent. Nothing. 

2. You don't need the fanciest stroller or car seat or whatever. 

There is a major dick-measuring group of mommies out there who love their strollers and want to tell you all about how spending $1,000 on a piece of plastic is soooo much better than the cheaper options. Ignore these people (and please don't become one). Get the Graco or Chicco or whatever set that is in your price range. It's just as safe as the others. Really. As long as you install it properly. The stroller will be just as confusing to unfold in the rain in the Target parking lot. The baby won't know, nor will the baby judge you for it. Because undoubtedly, no matter what stroller and car seat you use, the baby will inevitably scream through the entire store in it. 

3. "I will never..." are words that you will eat. 

"I will never co-sleep!" I crowed, repeatedly, while pregnant. I swore up and down. Forrest sleeps, happily, next to me every single night. I set lots of rules for myself: walks in the park, grocery shopping, keeping the house clean, scheduling naps. I have yet to keep a single promise I made to myself while pregnant. Things change. The baby you end up giving birth to will never be the one you planned to have. That's ok! Do whatever it takes and don't feel bad about it. 

4. Feed the baby. 

Just feed the baby. Stop stressing about breastfeeding if it's hard. It's ok to supplement. It's ok to go to formula. It doesn't make you a failure or a bad mom. And if breastfeeding is going great, that's awesome--but it doesn't make you better than anyone else. We're all just feeding babies here. Just feed the baby. Resist the urge to smack the Target cashier who sneers when you buy formula, or more nipple pads, or rice cereal. It's your baby. Feed it.  

5. Stop Google-ing everything.

I have Googled baby poop, eye pictures, ear pictures, and rib cages. I have frantically, usually while rocking Forrest, read the same 4 pages of links regarding sleep training over and over again. I have repeatedly Googled how to sleep train without resorting to CIO and Ferbering. I have typed, in all caps no less, "MY BABY WON'T GO TO SLEEP AHHHH" into Google at least three times. Resist the urge. Stop using Google. Expel it from your mind. You'll only drive yourself crazy. 

Instead, call the pediatrician. It's ok to drive them a little crazy with your crazy. 

6. You will miss being pregnant.

I hated being pregnant. Capital H, HATED, pregnancy. And yet, about two weeks after Forrest was born, I started missing it. I found myself thinking wistfully of the nights I could feel him kicking as I fell asleep. It is a strange phenomena to immediately miss the state you couldn't wait to escape, but there it is. You will miss being pregnant, you will miss your little human being a part of you, you will miss being able to keep them 100% safe inside of you. It's ok. Just don't get pregnant again right away, for the love of God. 

7. Find a good group of moms. 

Find a mom group to join on Facebook. I have an October due date group on Facebook and I spend 90% of my time there. Danny is probably tired of hearing about them. In most conversations, I say, "In my October due date group on Facebook..." at least four times. I can't help it. I get all my advice from them. They answer all my questions. We complain about our babies and husbands and dogs and houses in the privacy of the group. Find a small group to join. Don't start fights. Avoid talking about vaccinations. Be nice to them. 

8. Whatever you feel, it's ok. 

You will have a moment where you wonder why you thought you do this. You will have a moment where you wonder what you're doing, if you should just wait until your husband and baby are asleep and quietly pack up and leave. You will have moments where you wish with everything in you that someone would just show up and take the baby for an hour, two hours, a week maybe. It's ok. We've been there. 

9. If you have anything you particularly enjoy doing, you probably won't do it for a while. 

Case in point, I've been writing this blog post since October 25. I'm not kidding. I have only finished books because my 11+ lb baby pins me down for every nap. Forget cooking elaborate meals, washing your bedding, doing your hair the way you like it, or wearing anything dry clean only. 

10. You'll be really, really happy (even when you aren't). 

Taking on motherhood is one of the biggest challenges of our lives. It's amazing what we can do! It's also downright catastrophic in terms of how it completely alters your life and nothing can really prepare you for it. But even when you're awake at 2am and super cranky about it... you'll be happier than you've ever been. I promise.