Dear Diastasis Symphysis Pubis:

You were such a party pooper during my last pregnancy and a major pain in the butt my hips, pelvis and abdomen. During my fifth month of pregnancy you crept into my body and took over, weakening the ligaments that held my pelvic joint together and causing said pelvic joint to gape open. You made it difficult to walk, sit, stand and turn over in bed. Heck, you caused me all kinds of grief and forced me to rely on a walker for assistance in getting around. Eventually you caused me so much pain that I found myself in a wheelchair and on painkillers…during what was supposed to be a wonderful pregnancy.

Thankfully you left my body three weeks after the birth of my daughter. Since you’ve been gone, my life has improved and I’m so much better off without you. Why? Because…

1. I can walk, run, skip and jump! Okay so I don’t necessarily do all those things, but it’s not because I can’t. It’s because I’m lazy.
2. I don’t have to ride the scooter at Wal-Mart anymore. I can shop like a normal person and get in and out of there in 10 minutes flat. No more geriatric scooters moving at a snail’s pace for me.
3. I’m invisible. That’s right, no more creepy stares from rude people wondering what the heck a pregnant woman could’ve done to resort in her having to use a walker.
4. No more lying in bed all day. Lounging in bed all day is totally overrated when you’re forced to do it and have a family that you’d rather be spending time with. I’m so glad that I’m no longer holed up in my room with my feet up in bed.
5. I don’t moan in public anymore. Getting in and out of the car is no longer a painful experience. Until you came along, I never thought about the muscles or strength it took to do the simplest of things like getting in and out of a car. I have a newfound appreciation for my body and all that it can do. And thankfully, I don’t scream or moan in pain while climbing into or sliding out of the car anymore.
6. No more mismatched accessories. Let’s face it, my walker never matched my outfit. It was the one accessory that never jived with the rest of my ensemble. Blue doesn’t go with everything, you know.
7. I can cook again! For six months, my husband was forced to cook, clean and care for everyone in our home, including me. The poor guy worked all day, came home and cooked dinner every single night. Do you know how hard that is for a newly-married guy who really doesn’t know how to cook, but instead heats stuff up? I’m happy to say that fish sticks and macaroni and cheese are no longer regular staples in our household. We rarely eat convenience foods these days.
8. I can do the funky chicken. I won’t, but I could if I wanted to.
9. I can finally shave my own legs! I’m not going to lie. I rarely shave my legs these days, but it’s not because I can’t. It’s cold, I’m lazy and it’s just not a priority for me – so too bad.
10. I can have sex like a normal person again. I’m not expanding on that one. We’ll just leave it at that.

So, goodbye Diastasis Pubis! I’m over you. Go bug someone else.

Since this post was originally written, I found a great article over at Healthy Moms that goes a little more in depth about Diastasis Symphysis Pubis. Please head on over to their site to read more.

I love Girl Scout Cookie season. I can’t get enough Samoas! Please, don’t wake me if I’m dreaming.

I have a confession to make. I’m not a perfect wife. Yes, I said it and I can pretty much guarantee that my husband is reading this and smiling from ear to ear because let’s be real, in Man-Speak I just said: “I’m wrong, he’s right.” The thing is – and I can’t believe I’m ”saying” this on the Internet where it’ll remain FOREVER - my husband is right.

On several occasions George has mentioned that I treat him like a child. At times, I have a tendency of talking down to him. It’s not something I’m proud of. Instead of stating my disappointment with him in an adult manner, I often pelt him with thinly-veiled condescending questions that are somehow supposed to enlighten him as to how wronghe is. Of course I can’t help but use that annoying sing-songy tone that should only be reserved for children seven and under.

Believe me, I want more than anythingto be the kind of wife that lifts her husband up, instead of tearing him down. This is something that I’m committed to working on and determined to overcome. But first I need to come to terms with the fact that treating him in a condescending manner is not only wrong, it’s also ineffective.

Kim Jay said it best on Twitter: 

There’s so much truth to that. God’s at work in my husband’s life, molding him into the man that he was created to be. I need to jump off the high horse, step out of the way and just let God do His thing. Besides my husband isn’t the only one who needs God’s loving, healing hand. I do too.

You’d think that by now a 14-year old would have a reasonable amount of common sense. Think again. Welcome to Not My Child! Monday. Meet the star of the show…

I was NOT enjoying a relaxing morning with the kids when I looked over at my son Andre and made a horrific discovery.

Andre did NOT have the adapter end of his PSP charger cord on his tongue, while the other end was plugged into a live outlet.

No, I did NOT scream at him.

Of course I did NOT lecture him about the seriousness of what he had just done.

I did NOT get upset and my eyes did NOT well up with tears.

And no, he did NOT look at me with those big brown eyes and non-chalantly say, “Mom, I just wanted to double-check and make sure that I wouldn’t get shocked.”

I most certainly did NOT want to wring his neck for risking his life and scaring me to pieces.

Nope.

NOT me and definitely NOT my child.

What happens when your awesome plan to breastfeed and allow your child to self-wean is in jeopardy of falling apart?

Up until a week ago, breastfeeding my 10-month old had been a positive experience. I absolutely loved it! We were a great team and the bond we shared during those special mommy and baby moments were wonderful, but things have changed. There’s trouble in paradise folks. It pains me to admit this, but our special time together has gone from pure breastfeeding bliss to breastfeeding bitterness.

What used to be a peaceful, loving exchange between mother and child has become a stressful one fraught with pinched nipples, scratching and biting. It’s not Alana’s fault really. She’s getting over a two-week long bout with the flu and RSV and she’s also cutting four teeth. If that’s not enough, she’s also experiencing major separation anxiety which is normal right around her age. And well, it’s just a lot for a baby to deal with.

It’s also a lot for Mommy to deal with. I’m not going to sugar coat it. I’m worn-out, physically and emotionally exhausted and just down right stressed and stretched to the limit. How I wish we could return to those days when Alana and I enjoyed those quiet breastfeeding moments, looking into each other’s eyes, smiling. I wish we could make it through one nursing session without being bit, scratched or pinched.

I’ve felt so bitter toward my current state of breastfeeding over the last few days. Breastfeeding my sweet baby has morphed into an anxiety-filled, stressful, painful experience and I hate that I feel this way. I’ve contemplated weaning her from the breast at the one-year mark and I can’t believe I’m here, having this conversation with myself. I had such great, big plans to allow my daughter to wean on her own and let her decide when it was time to let go but here I am - actually entertaining the thought of weaning her off the breast.

I’ve always felt that breastfeeding should be a mutually satisfying experience, both mother and child actively and willingly playing their respective roles in the breastfeeding relationship. I’m trying desperately to work through the pinching, scratching and biting. I’m taking it one nursing session at a time and trying to be patient, keeping in mind that this too will pass but it’s been so difficult to do. I realize that this is something women before me have endured, but I’m human. This is where I’m at, this is what I’m feeling and I’m putting it out there for all of you to see.

So tell me…Have you struggled with feelings of bitterness or resentment due to the challenges of breastfeeding? At what point do you think it’s okay for a mother to make the difficult decision to wean her child? Should mothers continue to breastfeed despite feelings of stress, bitterness or resentment toward the experience? I’d love to hear what you think.