A Car Ride with RJ

My little buddy...proudly holding Harley's live dinner...

Today I picked up the little ones from school. From the moment they got into the car, I knew it was going to be an adventure. The current car movie is Lion King - which is a favorite of my little animal loving boy. The kids settle in, sing along, cover their eyes, gasp...and go through all of their usual Lion King reactions. And then this happened: 

RJ suddenly blurts out with "Mommy? Did you know that worms are full of protein?" 

Me: Well, yes, buddy, they are pretty full of protein. Where did you hear that?

RJ: On Wildman. His buddy eats a worm and Wildman tells everyone that worms are really full of protein and good for you.

Me:  Slimy, yet satisfying! 

(RJ chuckles)

RJ: Hey Mom? Did you know that your body needs protein to grow? That's what makes all of your muscles work and grow stronger

Me: Also true, buddy. Where did you learn that?

RJ: I asked my teachers about protein, since Wildman talked about it like it was a good thing.

Well done, my boy. Well done.

I drive further down the road, now on my way to pick up Rosie, and RJ comes up with another one:

RJ: Hey Mom? Do you know why giraffes are brown with spots?

Me: I think I do...do you know why giraffes are brown with spots?

RJ: Giraffes are brown with spots to keep them safe from the animals, like lions, that hunt them in the wild. Their color makes them blend in. 

Me: Very true dude.

RJ: I love giraffes. Zebras are cool too

Now we have picked up Rosie, and RJ is holding the bag with the live crickets (for Spotty) and the live & frozen rats (for Harley) and I am silently praying that all of the living critters stay safely within their respective bags and we don't end up on the side of 695 chasing a small white rat around Frank the Tank. We finally are in the home stretch and I have replayed the "they call me Mr.Pig" part of the movie four times when this happens:

RJ: Mom? I really wish we could have a lion like Scar.

Me: Like Scar?! You want a lion like Scar?

RJ: Yeah, Mom. (Duh) We could take care of him and love him because no one else does.

Me: Awe, buddy. That is really sweet.

RJ: And I like he scar. It is really cute. (pronounced cooot.)

Yes, At Least My Baby Was Healthy

I have so much to say about this...but I need time to organize my thoughts. In the meanwhile, please read. I have been here. It is a dark place.

I have copied this article, in its entirety, from http://wholewoman.hubgarden.com/you-are-not-crazy-you-are-traumatised/

It was written by Meggf - her profile can be viewed here: http://wholewoman.hubgarden.com/profile/22412/

It has been 4 years since Angelina's traumatic entrance into this world. I'm still not over it.

Gaslighting is a term used to describe a form of emotional abuse where the victim is gradually convinced that their perception is wrong. It leaves its victims doubting their sanity. The term originated from a 1939 play and 1944 movie, where a man tried to make his wife believe that she was crazy by having the lights flicker and denying the flickering. He wanted her to be committed to an asylum so that he would inherit her fortune. 

Image Courtesy of morgueFile free images

Although the movie is long forgotten, the term gaslighting is growing in popularity, with more people exposing it’s insidious impact on relationships, and in particular on the lives of women. There probably isn’t a woman alive who hasn’t experienced some form of gaslighting, but gaslighting in relation to birth trauma or grief is an important issue that has not been considered. 

Whenever a woman is told to focus on her healthy baby], when she is told that it doesn’t matter how the baby gets here, when someone flippantly remarks that they had a similar experience but weren’t traumatised, when women are told that doctors / midwives / nurses would never do anything to hurt them or anything unnecessary, it is gaslighting. 

Regardless of the intention of the person who says it, the effect is the same. it silences the woman and makes her doubt her perceptions. 

When they say “At least you got a healthy baby", a traumatised woman hears ”There’s something wrong with you, you shouldn’t be concerned about yourself, you are selfish, you don’t love your baby enough!” 

When they say “But I loved my caesarean!” a traumatised woman hears ”You’re just a whinger, there's something wrong with you, you're so weak!” 

When they say ”Doctors would never do anything to harm you” a traumatised woman hears You’re just a liar, your body wasn't working and the doctor cared more about your baby than you because they did everything necessary.” 

Why do we have so much invested in denying women’s feelings about their births? Why do we think that dismissing their feelings will help them feel better? Why are people so uncomfortable listening to women talk about pain and grief? 

Gaslighting in domestic violence leaves women feeling alone and frightened, second guessing their perception of events, it leaves women feeling desperate, and on edge, like they are losing touch with their sanity. Gaslighting for birth trauma can happen in intimate relationships, but it can also happen with friends, family, and random strangers. Some women have even reported professional therapists who have gaslighted them when they sought support for PTSD, PND and / or birth trauma and grief. 

Image Courtesy of morgueFile free images

When a woman is traumatised by her birth it isn’t because she’s crazy, it isn’t because she imagined things that didn’t happen, it isn’t because she’s selfish and disinterested in her baby’s health, it’s because sometimes things don’t go to plan in birth. We seem to have a disconnect between the acknowledgement that things don’t always go to plan, and the fact that this can be traumatic. People expect new mothers to be grateful that they have survived birth, and to make no mention of anything that scared or hurt them during labour. 

Being gaslit is commonplace for many women. Many will never be able to name what is happening to them because this method of abuse is only just surfacing for public discourse. That's dangerous enough, but owing to the fact that the single biggest killer of new mothers is suicide, gaslighting has a whole other element of danger for women who are traumatised by birth. 

As gaslighting is gaining attention through the slow increase in social awareness about domestic violence, so is birth trauma. Both are inching closer and closer to daylight, neither fast enough for many women, but sometimes simply knowing they are not alone makes a difference. Support groups are springing up across the internet, and many are meeting face to face around the world. 

If you have experienced birth trauma gaslighting please know that you are NOT alone, and there are people out there who know just how much you love your baby, people who believe your birth story, and many many women who have stories that traumatised them, as yours traumatised you. You are NOT crazy, you are grieving, and you are traumatised, but YOU ARE NOT CRAZY. Perhaps the people who think birth doesn’t matter are the crazy ones. 
- See more at: http://wholewoman.hubgarden.com/you-are-not-crazy-you-are-traumatised/#sthash.OJwoWbpl.dpuf

The Angel Turns 4

4.

She is 4.

Angelina Francesca, my baby, is no longer a baby.

I am not entirely sure how this happened - as I don't feel like I have aged four years since her birth. But, it is true. In just a few short hours, my Angelina will be four. In honor of her birthday, here is a letter to my Angel:

Dearest, sweetest Angelina -

Earlier today, I had the shear pleasure of watching you jump on trampolines with 20 of your "best friends," the children from your school who now get to see you more than I do. I watched you laugh and smile, and the excitement on your sweet face when you blew out your candle made my heart swell and my eyes fill with tears.

Then I had to laugh when you answered the door for Elsa. I, of course, was teary-eyed in anticipation of you meeting your treasured princess. You, in your oh-so-Angelina-esque way, simply turned around to your paparazzi and said "Hey! Elsa's here." So matter-of-factly! She could have just been the mailman! But then, you believed in your heart that Elsa would be here - because you asked me to invite her and you had a faith in me that was unshakable. I knew your little heart was racing though - I could see your excitement in the way you reverently held Elsa's hand as you walked her through the house and introduced her to your family and friends. ("Elsa - this is my grandmother, Nonna. Nonna, this is Elsa...Elsa...this is my mom, Kris. Mommy, this is Elsa...") I could have watched you all day.

It was a very Frozen birthday, for you. In truth, I am a little sick of all things Frozen. (Though I am thrilled with the amount of "ice blue" clothing that is now in your wardrobe...) You, my little darling, are far from being "over" your Frozen craze.

Angelina, the moment of your birth was quite amazing. Born just hours before your scheduled c-section (you didn't want to wait until 7:45am...but I wanted to wait until January 4th...this would be just our first battle of wills...), I just couldn't get over the beautiful sound of your first cries. They were so musical! Like little bells. Your cries were the most amazing sound I had ever heard. I even asked Daddy "is that her cry?" I couldn't get over them. At four, I am less amazed by the sound of your cry...but I could listen to you laugh all day! And, my littlest Love, we laugh often.

I am rarely prepared for the outbursts of your larger-than-life personality. Day-day has told me that you are me...all 35 years of my personality in one little 4-year-old body. I don't disagree. You are my mini-me, both physically and in personality. I can't get mad when you get sassy...as it is my very own words and inflections that you are spitting back out to me.

You are funny! So funny! Naturally goofy. And just a joy to be around. Just like your mother, your mood can turn on a dime and the beast in you is unleashed...but only for a moment and then you are back to all charms and sweetness. You only just recently started up with some fantastic temper tantrums. Feet kicking the floor and all! I can't help but laugh. I know you are trying to get a point across, but your methods are hilarious!

While it can be trying and troublesome at times, as a parent, I love that you have become the lawyer of the house. "Mom. You the parent but you can't tell her what to do." Uh...yes...yes, I can. "Mom. You not the boss of me." Yup. I am. You are wrong again! Just this week I was sticking your brother in time out for taking a toy away from you and as he cried, you negotiated his release.

You are a juxtaposition personified - the all-grown-up baby girl who refuses help when getting dressed but still want her binkie and her "foo-fee" and Fozzie Bear at night. You will ask for your crib back and a new baby in my belly all at the same time. (Don't count on it, kid.) You want nothing more than to be rocked to sleep and held all night...right after you have demonstrated how well you can climb the monkey bars, just like any kid thrice your age. You will call for your binkie when it is out of sight, as though it will answer, and when you find it, you will kiss it hello and give it a greeting that would be fit for a long-lost friend.

Speaking of friend - you have many...and you often describe them as best. "But Mom... she is my best friend!" "Have you seen my best friend?" I just eat it up!

I am tremendously hard-pressed to define which of your many qualities and quirks are my favorite...but a major front runner is how you will cup my face in your little hands to give me a kiss whenever you leave the room. My heart soars when I hear you say, "I love you, Mom." I adore that you say "Miss Macole" instead of Nicole and I lament that you have recently given up "I can't know how" as your reasoning for not cleaning up after yourself. Thankfully, while you seem to want to grow up way too fast for me, you still need that bink, wear "tie-time" undies and go "Nigh-nigh." You still want snuggles, and I hope you never outgrow your need for them.

You love princesses, dressing up, dolls and pretend make-up...and you ask me questions like "when is my penis going to grown in?" You know that body part is called your armpit, yet you have coined them "hippos," and the rest of us have followed suit. (Tickle the hippos! Yes, your hippos are dirty.)

Angelina, my Littlest Love, you came into my life when I needed you the most. You repaired my heart break and gave me a reason for joy. Since your birth, you have challenged me to grow stronger every day, and because of you, I am a better mother, woman and human.

I was asked often why I wanted a third. After all - I had a girl and I had a boy...there were no other options. But I needed an Angel.