Are You A Mom?

If you’re reading this, you probably answered yes to the above question. I mean who out there reads blogs more than us mothers? Am I right? This came up in a hilarious book I just read titled Nobody F#&@ing Told Me: “Mess”ays from Motherhood by Sammie Prescott. Sammie is a mother to 2 young boys, Tater and Tot, and married to her hunky husband, ‘Squatch. In this book you learn a lot about what it is like to be a mother to young children. Even though my daughter is 12 now, I was nodding my head and laughing in agreement through almost the whole book.

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My little munchkin around Tater’s age… man how time flies!

I can relate to Sammie in many ways. We both suffered from postpartum depression after the birth of our children and we both found solace in writing about it. As Sammie says,”Everything I wrote started as a way to make me sane again.” That is how I feel about my blog. This book was a way for her to process her emotions and find a little humor in them.

I found her essay about play dating on par. It is very similar to dating. I remember asking myself the same questions… will I like this parent? Is their child a nightmare? Will they think I am completely weird and run away? It causes so much anxiety that frankly it is so much easier for our children than us.

The one story that really cracked me up was “Humbled: A Weiner Story”. That one you will just have to read for yourself.

But she gets serious too. I completely sympathized as she spoke about how a sick child is like a “passionate Yoga class” because it is a mind, body and soul experience. All you want is to take the sickies away while trying really hard not to vomit as you are cleaning your children’s vomit. Calling first-time motherhood a lonely experience really hit home for me as well. In the beginning you are only with your child. There is a lack of adult conversation. It definitely fed my postpartum depression. And then there are the Mom impostors, when everything in their lives seem so perfect and you wonder what is wrong with you.

Aside from the above, another reason I highly recommend this book is it’s chapter length. These are essays that are roughly 2 – 5 pages. It is easy to pick up and read one when you have 5 minutes to yourself (you know, in the bathroom). It is just the right amount to read when you are waiting for a doctor’s appointment or your child’s school bus. And I guarantee, you will laugh.

My advice for Sammie, since I am past the young child stage:

  • They do eventually wipe their own tooshies. My husband and I threw a party when Sophia could wipe her own ass. I believe she was 5 or 6. It’s coming.
  • You and I are kindred spirits. I, too, wanted to run away after Sophia’s birth. I had everything planned except for a location. All I needed was for someone to tell me I was not alone. That statement is so powerful.
  • Toddlers are rough. That is the worst age so far. You are right. The eye rolling, smart ass sayings, pushing their limits. Ugh. Three was the roughest age. I loved the line you quoted, “Like serial killers, toddlers lack empathy (Bumni Laditian)”. That appealed to my love of true crime as well. It does get better. For me, with a girl, I am told it will get worse as a teenager.
  • Last tidbit of advice, which I think you know… you are the best mom for your children and you are doing an excellent job. You’re right, motherhood sucks sometimes and more of us mothers should speak up about how shitty it can be.

Honestly, if you have spare time, read this book. It will let you know you are not alone and doing a great job while making you laugh. Keep it up.

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Now, my baby is a preteen and she’s taller than me. But, I am doing a great job at being her mom!

Sammie’s book can be found at Amazon in both Kindle & Paper back here.

Cost is not high as the ebook is only $3.99. If you like to hold real books in your hand (like I do), the paperback is only $14.99.

 

*Disclaimer: This post is sponsored content by Eliezer Tristan Publishing

Lamenting Silverbelle 

It all seemed to happen so quickly.  I knew something wasn’t right with you.  First it just seemed like you were coughing up fur balls.  Typical for a feline who constantly cleaned herself.  Then something changed.  The vomiting occurred every time you ate and for the most part lacked fur.  This was not just typical hair balls anymore.  Then you stopped eating altogether.  A trip to the Vet was imminent.
After about a month of seeing you get progressively worse, I finally took you to the Vet.  Frankly, I didn’t care if Daddy didn’t agree.  He held his stance that the Vet wasn’t needed until I told him the visit would be covered under the Senior Care Plan we bought for you.  That was Tuesday last week.  The physical exam didn’t yield anything but I opted for a bloodwork panel and X-rays.  Something was wrong.  A Mother knows.  It would be 1 – 2 days to get the results back.  We opted to board you for the night and pick you up the next day, Wednesday.  In the meantime, the Vet gave you and Anti-nausea med via injection.
Your X-rays came back normal.
When you got home Wednesday evening, you were back to your old self again.  Eating, although not as voraciously as you were known to eat.  You laid with us, head butting us all for pets and head scratches.  In the back of my mind there was a thought, that maybe, just maybe this was a virus that has finally run its course.  Similar instances with past pets should have told me otherwise.  Thursday morning, I fed you like normal expecting to come home to an empty food bowl and a multitude of meows for more.
I was wrong.
The Vet said the med was only good for 24 hours and she was right.  Where were the blood test results?!
Impatient, Friday morning I called the Vet asking about your blood work.  I was told that everything came back normal with exception to your liver enzymes which were elevated to 350 when the normal was 10 – 100.  There was no concern in the Vet’s voice.  They recommended the next step, and ultrasound.  Although a high expense, we agreed.  Friday, late afternoon I picked you up at home and drove the Veterinary Hospital a few towns away.
And waited.
And waited some more.
They brought me into an exam room, told me you were handling things well, and then I waited some more.
When the Vet returned, I could tell something was wrong but I couldn’t tell just how grim the results would be.  There was this look of sincere sadness.  She sat down in the chair next to me and said, “I have bad news.”
I looked at her and realized that when I said to my boss earlier that day that I needed to leave work because my cat is most likely dying, I now spoke the truth.
She continued, “We found a large mass in her intestines.”  And she proceeded to draw a diagram on a dry erase board she had in me.  Tears were beginning to well up in the corners of my eyes.  I remained strong.  Then, “She has intestinal cancer.”  That phrase sealed your fate.
She spoke gently and continued to tell us the measures we could take (we… I was sitting there alone absorbing all this).  The highest level of care, also the most expensive, required a biopsy of the lump to see if it was lymphoma or carcinoma and then chemotherapy and possibly surgery.  There was no way we could afford this.  I hated thinking this, but it was true.  I would’ve wanted to do anything to save you.  The next level of care was hospice care.  This required medicating you to make you more comfortable while you were dying.  And lastly, was humane euthanasia.
The Vet and I discussed what was reasonable in your situation.  She knew from my telling her and then her trying to do the ultrasound, that you were a bit stubborn and didn’t like ingesting pills.  In fact, it was nearly impossible to “pill” you.  There was a brief discussion on us learning how to inject you with medications.  She said, she would either go the hospice or euthanasia route.  At this point, the tears started flowing.  I hated being there alone.
I chose to bring you home and to discuss the options with Daddy and Sophia basically knowing what we would choose.  It wasn’t a hard decision, but it wasn’t an easy one either.  We didn’t want you in pain.  We didn’t want you to get worse.  We wanted you to be pain free and relieved of suffering.  Friday evening, we chose option 3, humane euthanasia.  We also knew, we didn’t want to wait long.  The longer the wait, the harder on all of us.
Saturday morning, we called your Vet and plans were made.  At 3:10pm we would all go with you and be with you as you faded away.  It was so hard to look at you that day knowing in only a few hours you would be gone.  I was not ready to let you go, my Furry Princess, my Princess Fuzzybutt.  I held you, rocked you, kissed your head.  You licked me one last time.  I cried incessantly.  The cat that made me love cats.  The cat that helped ease my anxiety.  The cat that was one of the family.
Saturday afternoon came and the three of us walked somberly to the car, me holding your carrier.  You meowed the whole way there.  The candle was lit already when we walked in, marking the death of a beloved pet.  They led us the cat room, explained everything to us and took you back to put a catheter in.  We picked an urn, chose to get 3 clay pawprint hearts and then waited for your return.  We were told that you had to be sedated to get the catheter in (no surprise since you hated anything medical).  They brought you back and gave us a few moments.  We all kissed you.  I held you and already because of the sedation you felt like a dead weight.  But I noticed your chest rise and fall.
The Vet returned with the syringe filled with an overdose of anesthesia.  We laid you back on the cat bed and sat the bed on Sophia’s lap at her request.  With one hand, I held Sophia’s and with the other I held your paw.  The syringe was administered and almost instantly your chest ceased to rise and fall.
You had crossed over the Rainbow Bridge.
Finding it terribly hard to let go, I held you for a few moments longer and rocked you and kissed your smooth head.  Then I gently placed your lifeless body back on the cat bed, kissed your once more, whispered for you to go chase the rabbits like you used to do in your dreams, and left.
Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday… 5 days, and you were gone after 7 years with us.  It is still debated how old you really were, somewhere between 8 – 12.  Too young for death.  Saturday and Sunday, Depression hit… 2 days full of tears and emptiness.  It is easier now, the grieving.  I still talk to you like you are right next to me offering you bits of smoked salmon and a shred of steak.  I still imagine you curled up between Daddy and I on the loveseat downstairs at night.  I still expect to wake up and hear your meowing and scratching at the door for food.
Silverbelle, we love you immensely and miss you so much. Please know that one day we will all be together again.  RIP my furry child.