Dear Father


I have been having a pity party all evening, because I was an impatient mother today.

That is all it took for me to feel guilty, I yelled today. I got frustrated, I yelled and told my kids I needed a minute to myself. No matter how true that may be, I feel selfish. The pity party doesn’t end there though. In my moments, where I feel defeated and like I failed my children, my own father comes to mind. It doesn’t take much to make me step back and realize I need to be a better mother tomorrow. Dear father, what would it take for you to feel that. How far would you have to go? Is that line even there for you? You have been gone for so many years, and I still have so many questions.

Sometimes I wonder what I would look like if the scars he caused me were visible. I think I would have a very different life if that were the case. I would look bruised, frail, burned, broken bones, disfigured, sickly. I know that sounds dramatic. I didn’t allow myself to feel much when it was happening. I do remember one feeling though. I had this feeling every single night, even at sleepovers. I would dream of getting cancer, or in a tragic car accident. I say dream as in day dream. I would daydream about being near death, maybe not even in a coma. I just wanted people to see that I was hurting, that I needed to feel supported. Laying in bed daydreaming about people coming to sit and talk with me as I was recovering gave me solace. In fact I either drifted off to sleep clutching the idea of someone holding my hand, or praying for the strength to survive just one more day.

I wasn’t suicidal, I just did not know how I was going to get through the next day until I just did. I would lay awake at night, not wanting to sleep, because I couldn’t bear the thought of starting all over at daylight. The craziest thing about all of this, I had not doubted your love for me yet. I don’t think I could have grasped that concept at that point. I hadn’t grown enough, I wasn’t strong enough. And when you died, I mourned you as if you were a selfless man. I know now that I was just mourning the idea of a father, not you. As harsh as that sounds, I have come to question if you ever loved me as a father should.

The first time I even allowed the thought space in my head, it rocked my world. All the walls I built to protect you, to protect what we went through were crashing down. I was crumbling from the inside, and it was seeping to the outermost parts of me. There are days I am a force to be reckoned with. Then there are days I can look at my children and come completely undone, unraveled. Those days are the bittersweet days. Those days are the ones I hold my children a little longer, and I torture myself inside. I torture myself with questions from earlier. How can you hurt those you love? Sometimes we don’t mean to, sometimes we hurt those closest to us the most. What is that line, when do you know you’ve crossed it? How much can you destroy someone before realizing you love yourself more than you love that person.

I can still feel the broken pieces inside me, that healed on their own. That didn’t heal properly, that need to be re-broken in order to truly heal. The questions I don’t want to ask, the answers I don’t want to hear. I have to ask them, or sometimes they ask me without preface. I’m not always ready for the question or the answer. They make me feel naked and vulnerable. But in those moments is when I learn who I am, and what lines I will draw. Each time I open an old wound, I dig you out. You found a way to feed off of my wounds, and I won’t allow you to live here anymore. It is painful, but I know I can’t heal if you are poisoning me from inside. I still hear your voice telling me I’m nothing, I’ll never become anything, that I’ll be a terrible mother, that I’m not smart enough, or pretty enough, or interesting enough. I am slowly drowning your voice out.

I hope there is a day where I don’t think of you. So far, that has not been true. I think of you every day. I carry you everywhere. You weigh me down. Sometimes I think of you when I look in the mirror in the morning, or when I smell a man with your deodorant walk by. The smell quite literally takes my breath away, because it’s better than throwing up. I think people think I’m mostly over it by now. I don’t think they understand the damage you inflicted. I never wanted to give you that much credit. But here I sit, at 1am, not wanting to sleep. I used to dread the days. Now I want every day to last as long as possible. I tell people I am a night owl. Before I would daydream to fall asleep at night. Now, you torment my dreams. You are there every night. I have nightmares each night that you are still here, usually holding my children. I have woken up from pain because I am clenching my fists so tight. I have woken up with swollen eyes from crying, because you were talking to my children. Sometimes I throw up because the nightmare was actually a memory, and in vivid detail. So I don’t like to sleep. Every night I stay awake, because I don’t want to start the nightmares again. You still control so much of my life. I am still defenseless, because it’s a dream and my subconscious is helpless at the sight of you.

I carry you everyday, on broken legs, with bruised arms, and a bleeding heart. I will never give up, and I will trudge through the pain. I will never be anything like you, and that will be my most proud quality. I know they say, never say never. But they never met you. And they wouldn’t believe half of what I went through anyway. You taught me that there is real evil in the world. I will to teach my children that there is real good in the world.


I’m the fun kind of crazy..right?


I decided to take a chance and write a little about my past, and how it influenced who I was and who I am. I had no idea what the reaction would be, how it would be received. Ideally people would like it, maybe find some inspiration, and ultimately understand me better. But I was terrified, what if someone didn’t like it. What if someone had a negative reaction.. When I wrote that post I just wrote it, I didn’t proof read it, I didn’t have a plan. There was no rough draft, no second guessing. I just sat down, with a heavy heart, a racing mind, and I just wrote. I said so many things I have always wanted to say to people. It was therapeutic, I had so many different emotions while I was writing. I was hurt, I cried through some of it, I was angry. I felt all of the things I did years ago, and it sent me right into flashbacks.

Flashbacks are nothing like I imagined, there not like something you see on tv. I actually can’t even figure out how to describe them. I’m sure they are different for everyone. Here is what it’s like for me. I get overwhelmed by an emotion, suddenly, intensely. I feel hot, my mind races, I can’t focus. My hands might get a little shaky. I can’t tell if I want to cry or scream, my heart is racing, my chest is tight. But if you look at me, I look fine. Maybe a little flushed, but fine. If I’m busy doing something it takes me a minute to realize what is happening, and I kind of have to take a breath and center myself. Now that I have lived with PTSD for a few years I know how to handle these moments, maybe not extremely well but I can handle them. I know I need to take a minute to calm down, I need to dump whatever coffee I have because I can’t handle it anymore. I need to find some paper and write whatever comes out, because I obviously have something I need to address. Sometimes I can’t do this though, and I have to tell myself to shelf it. I will deal with it later, when I have time and can allow myself to fall apart. But I still need to dump that coffee…which always makes me a little sad..

Being able to do that, to handle that is huge for me. I didn’t used to be able to say, it can wait. I couldn’t recognize that I am having a flashback, that there is something lurking in my mind that I need to reflect on. All of my memories would flood me, I would become overwhelmed with emotion, but I couldn’t tell you what was wrong. I wouldn’t make any sense, because I had no idea what was happening. So, I would project whatever I was feeling into my present. One thing that is extremely hard is seeing my children grow makes me so happy, but can also be the thing that sends me into these moments.

My boys are my world. There are times I just stare at them and think about how much love they have brought me, how innocent they are, that I want to protect them from all pain. Occasionally in those times, I can’t help but get extremely sad because I don’t understand how my dad didn’t have that with me, for me. The worst pain I have ever endured is because of him. I am working through many different emotions regarding my past. As I said sometimes it’s a flood, sometimes it’s a trickle. Sometimes I can hold off the storm, but it took years..yes years to learn how to do this. I have worked really hard on myself. I had to want it, it had to be something I chose to do for myself.

I had tried therapy before, before my PTSD but I just wasn’t ready. I didn’t make any progress. Once my PTSD came on, there wasn’t really an option to put it off. I became very dedicated, I worked every single day. But if you looked at me, I just looked a little crazy. My outward appearance was messy, disheveled, I looked tired. I would get up and write, every single day. I would write, sometimes cry, and I would pray. In the beginning, it took me hours to calm down, to get to a “starting point” so I could be okay enough to get through a day. I wasn’t really sure what the impending danger was, I just know I was genuinely scared I wouldn’t make it through the day. Was I suicidal? I don’t think so, I didn’t have a fear of hurting myself or anyone. But I did spend most of my day thinking my family and friends would be better off without me, especially my son. I spent a lot of time trying to convince myself that Nathan needed me, even though I felt like he deserved so much better. It was a constant cycle I went through. I was trying to get healthy so I could be a good mom, but I wasn’t eating because I felt like I was failing as a mom. I remember driving my car and thinking it would be easier if I had a car accident. Not because I wanted to die but because I wanted to be able to have visible wounds. And back to my younger self, when the abuse was happening I used to dream, yes DREAM of getting cancer or something. I would daydream about cancer, car accidents, terrible things that would result in physical bruises, broken bones, scars, anything that someone would be able to see. Visible wounds so that maybe someone would understand the pain I was in.

Looking back over this, It seems all over the place. And as I started to fix it, to delete things from this post..I changed my mind. Because this is how living with PTSD is. I can be having a normal day, and a song will come on that reminds me of my dad. Or a certain smell will remind me of him. My point is this post seems all over the place, but that’s just how my mind works. I have 3 different windows open with 27 different tabs, music is playing in the background, and I’m still trying to do a puzzle. It can be hard to concentrate, but I also don’t know how to function without some noise. I am ninja level multi-tasker.

I am just trying to put some of my story out there, in the hopes it may help someone. I really don’t know that it will, or who is going to keep reading my posts. 

Thank you to anyone that read my last post, and is reading this one. I know there are probably errors, my writing is mediocre, and it doesn’t really flow..but I’m just writing like I do when I start my day. I’m just sitting down, writing, and pressing submit because if I read over it I will get nervous that I shouldn’t say this or that. So I just write it and send it..and then I don’t look at my computer again for hours, because after I hit send I feel sick. Because I’ve never opened up this much, or let anyone in..because it’s not pretty. 

But this is real..raw..ugly..uncensored..unedited..whatever this is me, and I’m trying to bring something positive out of something negative. Welcome to the twisted mind of Nicole..dark and twisty like Meredith from Greys. The fun kind of crazy, right? Not the key your car kind of crazy, but like interesting crazy?

To the people who think I am a people pleaser..I am


This is going to be a whole new topic for me. This is something I have thought about for some time. I am a survivor, I have PTSD and I am just now comfortable enough to talk about it. It took me a long time to be able to talk above a whisper regarding my past. I was scared to talk about it, but it has so much to do with who I am, why I am, who I will be, the mom I am, the friend I am, the friend I was..

There are so many things I want to tell the people who grew up with me, to the people who have known me my whole life. I was living a whole different life when I went home, a life that I kept from every single person who knew me, my family, especially my mom. A life I kept from everyone but the one person who was part of that life, that secret dark world. That person was my dad, someone who was supposed to love me and protect me, well he didn’t. I don’t know that he ever did really, and because of that I don’t know if I have ever truly been whole. I’ve always felt somewhat broken, always trying to put myself back together. It has made me into who I am. I was many different things, different types of people, constantly changing because I was constantly broken.

To the people who thought I was a people pleaser, I was. I lived a life at home where I was always walking on eggshells. It became second nature to submit, it was just easier to put myself second rather than step into the line of fire. I have always been a peacekeeper, because it kept my family safe. It kept me safe. One thing could set my dad off; leaving a wet towel on the floor, eating the biggest piece of chicken, anything. And you never knew what the fall out was going to be. Would I just get yelled at, would he sneak into my room at 1am, would he tell my mom she was a terrible mother just to hurt her, would he threaten to hurt my brother. I had the opportunity to keep the peace, it kept everyone safe. I am a people pleaser, not to be a suck up, not to be a kiss ass, but because it’s who I am..I believe I was born a peacekeeper, to tame the flames. I am a people pleaser.

To the people who thought I was dramatic, sensitive, I was..I am! I wasn’t allowed to express how I felt at home. If I cried, if my dad knew I showed how scared or hurt I was..he would hurt me. He was very manipulative and controlling. I remember crying alone in my room, planning it actually, I knew what time I could cry so that my face wouldn’t be red by the time he got home. I would take a towel, get it wet, and put it in the freezer. I would wash my face, and then I would cry. I would cry until I couldn’t breathe, or almost threw up. Right after school, before my brother got home, before anyone else was home. Then I would take the towel, ice my face, make sure my eyes didn’t look swollen and to keep my face from being red. Then I would reapply my makeup. That 20-30 minutes is the only time I had to feel, and it was overwhelming. I couldn’t be upset, or mad, or anything really if my dad was home. I wasn’t allowed to show any signs of something being wrong, I couldn’t tip off my mom or anyone that something was happening to me. This resulted in me over-reacting to little things in high school like a friend being mad at me, a boy not liking me, who knows. But because I was a teenager, it made sense that I was just dramatic. In reality I just couldn’t handle one other bad thing, I couldn’t handle anything else being off in my life. To touch on the people pleasing nature again, it was just my way of trying to control what I could in my life.

To the people who thought I didn’t care about school work and grades, I didn’t. I was distracted, I was surviving a living hell at home. I couldn’t focus, I did try and I barely passed. It was the best I could do.

To the people who thought I was messy and unorganized, you were right. Going to therapy, she said it was a defense mechanism, a way to build some kind of wall to protect myself. I understand what she is saying, and maybe that’s why. Or maybe I am just naturally a mess, because I still am a little messy and unorganized. It is a constant struggle, and one I am working on. I probably always will be. But there was a time in my life where my house, my life, everything about me was messy. I was messy as a teenager, but flash forward to when I had my oldest…I don’t even recognize that self. My apartment was gross, I was gross. I took care of Nathan but I can’t believe the state of our home. I was on the verge of a mental breakdown, I was truly depressed. And once I let myself realize the full extent of my past it only got worse. I remember friends not wanting to come over, maybe even losing some friends due to how we were living. Seeing my son grow brought back so much of my past that I had never allowed myself to remember. And it completely broke me. Most of you probably don’t know this but at this point and for another three years I carried a rosary in my pocket, every day, every outfit, everywhere. I would call my therapist during all hours, scared for my life. I was having flashbacks, I have PTSD. I had no idea what was happening to me, I thought I was losing my mind. And I feared for hurting myself or someone else, I was scared all day every day. I quit eating for a period of time, I stopped taking care of myself. My son Nathan saved my life, he is the only reason I was able to even get out of bed every day. The only things I did related to his care. I hardly did anything else. I quit my jobs, I stopped talking to many friends. Brandon was amazing through this, but it was hard. I was broken. I was a mess. I know how it looked, and looking back I don’t even recognize myself.

To the people who thought I was looking for attention, I was. I wanted any attention that was good attention. I loved getting invited anywhere, one it got me out of my house, and two it made me feel so good that someone liked me. I was told every day that no one really liked me, that I was too this or too that, that I was going to be a terrible mother, that I wouldn’t become anything, that I wasn’t smart enough, whatever my dad could say to tear me down just so he could be the one to build me reinforced his power over me. So yea, anytime anyone gave me any kind of positive attention, I noticed.

To the people who think I am crazy, I am. But I can laugh about it now. I am healing and I am growing, and I am the happiest I have ever been. I don’t say any of this as a F*$# you to anyone. I understand why anyone would have thought these things about me, and honestly you were all right. I just want to give a voice to the broken girl I was, this is why I was like that. I understand now, I didn’t then. I didn’t really deal with what was happening to me, I was just surviving then. When Nathan started talking and growing, I was growing with him. My heart was so full and I just looked at him and couldn’t understand how a parent couldn’t love their child. And at that point I couldn’t ignore how hurt I was that my own father didn’t love me, I don’t think he ever really did. And that realization rocked my world, giving that thought light poisoned my mind. I had to hit bottom, and everything I had ever blocked out came rushing into my mind like a hurricane. I was drowning, and it took me a long time and a lot of work to repair the damage. I have learned to love storms, to appreciate them, because I had to survive my own. I hate the word victim because it reminds me of how weak I was. How manipulated I was, I was completely brainwashed. But I am a survivor, and I am stronger than anyone realizes. I think many people take my strength for granted, because I am very passive and submissive. That is just my nature, and maybe reading above will help you understand why. I don’t talk about all the things that have happened to me, because the reactions I get are mixed. I am not ashamed of what has happened, I didn’t ask for any of it. I did the best I could, I will always be a work in progress, always healing. It will impact me for my entire life. I have PTSD, I have anxiety, I have survived depression, I have survived physical abuse, sexual abuse, and the worst mental abuse you can imagine.

To the people who loved me anyway, thank you. To the people who had no idea, I didn’t want you to. To the people who have listened to me when I was having an anxiety attack, thank you. To the people who invited me to parties, thank you. To the people who reminded me I was worth something, thank you. To the people who pointed me to God, thank you. Thank you to so many people for liking me, loving me, just being in my life despite whoever I was over the years, thank you. I’m sure I didn’t make it easy, but I was living a double life and I was exhausted. Abuse in any form takes so much from a person, but it mostly takes your voice. Now that I have my voice back, now that I can talk above a whisper I want to shed some light into the darkness I lived. And maybe give some light to someone else that needs it.

Second Child Syndrome


I’ve mentioned in my other posts that I have two boys. My oldest is seven and my youngest is 16 months, a year and a half for those of you who don’t like math problems. Everyone will tell you when you are pregnant that your kids will be nothing alike. Not that I didn’t believe it, but experiencing it is a whole new ball game. I am now a firm believer in second child syndrome. Second child syndrome happens when your second is a tiny destroyer, a walking yelling reminder that you do not have your shit together. We named our oldest Nathan, a strong traditional name. When we got pregnant with our second I do not know where we came up with his name but it says a lot about him. We named our second West. I never intended for him to be Wild West, but he basically said challenge accepted.

I went to the grocery with these two the other day, hated my life the entire time in Kroger. West was hangry and just yelling at me every time I put food in the cart and not into his mouth. Nathan was playing pokemon Go because his wonderful dad suggested he could get some walking in, and catch more whatevers if he went with me. It was also a Sunday, and I about lost my shit about every third aisle with the “Sunday drivers” of the grocery. I was on a damn mission, and possibly hangry myself, hey West gets it honest. I rewarded myself with starbucks as we left, to match my yoga pants. As we drove home I drank my coffee and said some silent prayers to remind myself to stop being so bitchy.

We pulled into the driveway and Nathan ASKS, “mom can I help you carry the groceries in?” I thought to myself don’t ask questions, don’t pass go, say yes QUICKLY. “Yes Nathan, that, that is so nice.” I took the baby in, and Nathan grabbed a few bags. A few minutes later Nathan suggests that I bring the groceries in, and he will organize them into piles so we can put them away faster. Again, don’t ask questions, just yes, great, and I ran out the door. I finished bringing them into the kitchen, and almost fainted. My husband had done, yes already did, the dishes. WHAT IS HAPPENING, WHAT THE FUCK. The all caps does not mean I am yelling, I am fucking happy, just in shock. Who told my family mama is on the verge of a breakdown, and might cut someone if they put another dish full of food into the sink. I was so thankful, and instantly felt guilty for being so shitty because I hate the grocery. Then Nathan asked for broccoli for dinner.

What does this have to do with second child syndrome? Well as Nathan is being perfect, West is throwing every.single.dvd. out of our entertainment center, and pulling every disc out of its box. Once he realized we had food in the kitchen he started stealing food, and screaming because I wouldn’t let him into the refrigerator. When I wouldn’t let him crush all of the peanut butter crackers he threw himself onto the ground, yelling, pausing every few seconds to make sure I was watching. When this tactic didn’t work, he picked up his pacifier, stuck his tongue out and blew a raspberry as he walked away. He is 1 and a half, and like I said he is a tiny destroyer of peace, quiet, and reminds me that I do not have my shit together. I always thought I was doing pretty okay at the whole parenting thing, but now I am thinking Nathan is just the perfect kid.  

West is fearless, he yells all the time. He has a happy yell, a mad yell, a hungry yell, you get the point. He likes to climb everything; everything is a stool. I am absolutely exhausted every night from chasing this little monster. When I was pregnant with him I told everyone, I hoped I would lose all the weight. I wanted to get so skinny that women would hate me. I guess West heard me say that while in my belly, he is just trying to help mama out and run me to death. He also eats half of all my food, again just being supportive? Every time my friend Amber calls me, if she hears West cry she will ask me if he is mad because I am not sharing my food. Both my family and my husband’s family comment every time they see us that West is nothing like Nathan. Nathan is like the chic-fil-a of kids, no joke. Nathan is so polite it sounds fake. He says please, thank you, always has a compliment, he holds the door until I have to tell him you don’t have to hold it for 30 people, 20 is acceptable. West would flip me off every time I said it was nap time if he knew how.


Someone said how did you get him to do that? I can’t get him to not do that!

One time I heard someone call their kid a little asshole, and I couldn’t believe it. The look on my face must have given me away because they said, don’t act like you’ve never said that about your kid. Honestly I had never, but have you met West Lee? I haven’t said it, but he has only been ruling this place for a little over a year. The amount of times I have said…” Damnit West,” is starting to make me worry he is going to tell people his name is Damnit West Lee. I’m not proud that I say that, don’t judge me, I am working on it okay. I love the challenge of being a mom, my boys make me laugh every day. I wouldn’t want West to be any different, but I won’t pretend that I know what I am doing. I’m going to focus on keeping them alive, healthy, happy, learning, and give them just enough weirdness that they are embarrassed of me but builds character. The second child challenges you in ways you would never imagine. If they had come first there may not have been a second. The second child is stubborn, fearless, ornery, and nothing like your first. They help you grow as a mama, and help your family learn to adjust, open the door to new memories and traditions. I make it a rule with my kids, to always be the smartest person in the room…and oh boy do they challenge me every day!

Dry shampoo is the real MVP


I created this blog over a year ago, because I love to write and I needed a creative outlet. At this point I was still adjusting to being a mama to two, and being in nursing school. I had every intention of writing something once a week, I was already writing by hand most of the week. I thought…I can do this; I will love this. I have written exactly one, ONE blog post in a year. And it wasn’t even mediocre. So, I am going to try again, no promises on how successful I will be. No promises it will be entertaining, or grammatically correct, or impressive in any way. I do not know one person who would say they aren’t busy on most days, and if I did I probably wouldn’t like them. Is that petty, absolutely. I am in nursing school, I have two boys, well three because I have a husband, oh and we have a dog.

Lately I have had at least five people tell me that I am always so happy, a ball of energy and they admire that about me. While I appreciate the compliment, I can’t help but laugh inside…Let me give you a glimpse into my life. Last night I text my favorite mom friend and said…I just found graham cracker remnants stuck to my thigh, yes inside my pants. I had some thoughts on this- I haven’t eaten graham crackers today, how long has this been there. How did I manage to get this inside my pants, but miss my boobs? Wait, really how long has that been there, when did I shower last? I need to take a shower today, no matter what. How long have I been wearing these pants? Do I smell bad? No I smell okay, not my best but not bad.

All of this is happening while I am sitting on my toilet, text included. At this point my toddler comes running into the bathroom, tries to climb in my lap. Because I hold him while he pees, so he is just trying to be there for me. Then it hits me he was eating graham crackers last time I tried to go pee alone. He also tried to climb into my lap, hence the graham crackers. SO all good, I can push the shower, the situation is not as bad as I thought. I think we are still in the dry shampoo and body spray phase, I should probably make a memo in my calendar to shower tomorrow though. Oh but tomorrow is Tuesday and I have class, nursing students don’t get ready for class. Well some do, but they are probably the kind of girls that match their underwear to their bra. Ha! I still can’t believe some women have time for that. The only reason mine ever match is because I make a rule to only buy black undies, so if I happen to get lucky it looks like I was trying to be sexy. Black is always sexy, I like them black like my soul. SOOO Wednesday I will shower, settled.  


I Miss Sleep


I have an almost 7 year old, a 5 month old, and I am a nursing student. I miss sleep. I find myself day dreaming about having an entire day to just sleep. Sometimes I miss adult interaction, having girls nights, date nights, but I find myself counting down to when I get to sleep. I look forward to Fridays because I can take naps with the baby on the weekends. Being a mom means getting up early, and utilizing nap times to check things off of your to do list. Being responsible sucks. I envy my husband at times because if he wants to go to bed early, he tells me goodnight. If he wants to sleep in, he covers his head with a pillow when the baby wakes up. If he wants to take a shower, he just WALKS in and takes one. If he wants to make lunch, he just GOES into the kitchen. If he wants to grab dinner with friends, he just TEXTS me. I love the man, but he should consider himself lucky at times. And ironically he has no idea, he thinks his life has gotten so chaotic since our little wild child was born. Upon arriving home from work the other day he was in a crap mood, and I will be honest so was I. I was exhausted, but happy to see him. I finally got him to tell me what was wrong and his exact words were; “the moment I walk in the door its just chaos and I need a break after work.” Granted he works his butt off for us, ummm what does he think my whole day consists of? Pure chaos, that’s what.

I am extremely blessed to have the opportunity to go to school and take care of our boys while he works full time to support us. But oh man do I miss sleep, and naps, and uninterrupted showers. I’ve seen the pins on pinterest about getting “hangry” which happens to me daily, but what do you call it when you get angry from lack of sleep? I think its just called being a mom. If I ever talk to other moms who want to brag about how much sleep they get now that their baby sleeps through the night, I just want to punch them in the face. I mean congratulations but I hate you. It’s jealousy, and makes me a terrible person, I want to be happy for you but sometimes I just hate you. On that note, my baby obviously doesn’t sleep through the night. Which is fine, I respect him for being like hey mama eating is pretty much my favorite thing, and I want to see your face every 4 hours. He’s so damn cute I’m not even mad at him, I just miss sleep..and coffee. I miss trashing my body with coffee and energy drinks to power through the day. I’m breastfeeding, so limited coffee for me. I literally plan when I am going to drink my coffee for the day, and you know what sometimes its at 8pm. Yes, 8pm, so I can stay awake long enough to see my husband. Someday I will look back and miss these days, and I wouldn’t trade the time with my boys for anything, even the opportunity to hibernate and sleep the winter away…But today, I miss sleep, the kind of sleep you get when you take nyquil. Excuse if this post is all over the place, my brain only works half the time these days. Just the random ramblings of the average mom.


10 things I didn’t see coming with breastfeeding


If you research breastfeeding you can find a million different things to read. If you are like me and new to this you have done your fair share of research. However there are some realities that I had not been warned about, let me share some of the unexpected

1. My boobs are out all the time.
No really, all the time. My six year old feels the need to remind me to put my boob away if we have company.

2. THO is a bitch.
I really can’t explain why, but when I get cold and my nips get hard…it pretty much sucks.

3. I used to have great boobs..
Now they are either super full, lopsided, or just deflated and sad.

4. What do you do when you leak boob juice on your husband
What if you are having you keep going? Does this mean you can’t be naked for sex? Really I would like some feedback here because we kept going, and awkwardly talked about it later. He casually mentioned oh hey you uh leaked during uh, and I said yep.

5. Every time you get out of the shower you immediately need another one
…Because you will leak boob juice ALL over yourself, and you will be sticky again.

6. When people tell you that your baby smells so good, do you tell them its just breast milk?
Both you and your baby will be covered in it at all times.

7. You have to wear a bra all day everyday for all eternity
Or at least until you stop nursing your little one. Do you know that feeling when you come home for the day and you take your bra off? The best feeling in the world! Yea you won’t be experiencing that for awhile. If you even try to go without a bra you will just be wet. And don’t even think about trying to sleep without a bra. You will wake up in a puddle that covers half of the bed. Which brings us back to number 4, and now you have to tell your husband that he is sleeping in your boob juice.

8. Your baby will treat your boobs like smeagol treats the ring.
They are his precious, try and kiss him while he is nursing..He’s not messing around, eating is serious business and those boobs are his prized possession. Your baby will get hangry, shit gets real if he can’t get to dos boobies.

9. You will research if babies are born with teeth.
The answer is yes, and then you will inspect your infant to see if he in fact has teeth. Because it fucking hurts when they nurse. I call my son my little vampire.
10. Remember how hungry you were when you were pregnant, times that by 3.         I eat more now than when I was pregnant. I am hungry all the time. I eat as often as my baby. Similar to the hobbits our eating schedule is as follows: First breakfast, second breakfast, elevensies, luncheon, afternoon snack, dinner, supper, night lunch, second elevensies, 1am brunch.

There are so many other things that come with breastfeeding. For me it’s a love hate relationship. I truly love it, but it’s not without challenges. I still haven’t mastered nursing in public. One time I was really struggling because I couldn’t see what I was doing because I had a fucking blanket over my sweet babies face. I took the blanket off for literally one minute to help my baby latch. We were in the car by the way, with my oldest son. A group of people walk by, not very close, probably wouldn’t have noticed us sitting in our car. EXCEPT my oldest son was apparently waving at every.single.person that walked by. And that’s how I got over my fear of strangers seeing my boobs. SO one last time I would like to reiterate if you are planning on breastfeeding, your boobs are out all the time.