Monthly Archives: October 2012


Your shadow cast
Over my heart,

Dead scabs fall away
Leaving a patchwork
Of scars.

They glisten burgundy
Against the scarlet of
My roots.

I am your wraith,
Your disintegrated soul.


So, Motherhood. Pt 1

It’s been 2 1/2 months since I had my son, It’s been an interesting couple of months, we’ve learned a lot and very quickly. I’ve read parenting blogs and articles for years, preparation I guess, but being part of the club makes them a lot different. I’ve also experienced first hand how unpleasant some mothers can be when you make choices different from the choices they made.

I love the hell out of my son. He’s the most wonderful, beautiful, amazing little creature I’ve ever seen. I formula feed my son for a number of reasons but the main one being my supply just plummeted and no matter what I did I couldn’t keep up with how much he was eating. I tried, I tried really hard and I cried and felt like the worst mother on the planet because I couldn’t breastfeed him. For a few weeks every time I pulled a bottle out in public I could feel the judgement, especially if I was in a place with other mothers. I felt like I had to explain why, like I should have just had a t-shirt made that detailed my experience trying to breastfeed my son.

Then, rather suddenly I realized I don’t owe anyone an explanation for the choices I made regarding how I’m feeding my son. It’s no one’s business except him, me, his dad and his pediatrician. Other than that I don’t care about your opinion because frankly, that’s all it is. Your experience is yours and mine is mine, lets not confuse the two.

On that same note, I’ve kind of had it with people asking me how I had him. Seriously, it’s none of your business. If I choose to share that information it’s up to me but demanding that information out of me while I’m standing in line at the grocery store is a little out of hand. What I went through when I had him wasn’t easy and it was fucking scary. There was more than one time when I started to question whether I was gonna survive, that’s not exactly something I feel like chatting about with a complete stranger while I’m trying to buy my dinner supplies.

And in that same vein. Who the hell thinks it’s acceptable to treat women who have c-sections like they’re somehow lesser women or not “mother” enough. I’ve got two words for people who believe that: Fuck. You. I don’t care if it was an elective c-section, a scheduled c-section or an emergency no one has any right to judge how woman or how mother someone is based on how their child came into the world. You know what makes a mother? How you raise your kid, not how the kid was brought into the world.

I’ve always been the kind of person to just live and let live. People make different choices than I do, that’s life and you know what I’m glad they make different choices. The world would be awfully boring if everyone was just like me. If you take care of your child I’ve got no beef, whether you use cloth diapers or disposable, breast feed or use formula, had a epidural or used no pain meds at all, or had a c-section or vaginal delivery.

All those years I spent reading parenting articles I always made the same comment, we’re our own worst enemies. Mothers always complain about the way society treats us, well why don’t we take a good long look at how we treat each other? We judge things that we have no business judging, we treat mothers who do things differently than us like they’re the worst people on the planet and seriously it really needs to just stop.

It’s ridiculous that instead of being supportive of one another we’d rather be at each other’s throats over petty differences. I made a promise to myself when I had my son, I wasn’t going to spend all of my time criticizing and critiquing the choices of every other mother around me. It’s not my business, not my place and a waste of my time. However, I am not going to put up with someone who feels like they need to step into my life and tell me I’m doing things wrong just because I’m doing them differently than they did them.