life

Pregnancy in the Time of COVID-19

No one plans to be pregnant during a pandemic. This has by far been the most terrifying part of the pandemic for me. Now that we’ve all been stuck in our homes for a few months, we are beginning to see the inevitable surge of pregnancies. I want to be happy for you, I really do. But as someone who never would have planned for this, I need to explain the true reality of being a parent during a pandemic.

As a quick disclaimer, I understand that many of you don’t take this pandemic seriously. Many of you are still crying about graduation ceremonies postponed, beach closings, and wearing the dreaded face mask to Costco. Your feelings are valid. We are all allowed to grieve the things we feel robbed of. Some people do it in private. Some people find consolation in the shoulder of a loved one, some people gear up with AR-15’s and march up to the capital, some people block traffic to hospitals, some people spit on essential workers. Some people are fucking wrong and need to get over it. If you’re worried about your feelings right now, definitely don’t have a kid- and probably stop reading here. Moving on.

I learned that I was pregnant around Christmas. The pandemic was on my radar, because I watched it’s evolution closely, but this pregnancy was unplanned- and I never would have imagined the devastation that it would soon cause in my communities.

wp-1589464082399.jpg

With the exception of social distancing, I was lucky enough to have completed most of my prenatal testing by the time this pandemic caused widespread panic. I was able to receive my fetal anatomy scan on the last day of normal operation in my clinic. Everything went wonderfully- Ares even revealed his gender. But this was the start to a new normal. My husband was not allowed to be present for this milestone. We requested that our technician, the same technician who revealed each of our previous childrens gender to us, place a gender reveal picture in an envelope. Later than night we shared the experience together. There were no tears of joy, no balloons, no family surrounding us as the smoke cleared. It was just us.

Milestones are very important for first time parents. If you’ve ever had a child, you probably understand what I mean. Watching every movement on a monitor is mesmerizing. To hear the heartbeat of my baby for the first time was one of the most overwhelming feelings that I’ve ever felt. If the hormones don’t make you tear up, just watching the look on your partners face will make you lose it.

20200506_170747.jpg

I can promise you that you won’t be able to experience that the same way with your pandemic pregnancy. All of your check ups will be alone. You may never see your OB/GYN’s entire face, let alone shake their hand. You will not be allowed to bring your partner in for prenatal check-ups, fetal scans, genetic testing, anything. In some hospitals(military, specifically), the father of your child might not even be allowed into the delivery room- some require they wear PPE. You might even have to wear a mask as you sweat, scream, bare down, and push that baby from your womb. This is the new reality for people like me.

20200512_100902.jpg

I am lucky in many ways. This is my third child. I have felt the emotions before so it is easier for me to process them. I wasn’t trying to get pregnant. Many couples try for years to have a baby- it’s a real struggle and I am so happy for those people that are finally getting their miracle. I am lucky that this was not my miracle baby. Ares is my bonus child, the one I always wanted but didn’t plan on quite yet. He is the greatest surprise, despite all of the terror surrounding birth planning. But I was never planning on renovating the den into a nursery for this baby. The joy of baby prepping has long since passed me by. I figured I would pick out baby onesies between toddler fits in the middle of Target. While that reality has changed a bit, the idea still stands- I was not nearly as affected as some moms.

Children are disgusting, careless, germ-magnets. As a mom, I can confirm this and I don’t need your science to explain how I’m right or wrong. I watched my 3 year old and my 1 year old have a steering wheel licking competition in a race car cart at the grocery store- 2 WEEKS BEFORE THE STAY AT HOME ORDER IN CALIFORNIA. Yes. They’re nasty af. Keep your dirty germies at home and wear a mask when you go shopping. It’s easier said than done, I get it. But for moms of multiples like me, this has sparked a fear I never thought I would have. I’ve always just accepted the inevitability of getting sick after kids birthday parties. I’ve always kept my kids home when sick, but not every sick kid shows symptoms- and it’s not always easy to keep a kid home when your husband is at work and you just ran out of milk and one of your kids is spiking a fever. You get your shit together, throw it in a diaper bag and make it work.

wp-1589463105790.jpg

Not anymore. We have an unprecedented amount of doomsday prepping that is quite frankly causing a larger issue. We’re running out of resources. I had to get a prescription for prenatal vitamins because I cannot find any in stores. You guessed it, scared people are buying those too. Somehow they’ve rationalized that ‘if they’re good for pregnant people, they are better than regular vitamins.’ I AM PREGNANT- WHAT THE FUCK. I NEED THIS. KAREN DOES NOT.

Moms can’t find diapers, wipes, hand sanitizer, toilet paper, toilet BOWL cleaner, or detergent to wash bottles. Talk about a fucking struggle. Get ready to join it. On top of all the sold out huggies and back ordered babyganics gentle foaming hand sanitizer, I have entered the third trimester pain threshold earlier than expected. I’m 26 weeks and my hips feel as if they are going to separate beneath me. My stomach is cramping up like I’m about to go into preterm labor (for the third consecutive pregnancy-go me). I am straight up not having a good time.

I do not have many health concerns at this moment. But the anxiety of literally ALL OF THE ABOVE has caused bonus panic attacks, surprise blood pressure fluctuations that leave my head spinning, and BIG heart palpitations. I do not have any precursors that would have flagged me for gestational diabetes, preeclampsia, placenta previa, none of the big ones. I’m lucky. Read it again please. These are lucky circumstances. If all I have are contractions through out my entire 3rd trimester and some unfortunate, surging pain in my pelvis- at least the baby isn’t at risk.

For those of you who already have high blood pressure or a history of genetic issues, please be kind to yourself during this time. Focus on your own health before it no longer matters. Because I can promise you one thing, doctors give little to no fucks unless it puts your baby at risk. And this is difficult time to get into a doctors office. I feel like a surgeon generals warning right now but, for the love of God, if you are pregnant or plan on becoming pregnant, focus on your health. My first two pregnancies were full of morning sickness that landed me in the ER, dehydrated and unable to keep food down. You do not know if it will be safe to stop into the ER in a month or two. My assumption, based on our circumstances, is probably not.

This is a time for self recovery. Heal your mind and work on your body. Poor mental health will not help you get through a pandemic pregnancy. Neither will random yoga sessions and words of encouragement. To all the mamas and soon to be parents out there, stay strong. Hold your head high. Take those belly pics and share them as often as possible- if you feel like it. Rest- if you need it. Don’t do anything that isn’t necessary for yourselves and your babies. I support you and I hope you are surrounded by so many people who will love and support you too. And if any of you are in need of some nasty tasting prenatal gummies to get you through to your next stop at the grocery store, please let me know. They’re nasty but TheY’Re GoOd FOr YoU.

wp-1589464549389.jpg

 

A.

life, Pregnancy

I Traveled Across the Country During a Pandemic

I left this post in draft mode for a month. Like many people in the United States, my life took a wild turn a few weeks ago as I planned my final days in California. The Covid-19 pandemic halted my move to Traverse City, rendered me homeless, and has taken my husband away from our family- indefinitely. There were a few weeks in March where I disassociated and can’t remember much. For the sake of sounding too dull, I’ll leave the details in the past- it’s not like I can remember them anyway.

Despite all the trauma and fear, there are a few wonderful things that happened- many of which I did not speak about openly on my blog beforehand. Life feels like a tornado. But the big news is that I’M PREGNANT. AGAIN. FOR THE FINAL TIME. I’M NOT DOING THIS SHIT ANYMORE. I had intended on rolling out this news story once we found out the gender, but we had our gender ultrasound during our move. So here I am, pulling this rabbit out of a hat several weeks later. He’s a boy. And we’re naming him Ares. We typically do not reveal the names of our children until they are born but since circumstances have changed, it feels inappropriate to keep the exciting (and typically, private) news to ourselves. The third baby has been far kinder to me than the other two. But he is due in mid-August and I hear Leos are not typically kind to anyone in their young years, so we’ll see.

Regardless of all the shit that keeps happening, I have had some amazing experiences that I would otherwise never have had. I’ve looked to government officials for guidance, our president for comedy, and the Department of Defense(DOD) for instruction. As a parent, I often find myself in situations where there are unfortunate and unfair options to choose from. In March, I was faced with the worst decisions I have ever had to make as a parent.I woke up early on March 9th. Grocery shopping is always shitty at the Commissary so I prefer to do it on Monday. I noticed it was busier than usual and many of the typical items were low. People were walking around in a daze in the Toilet Paper aisle- picking from the worst and most expensive options. I made light of it, choosing the shit-option to the inflated-options. The meat counter associate that I usually exchanged banter with explained that they were shutting down for a “remodel” and they were nearly out of all meat, poultry, and pork. The beans were gone- along with the rice, the water, and most of the paper products. I rushed through my shopping trip, cracking jokes with my kids to make them laugh. Their laughter makes me calm when I’m nervous.For the rest of the week, I feared the worst. I called friends and family and explained that it only took 2 weeks for Italy to shut down their country. I knew that our move was going to be impacted. Most of them brushed me off. On Friday, March 13th, the DOD explained their intentions of a travel ban that would not only stop our move, but prohibit me and the kids from leaving. The language of this travel ban stopped the movers from taking our belongings from our home that had previously been scheduled for March 25th. Our house was due to be sold and we learned that California offers no sellers protections to help them in situations like these.

The last 2 weeks in California were spent fighting with military housing, applying for apartments, requesting an appeal to continue our travel, and packing up our house. Since the DOD halted our orders to move, there was no sense in them sending movers out- so they left us with no options and no guidance. We learned that our travel waiver had been approved on March 24th. Our original move date was the 26th. Our house was being sold on March 30th whether we had our belongings packed or not. Thankfully, we were able to find a (shitty) moving company through the Navy’s resources and they packed our items (poorly) on the 26th.2 weeks from the date of learning about the travel ban, my family stood outside of our home and said our final goodbyes. Exactly 2 years to the date of purchasing our home, we were leaving it. It felt surreal to drive away from a place I poured my heart and soul into for years. It felt careless to be taking my kids across the entire country during the middle of a pandemic. It felt selfish of me to have my mother-in-law fly out to help me on the drive when I knew she could get sick just by being in the airport. But it has been 2 1/2 weeks since we arrived in Michigan. I self-quarantined with my children at my parents home in Mid-Michigan for the initial 14 days. Neither us, nor my mother-in-law, have symptoms of Covid-19. I am so thankful for her selflessness and concern in our travels. I could not have traveled 34 hours in 4 days without her. Not with 2 kids. Not during a pandemic. Not while being 20 weeks pregnant. 

“Why wasn’t your husband traveling with you?”

Well. The funny thing about the military is that, despite the pandemic causing an insurmountable challenge to civilian families and military families alike, the military will ultimately protect their most valuable assets; their service members. This does not include the wives and children of those service members- not the wives with a broken leg, about go into labor by herself, not the children with special needs- just the service members. I’m not saying this to be resentful, I’m just being honest. Although our next station is in Traverse City, my husband and I drove our separate ways when we reached the end of our road. He headed East for training while the rest of us traveled North to Michigan.

I mentioned difficult decisions and shitty choices earlier on. There was never an option for us to stay together. The day before our waiver was approved, we were informed that ships were going under quarantine indefinitely. This is fairly public news at this point, so I feel comfortable saying that. This does not mean that anyone is sick. But this does mean that I’ve watched many of my friends say goodbye to their husbands this month. I’ve cried over the USS Theodore Roosevelt multiple times and the lack of help for sailors who contract this virus. I’ve prayed to God for the safety of my own husband who spent the last few weeks quarantined on a military base. I’ve looked to the actions of people in Michigan with outrage and bitterness as they pretend the limitations of our civil rights has only impacted them. If they only fucking knew. If they only had the insight to someone else’s life and the impact this has made on our entire country. They are so selfish and so misinformed.

The travel ban is inevitably being extend yet I am thankful for so much in this new life I have. I have toured the country with 0 traffic jams. I drove through Zion National Forest in Utah. I woke up in Carbondale, Colorado. I witnessed my mother-in-law interact with her grandchildren for what is perhaps the longest she has ever been around them in their entire lives. I never took my children into a public space during our trip (with the exception of potty breaks). We arrived safely to our destinations. We are all in good health. My parents are kind enough to allow us to stay in their home while we search for another. And my house in California is sold!

IMG_20200416_145838_559.jpg

I am so happy that families are spending more time together. I am thankful that people are compromising and learning to be more self sufficient. I am proud of my generation for stepping up and forfeiting their conveniences and learning to live life at a lower means. We all are sacrificing for the greater good. Please continue to do what is best for the whole as opposed to the few. Please prioritize the health of others over your modern conveniences. In order to protect the few, everyone must continue to do the safe thing- stay inside.

A.

PS DO NOT FUCKING TRAVEL ACROSS THE COUNTRY. I DID THIS BECAUSE I HAD TO, NOT BECAUSE I WANTED TO. I ENCOURAGE YOU TO STAY THE FUCK HOME AND NOT BE AN IDIOT. 

Poetry

Fuck you, Victoria

we live in a society
thats absolutely fine with sexualizing
every inch of our bodies
that defines our potential
by our ability to please
that markets what men like to see
instead of anything we actually need

please explain to me
how my breasts should be perfectly shaped
with fine stitch and lace
for nothing more
than a mans hands to rape

sex is a moment
and my breasts werent even meant for it
but yet here they are on market
for men to measure, mark up
and sell back to me for profit
while ignoring their only purpose

find me a fucking nursing bra
without a wire built in to stab me
for the pleasure of a man to grab me
or padding stacked up to mold me
or a strap too small to hold me

how dare you call it inclusive
to take every chest, nipple and breast
and force it to fit into a torture device

-fuck Victoria and her secrets

A.

life

New Year, Same Me

Happy almost New Year!

I don’t really make resolutions. I honestly think they’re silly. Keep making your ads though, Planet Fitness, I’m sure someone else in this country will buy it.

Instead of focusing on all the negative about myself(theres a lot), I’m just going to focus on all the things I’m thankful for.

First, my family. My daughter and my son have really become the best, shitty friends to each other I could have hoped for. I don’t understand the sibling rivalry because I’ve never had one to rival with. But the pettiness is honestly laughable and simultaneously provides me with constant frustration. My daughter is in the slapping phase. So she can dish it out, but she certainly cannot take it.

Second, my health. Shit has been all over the place lately but somehow my health, and the health of my kids, have been good this year. In past years, I suffered with chronic pain, back problems, rheumatism, dental woes, and blurry vision. Obviously my eyes aren’t getting better any time soon, but many of the things on this list haven’t been a bother this year.

And third, my journey. This is the sappy one. This is the part that I have a hard time being thankful for most days. This is the one that scares me and excites me all at once. In a few short months, we will be selling our first home in San Diego, California and moving across the country to Traverse City, Michigan. Most people have mixed views on this. People from San Diego meet this news with criticism about the weather in Michigan. Actually, people from Michigan talk shit about the weather in Traverse City as well. But they also talk about the city’s beauty. And if there’s one thing that people in Michigan hate more than the snow, its California. In general, people have mixed feelings about our next move.

As the mover, this puts a lot on me. I have to create my own enthusiasm- not just for me, but for my kids. They have never endured a Michigan winter and have had very few run ins with snow. What Michigan offers in plenty during the spring and summer, it takes away completely in the winter.

In short, 2020 will be a year full of risks- much like the rest of our years have been. In 2019, my husband and I decided to rekindle our faith. I’m not sure if Ben ever had any, but I had stopped feeding my relationship with God long ago. It’s something I don’t necessarily regret but I am happy to have again. There are seasons in everyones lives. I needed to stray from Him to find my way back. And it’s helped me grow tremendously by allowing me to accept the things that I cannot change. I no longer make mountains of my downfalls. I’ve found confidence where I used to pick and scratch myself to pieces.

For these reasons, I do not intend on being “better.” I am not perfect. There’s a lot going on that I wish I could change and decisions I made that I’m not quite 100% sure about. But I’m not starting out my 2020 with regret and self doubt. I’m leaving that in 2019.

✌

A.

life

Christmas Trees and Credit Card Debt

‘Tis the season, man.

I love it and I hate it. Maybe it’s because this is my first Christmas with two children, but this is NOT my year- ok, let’s be honest, is it ever my year?

Money is always tight in December. I know this is true for everyone, but it gets a lot harder when you add on the heavy expenses of family trips, holiday events, and the ever-growing lists for Santa.

When does it all slow down? Has it gone too far? How much is TOO much?

If you’re asking yourself those questions, the answer is: yes. All of it is too fuckin’ much. All of it is over the top. And you should probably slow your ass down.

Here’s a couple tips on saving money on Christmas this year(Amber style).

1. Give the gift of your children

I mean this literally. Send those monsters to Grandma’s house and leave them there. This is what everyone wants. If you can’t do it because of distance or swine flu or whatever, do the next best thing. Send out their Christmas lists. This costs you nothing and allows you to skimp out on gifts.

You might think this is a dick move but try to remember Christmas for what it used to be. Christmas has exploded with access to online shopping and with that, expectations are unrealistically high.

2. Let that shit sit for a day

If you are an online shopper, take a step back from your cart for a day. Let it sit. Think about it hard before you buy it. It’s time to step away from the stocking stuffer obligation. All you’re doing is buying shitty gifts that no one actually wants. Fuck the bathbombs and the pop sockets. If you really want to spend money on something, try putting that $5-10 in the stocking instead. Money doesn’t replace gift giving, don’t get me wrong. But it’s time to do away with the necessity of it.

3. Spend this time with Family

Family is more important than price tags or pretty Christmas wrapping paper. I’m not talking about your shitbag uncle that falls asleep on the couch after dinner, I’m talking about the people who matter. The ones you go out of your way for and the ones you want to spend the holidays with. Don’t let your relatives bully you into wasting your holiday season arguing over the Trump Impeachment.

4. Recycle your shipping boxes for the love of God and all that is fucking precious to you

Seriously, I’m not going to explain this one but do your part in saving our world. Even if Amazon and Walmart and all the other shitty companies are only contributing to its downward spiral.

It literally wouldn’t be “me” if I didn’t end it on that note.

Happy Everything! Enjoy this guilt, driven season with delight and merriment! Hallelujah.

A.

Poetry

The Artist

he is the master of refining
and blurring the lines
he really does think
if he can add enough layers
maybe he can cover up
the person she used to be
smooth the edges
tune out her intuition

but he can’t hide messages
shes already seen
or delete the other girls
that came clean
and i still wonder if shes waiting
for me to make a scene
to tell her all the things
that he also did to me

wouldnt that be convenient
if i fit the narrative
instead of learning from it

but while the artist works
to fill the cracks in his conscience
with likely stories,
he shades the women of his past
and takes the glory
take a look at all their trophies

because there is happiness after him
you cannot shed his layers
but the artist doesnt own the rights to his masterpiece

– stop giving him permission to alter you

A.

Poetry

Bye Bitch

theres no fucking way i was ever going to wait around while you chased a truth that you made up in your head. you can idealize every piece of trash that floats through your life as a message from god- but its fucking not and you dont get to waft in and out of everyones lives just because you think youre following moses across the red sea. youre just running. and drowning and i cant fucking save you if you think youre flying.
-he was trash, and so was the guy before him

prose

Horoscopes and Karma

The universe speaks to me so clearly that I often confuse the messages with karma. All the good gets countered with the bad and it just turns into a big, messy tug-of-war with my happiness. Messages don’t have to be decoded. You don’t have to read them with your horoscope and make charts and graphs to react. Your first impulse is often the best one to act on. But never be motivated by the negative. Accept your responsibilities, not the fate. Nothing is written in the stars unless you put it there. They are only stars. Sometimes they’re just waiting for you to draw the lines.

Poetry

Real Life Love Story

Becoming me was easy
with you
My body lives to do
those things you want it to
It was so beautiful
to watch it happen
In my head

But to look down upon it
my skin could grow
and shrink and stretch
and harden and turn
into dirty playdough
While your body stayed the same
while less and less
I heard you say my name
with endearment
Like my name became
a command and
all the love it once had
drained out if it
Like we twisted and tangled it
until we rang everything out
and sat it aside to dry

We all know why
we siphoned the love out
and poured it all down
in such bounty

We gave it to the creation
of our bodies
and our blood
while our love
dried on the counter
with yesterdays dishes

love after children

A.

Poetry

Amen

Dear God,
you are a fire
a small, flickering ember
but that ember lights a forest
and a few houses
that surround it

Dear God,
youre fuckin cold
ice blackened on the road
youre the screams
as the car rolls

Dear God,
youre the flatline
while everybodies shaking
looking up and waiting
folding hands and praying

Dear God,
forgive me
for i have sinned
but you created this
why dont you let it end?

why would you mold
the whole world
and tell me i cant live
make me say your name
is it a fetish or a game?

A.

Poetry

Braindead Debating

a million people screaming
their voices: loud and tall
my ears are fucking ringing
but my mouth won’t move at all

i try to scream, gurgling ink
you must think im braindead
but theres far too many people talking
to let you in my head

 

A.

Poetry, prose

Dry Humor

Fear is a tool
That’s used to fool
You into choosing
Who gets your money
And its kinda funny
Because those dollars
At the end of the day
Are only used to make us more afraid.

Big screen, american dream, AR15, ass cream
Buy it right from your news feed
That you filled with all your insecurities
While they stood by and gathered data

How many kids do you have?
What are their ages?
Do you have a gun to protect them?
What are their races?
Do you think the world is dying?
Is the internet really lying?
Are they potty trained?
Immunized against the next American shit stain?

Shh don’t tell your mom
She’d flip if she knew
About the shit you’re into
How much it costs to consume
Tell her that it will be ok
Pop a prozac
Fuck the pain away
Rinse, spit and repeat.

A.

Poetry

Unaccountable

a generation crying about their rights

to their gender

to their guns

to their fancy new emulsion blender

calls on followers to rise together

from their silence

their desk job

and a keyboard built for violence

but the camera lens is too dirty

with a blurring filter

and a heart emoji

and we’re all too high and mighty blind to see them wither

A.

Poetry

The End of the World

I knew before the news broke

My lungs had been tight- body aching, sinus pressure

Burning flesh filled the air

The Earth was dying

 

I couldn’t see anything wrong

The air was saturated with dewy condensation

It hung, thick on the dusty horizon

But she was falling

 

My eyes watered

Filled with the invisible smoke

And the crackling of wet leaves

Dehydrating and bursting veins

 

My veins

 

I was not surprised to learn it

My Goddess, brought to her knees

Magdalena was always going to die here

Screaming in the ashes of her greatest trees

– How men crucify their Gods

A.

life, prose

No one

no one would blame me if i couldnt find the energy to get dressed today. being a mom is tough. who cares what i look like anyway? no one would blame me if i crashed as soon as the kids went down for a nap. they are SO exhausting. no one would blame me for ordering takeout tonight. how can i cook when i barely get a chance to breathe?

no one would notice when the dark comes creeping in. it happens at night, when the kids are mine and no one elses.

no one would notice when i am too busy to answer the phone or text back- must be changing diapers.

or suffocating.

no one would blame me for being sad. its “normal.”

but when everything is black as night, and there is only one way out-

everyone will blame me.

blame me.

– ppd

A.

Poetry

Listing

thinking it out loud doesnt make it real

crumple it up and throw it on the ground to make you feel

the shit you do beyond closed doors doesnt matter before you post it

no one fucking cares where the bear shits- unless you know it

throw away your list bc you dont fucking need it

A.

prose

The World

Do not give them the world.

Not when they are 2, begging for that toy on the television.

Not when they are 12, asking for money to see a new movie in theaters.

Not when they are 18, asking you to pay their tuition.

Do not give them the world.

The world wasn’t meant to be carried on small shoulders.

It wasnt designed to be held in the palm of your hand.

The darkest days are supposed to be shared in the company of loving shoulders to cry on.

The beauty belongs to everyone.

Do not give them the world.

Help them see it and love it.

Help them recognize the danger in its beauty.

Help them earn its trust and its good karma.

But please…

Do not give them the world.

A.

life, prose

Parkinson’s

He is old. Shaking his finger at the credit card keypad, like he is scolding it for not remembering his pin.

My son is young. Twisting in the cart, his face is sour- “I want you to GO, Mommy.”

invalid entry

“Be patient.”

invalid entry

“Can’t you just GO?!”

invalid entry

“No baby, we have to wait our turn.”

invalid entry

“MOMMY!”

invalid entry

“I need you to have empathy, please.”

…

transaction approved

Teach your children big words. They will surprise you. I promise.

A.

life

Alive-ish

hey whats up im back. i had a baby. got real sad.

i dont know what they call it anymore. but here i am.

i didnt kill myself.

i wont hide from my notebook anymore. i unburied it from all the bukowski and poetry until it was all that was left on my nightstand. i miss the way my pen feels between my fingertips and i hate that my silence is louder than my presence.

i want to write about it but my heart wont pump the ink out. but here i am.

alive-ish

luckily there is no shortage of bullshit going on in this world to piss me the fuck off.

i live for the rage on my worst days. but most days, i live for me. and the beauty that my life can be. thanks for waiting.

A.

life, Pregnancy, prose

True Entitlement

Spoiler Alert: It’s not generational.

 

I get so tired of hearing shit like, “well, I didn’t know her husband was hitting her-” or “he didn’t act suicidal” whenever bad things happen to the ones we love. I’m even more exhausted of the retort- “well, how did you KNOW THEY WERE REALLY HAPPY? Why didn’t you physically implant a tracking device into your friends’ asshole until you were certain?!”

Ok. Maybe people don’t really say that last part. But it’s increasingly apparent to me that the only time these dialogues take the stage is when something doesn’t go as planned. This is what true entitlement is. It’s not a millennial thing.

It’s a social thing. Entitlement is a learned behavior that is caused by watching billions of people over share tiny pieces of their lives through social mediums. This isn’t a conspiracy. I’m not going to site Michael Moore here. This is how we, as a culture, forgot how to see with our eyes. This is how the majority of a population became so distracted by filters that they evolved to see things more pleasantly than reality ever intended. The bottom line is that we are not entitled to the most intimate details of someone’s life. You do not get to use someone’s instagram account to justify when good/bad things happen to them.

I recently stepped away from social media. Not entirely, I’m not a living in my basement with the lights off- don’t worry. I didn’t delete all of my accounts. I didn’t stop checking in on my friends. But regardless, I still felt the break was necessary. I suffer from a disorder that you might be familiar with- it doesn’t have a name, to my knowledge. However, it’s characterized by feelings of frustration that are often triggered by people who overshare stupid details of their lives that I don’t give a fuck about. Let me know if you think of a word for that kind of thing.

(I say this ironically, of course, because I’m nearing the 1 year anniversary of my blog- ya know, where I share intimate ideas and details of my life with people I don’t even know. But even here, you will not find me sharing details so intimate that they would be better reported to a therapist. I digress.)

The reason for my stepping away from social media is quite simple. I do not feel compelled to share my life right now. It’s partially because I’m pregnant and I am enjoying the last few months of privacy before I have none. But it is also because I find life difficult to focus on when I’m preoccupied with the happenings of others.

I don’t believe in much, but I believe in myself. It’s hard to believe in myself when I’m focused on everyone else. A friend recently opened up to me about their difficulty being “present” in their life. I can see this exact issue in myself, whether it’s because I’m messing around on facebook, distracted with housework, planning a family trip- I’m never exactly where I say I am. I’m trying this new thing where I don’t let funny memes distract me from the importance of the moment I’m living in. I’m going to continue my absence online in hopes that I can become more present in life. I hope this means that I will be writing more, but I also hope this means I’m away from my desk more.

A.

 

received_253093202068972.jpeg

life, Pregnancy, prose

Morning Sickness

I am pregnant. 22 weeks + 1 day. Maybe I should have written about this sooner- just to give my readers a little more insight as to what is happening in my life right now, but you’ll have to forgive me. Because I’ve already forgiven myself.

As a pregnant woman, growing in the age of social media, I have found myself trapped in one of the most unforgiving stages of my life. I’m not quite sure how it became this way. I have heard stories from so many women of past generations, speaking about how they lost themselves in pregnancy: the most guilt-free period of their lives. I wonder when that period ended.

I have been “blessed” with morning sickness, a diet of saltine crackers and bile. If you’ve ever had morning sickness, you know that it does not end once the clock strikes twelve. It ebbs and flow with every smell that passes your nose, every change in temperature or increase in humidity. It comes back when the sun gets too bright and when your husband touches his fingers to your skin. It wakes you from dead sleep and pleasant dreams. Every sound too loud will send you sprinting for the bathroom. It makes it impossible to gain weight for your baby, clean, cook, go to the grocery store, work, or change the toddler’s diapers. But you have to. Because you are a mom. And you have been “blessed” with morning sickness.

I spoke out about this a lot with my first pregnancy, begging for relief, suggestions, compassion:

“Try ginger tea”
“Try ginger candy”
“Try ginger ale”
“… Crackers, water, bread”
“Just eat whatever you can to feed the baby”
“Just smile through it, you have too many obstacles ahead to start complaining now”

Doctors told me it would go away after 13 weeks. In my first pregnancy, I was “let go” from my job for having missed one day of work. I stayed home, vomiting bile when I couldn’t hold down water. I sat in a dark room, cringing at the sight of any bright light, any scent other than my own. At 13 weeks it got worse. I was prescribed medication that I could not take for (proven) fear that it would give my baby heart defects. More advice:

“Go out for a walk”
“Stay out of the sun”
“Talk to your doctor about ____ medication”
“Aren’t you worried that drugs will hurt the baby?”
“Try smoking weed”
“Weed will give your kid brain damage”
“Why can’t you just suck it up”
“I wish I was that thin when I was pregnant”
“You should really be gaining more weight…”

The last time I got sick during my first pregnancy was 35 minutes before my son was born. It was just water. My son weighed 5 lbs 12 oz, born at 39 weeks. I gained 10 lbs throughout my pregnancy. I lost 3 of them during week 37. I walked out of the hospital weighing 5 lbs less than I did before I got pregnant.

I am 22 weeks + 1 day today. I have gained 2 lbs since getting pregnant. And last night I broke blood vessels throughout my entire face while vomiting. I have been “blessed” with morning sickness. And no, I have not found relief. I do not want your suggestions. And most of all, I do not expect compassion.

–A.
Morning Sickness

prose

Mental Illness

It is not your obligation- as a friend, lover, sister, or mother- to fix them. No healthy relationship will ever require you to drain yourself completely of happiness. Don’t ever empty your cup into someone else’s, just because theirs has a crack in it.

A.

life

Envy

It has been months. There have been a lot of unexpected changes in my life and I feel bad for ghosting on my followers through it all. I’ve been debating about posting a personal update on my blog for a few weeks now- not a rant, I’m all out of anger this week. But today I stumbled across an annoying post on one of those mom groups on facebook and it really rubbed me the wrong way. Not enough to rant about it. Just enough to question the way people view the world and the entire fucking meaning of life. Ya know, normal Amber problems.

I obviously am not going to blast some poor mom for her passing judgements on facebook because I’m not that fucking triggered by it, but her post said something to the effect of:

“I don’t understand how so many people are able to go on vacations with their families, drive new cars all the time, and shower their children in new shit. Does anyone else get a little envious of this? I see it all the time, and I KNOW these people do NOT make more money than us.”

Wow. Way to hit the nail on its head. This kind of envy is exactly what social media was created to do to people. If I had been more observant I might have glanced off to the bottom of the screen to see what kind of products were being advertised. Probably a Princess Cruise and a Ford Explorer. I’m not the kind of person to get invested in what people say on facebook. These people aren’t polishing their words in Microsoft office before they share them. They don’t worry much about the repercussions of “offending” people because we live in an age where everyone is offended and nobody even knows why. I did concern myself with the comments though. I glanced through, just to review the response from her “mom peers.”

Most people were polite, explaining that every family has different priorities and different struggles. Some people blamed credit cards or blamed irresponsible parents. Others noted that families often invest and make a lot of money off it. But everyone who commented had one thing in common. They all empathized with having envy.

I’m not going to preach to you about how being envious is a sin. I don’t believe in heaven or hell- or much at all, to be quite honest. Envy is only a sin to someone who believes that god will punishment them for it. We punish ourselves enough with envy.

In February my husband and I decided to start looking for a house. To buy. In San Diego. My husband and I were both 24 years old and had never owned a home before. As many of you know, we moved here from Michigan in 2015 and left our family and our support systems behind in search of a different kind of lifestyle. Nothing will make you feel more isolated than having half the people you know tell you that you are making the wrong choice. But we’re so used to it by now that, when people told us not to buy a house, we used it as motivation to buy one faster.

On February 26th a seller accepted our offer and we began the escrow period for buying our house. I used to wonder how people afforded the things that they had. I used to wonder how they stretched their money out and were able to live happy, fulfilled lives. I wondered how people had the energy to budget their money down to the last penny. But the truth is that if you want to live the lifestyle that someone broadcasts on social media, it’s gonna smack you right in the fucking face.

Over the last two months my life was saturated. I had no time to stop and take a breath, let alone write about it. I started working nights from home and my husband started bringing work home with him. My time was owned by banks and my mind was constantly fleeting from one task to the next. Now that we are settling into our home, I’m taking more time to appreciate what I have. I don’t need to appreciate what someone else has.

Today it is raining. And I am breathing. Please take this as a gentle reminder to value the things that are most important in your life. Do not let those priorities include envy. Envy does not motivate you to be better. It motivates you to value someone else’s success over your own.

A.

prose

Soft

I notice myself getting softer with age. I care more, I hurt longer, I’m empathetic towards people I never cared for when I was younger. But that’s what happens when you focus less on how the world has wronged you, and instead focus your energy on how you have wronged the world.

When you seek out my help, I will lend you my hands. If life fills you with sadness, I will catch your tears. When your mind brims with worry, I will open my heart.

If you close your eyes, you will never see the kindness that others are ready to give. Love will seem ingenuous where the greatest intentions lie. Your perspective will sour the words of people who once showed you the greatest kindness.

Growing softer does not make me weaker. It makes it easier for me absorb the pain. To catch the tears. And dance in the rain.

A.

Poetry

The Game of Life

life will chew you up

and spit out the pieces

that it doesn’t like

but those pieces

are the best parts of you

the ones that survived

don’t leave them

lying around

for the world to pick through

prose

Renewing Resolutions

Happy New Year! And welcome to the first week of (fill in year here) where everyone sets ridiculously high expectations for themselves. 2018 turns a fresh page in life, where people are able to reflect on their past year and feel remorse for some of the poor decisions made in 2017. Despite the review of poor outcomes, a trending Millennial view on New Year’s resolutions is to simply not make one. While I stand behind the premise, I think it’s pretty dense to live life entirely void of expectations for yourself. Just take it slow, lower the bar, and plan it out.

2017 was a trying year for me but it was also very rewarding. It’s easy to overlook the successes when they are overshadowed by hardships. Sometimes the best days were a result of the worst months. Deployment was by far one of the largest hurdles I have jumped in my entire life.

Six months of separation from my husband were all resting on one day when we were reunited. I look back at moments from my husbands deployment and think about how difficult life really was for me. Despite all of my trials and tribulations, I always looked to the women who had it harder. It is far too easy to set expectations for life without really knowing what it is going to look like.

26552577_10214747611268135_111527295_n

In June of 2017, my husband carried my 11 month old son down the pier and kissed us both goodbye before sailing across the Pacific Ocean. Now, I’m accustomed to be being alone, but it is difficult to swallow the idea of being separated for six months. I’ve watched women crumble at the thought of such a long separation, but at this point in our lives, I find it laughable.

26196990_10214747611748147_854682165_n

One of the best pieces of advice I followed was given to me by a woman working full time, while pregnant, taking care of two daughters, and running her own house during her husbands deployment. She told me to never wait to be happy. Deployment is a hurdle- and I had to jump it. Ready or not, happy or sad- there was no “out” for me. There is no easy way out in life, no simple solutions- and no fucking easy street.

There are always going to be hardships with each passing year. If your expectation is to never have difficulty in your life, then your resolutions will shatter by the end of this week. Strength is how we overcome obstacles in life, not how we avoid them.

26540129_10214747612268160_2035709653_o

Resolve to reorganize. It is easy to allow the modern day conveniences to run your bank account and your life. If you want to get healthy, don’t sign up for a gym membership. Cancel your Netflix subscription and walk around the produce department at the grocery store. Money aside, your resolution should benefit you more than the retail companies marketing the ideas to you.

26241709_10214747613628194_468349605_n

Change comes from within us. This year, I resolve to let the house get messy. I want the dishes to pile up and the clean clothes to get wrinkled before I fold them. I want to wear the same sleep shorts for three nights in a row because I don’t give a fuck with the neighbors think of me when I take the dog out in the morning. I resolve to invite people over to my messy house for dinner. I resolve to cultivate relationships in unlikely places, wash my hair a little less, and smile before I’ve brushed my teeth in the morning. I resolve to give myself just as much of me as I give to everyone else. I resolve to kiss my husband with food in my mouth and take myself less seriously when I do it. In fact, I resolve to take everyone less seriously. I resolve to spend more time with my son than I do cleaning up after him.

Let life be messy, enjoy it.

A.

prose

How to Take “Constructive Criticism”

Being a parent is hard. It’s a job that requires no qualifications- but demands 100% effort. Nobody goes to school for this. The most guidance we receive comes from the 90 minute classes on child birthing during the second trimester of pregnancy. The “oh shit” moments don’t start happening until the first night home from the hospital. That’s when we realize that these tiny humans are going to dictate the rest of our lives. Forever. No really. Forever.

The pressure starts before the contractions. Three months into the first trimester, I broke the news to our family. It was a Christmas party. I remember hugging each family member and whispering the news into their ear. The sweetest surprises are the ones that are the most anticipated. Everyone was ecstatic. The putrid droplets of wisdom, long since expired, dropped from their lips like they had been saved, all this time, just for this very moment. But everyone is going to have their own advice. Their own stories. Suggestions.

Parents are good at feeling attacked. It’s not because we are too sensitive or emotional. Becoming a parent is like being signed up to a class, dedicated to telling you that you don’t fucking matter anymore. And every lesson plan is a new piece of advice, conflicting with every other piece of advice you have ever heard. And at the end of each day, you’re told that everything you have done is wrong and that you failed. No matter who you listen to. No matter what tools you use. You are wrong.

Older generations have told me that I am easily offended. I see it every day in the comments section of every controversial facebook meme. I can’t figure out if they honestly believe that their advice is so important that it should be valued above research studies and personal experiences. Social media has allowed opinions to be valued over relationships. It’s easier to delete Aunt Karen on Facebook than to tell her that taking castor oil in labor can literally kill an unborn baby. People want to believe that the advice they followed was the right advice. So much so that they will steer other people to follow it. There is a fight to be right in parenting.

Social media holds my generation accountable for every word we say, every step we take, and every second of our parenting. The more we share, the more we are criticized. There are like, 40 states between my family and everyone I grew up with- but social media makes it feel like they live right next door. I’m faced with the challenge of wanting everyone to be as involved in my son’s life as possible, while not wanting to share the most intimate details and decisions in my life.

I do not let fear of failure or judgement control my decisions. The two faces of facebook became apparent to me when I climbed a mountain with my son when he was 9 months old. My photos exploded with likes and reactions. But my inbox was beaming with questions of criticism and worry.

“Don’t you think that is a little dangerous…”

“What’s the matter with you!? You could have gotten hurt!”

received_1243326302457469

Why the fuck would I listen to that? Is that my responsibility as a parent? To fucking drown in someone else’s worries and concerns? Because my lifestyle as a parent is to go hiking and mountain climbing with my family, do you honestly believe that it gives you the right to have an unchallenged opinion? News flash: Opinions do not have to be spoken and shared every time they run through your head. You can actually just not say anything at all. There’s this really cool thing that I’m allowed to do as a parent. I’ve been doing it for a while now actually and it’s working out great. I don’t really have a name for it but I highly recommend that you try it. Don’t fucking respond to people’s criticisms or questions. Ignore them. It’s fucking amazing, I’m telling you. I literally get to decide how much negativity people dump into my life. And I do it all by not giving a fuck.

It’s ironic because the generations that are the quickest to accuse millennials of being “too sensitive” are the quickest to get hurt when you don’t accept their opinions blindly. Don’t let social media tell you how happy you are allowed to be.

A.

prose

History Lessons

the funny thing about history is that it doesn’t matter. it doesn’t matter whether it is true or not. history is always written in the perspective of the victors. history is rarely written correctly. but no matter what happens, one thing will always be true. history repeats itself. we built mediums so that we could write history and decide, for the first time in history, how the future plays out. and instead of building a fantasy, we write the same words that have been written on tombstones for centuries. not everyone can be a good storyteller. but everyone tells stories.

A.

prose

On Being Thankful

The holidays are always bittersweet for my family. While everyone seems to be shopping feverishly for deals, filled with excitement for the Christmas season, I notice that I actively try to disappear into the chaos. My inbox fills with questions about where I will be spending Thanksgiving, how my family is going to spend Christmas, and my favorite; “Will you be flying back home so that you aren’t alone?”

As much as I love my family and understand that they are just trying to include me in their love for togetherness, being “thankful” for generosity and kind words is a lot harder for me during this season. As much as it appeals to everyone else for me to book a last minute flight and empty my bank account to make the family happy, THAT is not the life I chose.

In November of 2014, my favorite person in the world took me to the most secluded spot he could think of- Dauner Trails. It was a cold winter in Michigan- but that was irrelevant to us. We were in love. When we got to the end of the trail, pitch black and freezing, he shined his flashlight on a bouquet of Dahlias he had placed out there earlier in the day, and knelt down into the snow. There, in the frigid trails and completely secluded from the rest of our loved ones, he proposed to me.

And I said “yes.”

I said “yes” to more than marriage that night. I said “yes” to leaving my entire family behind so that I could start my own. I said “yes” to the cold reality that is being alone. I said “yes” to the dark days during the holiday season when I will not be sitting around a table with my family. I said “yes” to being alone in a life that we created together.

I’m not a martyr. This is the life I agreed to. My husband will not be sitting with me at my dinner table this year, complimenting my green bean casserole and joking around about how I can’t cook a turkey so I always have to cook ham. My husband will not be helping me put up our Christmas tree after dinner in lieu of tradition. And guess what! I’m still here. I’m still living this life that we created together.

Yes, I am sad. I am disappointed. I am frustrated. But I chose this life and these holidays without the person I sacrificed so much for. Because to me, it wasn’t a sacrifice. It was a trade off. I traded my goodnight kisses for late night emails. I traded my home style holidays for amazon prime packages. And I traded my husband’s presence for someone else’s security.

I am thankful for the love that I feel unconditionally from family and friends. I am thankful for all of my loved ones in San Diego who reached out to me this season. I am thankful that I have a place that I feel welcomed for dinner. I am thankful that my dinner will not be Chinese takeout with my toddler.

My only request is that, instead of guilting me with your pity and your disappointment, be thankful for the memories you get to make with your own families. Because of the sacrifices of mine. Happy Thanksgiving to everyone, especially those who serve.

A.

Poetry, prose

Political Ramblings

“do you consider yourself a liberal”
you ask
as if there is
a correct answer to that

while I just sit
both hands
balled into fists

wondering where the fuck
you get off on
asking me to define
my education
my stance on
abortion
civil rights
constitution
bathroom talk
locker room talk
minimum wage
and gas prices

by picking a side
when they’re created by
the same institution
profiting from this divide

and i will reply
– “do you consider yourself an idiot”

Poetry, prose

Plagiarist

it’s hard to tell

if the shit i’ve said

will ever be heard of

or thought of again

or if every word i say

is just plagiarism

of someone else’s thoughts.

but when i sit down

to the blank page

words bleed from me

like therapy

and as the ink melts away

i hope you can read

the words you are too afraid to say

and that you will be brave

enough to change

what makes you so cowardly.

– it doesn’t matter if you tried, sooner or later we are all gonna die

Poetry

Vacancy

there’s a feeling of inadequacy

that settled in

when you left

and now i feed it

three meals a day

i try to kick it out sometimes

but it shames

everything i say

it watches me

with disapproval

while i take off my clothes

it picks apart my skin

seals it with a kiss

and signs your name

prose

How to be Successful

Ever since I was old enough to listen, I’ve allowed people to define the way I view my own success. I was born into a generation that was told that we could have anything as long as we wanted it bad enough. But I have spent my whole life wanting and asking and working and every time I find myself within inches of the finish line, I fail.

For awhile I blamed myself. I wondered why I was standing in my own way of success. When I got angry enough, I would blame the world. I started writing when I was 12 years old. My first work: a suicide note. After being bed ridden with an illness that rendered me unable to take care of my own basic needs for 6 months, I could think of nothing else that I wanted more than to go back to school. But when I got back to my 5th grade classroom, I found that my classmates had stolen my possessions. They filled my desk with trash and ripped up my artwork.

My classmates thought I was dying. Maybe they wanted something to remember me by, maybe they wanted to destroy my painful memory. But nothing hurt me like the day that kids started telling me that they wished I was dead. I had just beaten an infectious disease that nobody had ever heard of and that was my reward for such a great success.

I didn’t fucking ask for a participation trophy.

There are defining moments in our lives that shape who we become as individuals. My illness did shape the person that I was going to become. My definition of success shaped my character and my future and fuck, it probably shaped my morals and parenting and just about every other aspect of my life. At 12 years old, I thought it would be better to end it all than to continue living with that fucked up vision of myself. But I didn’t.

I remember my first day of college. I got lost in the science building. I felt like an idiot. My science professor was an asshole. He made every person in that lecture hall feel like a piece of garbage. I wanted to raise my hand and ask him why he had to make us feel inferior in order for him to feel like a successful teacher. I never thought that the teachers were supposed to belittle their students. I left campus feeling pretty shitty about myself that day. I found my car, navigated the one-way roads, went north instead of south on the freeway, and cried “wee wee wee” all the way home.

I approached my parents driveway slowly, wondering how I was going to tell them that I wasn’t cut out for college like I thought I was. I’ll never forget how I pulled in the driveway with tears in my eyes, feeling like the tiniest fleck of shit that had ever graced a public restroom. As I parked my car and wiped my eyes, I looked up to see my father standing at the top of the driveway. I could see his eyes glisten with pride as he smiled. His only child had just finished her first day of college. I had surpassed him in graduating high school and setting out to do things that he never could have imagined for himself.

Defining Moments.

I’ve spent my whole life telling people to fuck off and I’m not going to stop now. If you don’t like the way that someone paints your success, you have every right to tell them to fuck off. Not everyone is going to have the perfect paintbrush to highlight your best features. I’ve been struggling through adult life for awhile now and I’ve learned that age defines the things we hate, not the people we are.

As a teenager, I hated children. I hated that I was forced to transition into a different part of life before I was ready. I hated that I was sexualized before I was fucking ready to be. I hated that children didn’t have to care about what they looked like and I did. I hated that I was forced to be picked last for sports. I hated that I was still treated like a child, even though boys were allowed to touch me in ways that I didn’t even want to touch myself.

My twenties made me hate teenagers. I despise how they make mistakes and don’t learn from them. I don’t understand how they sleep all day and stay up all night and don’t pay attention to the world. I hate how they feel the need to be the center of attention. And then I stop. Because I do not want to be a part of the generation that hates the younger generation.

Every age comes with it’s own challenges and defining moments. When I’m 60, I will not be criticizing the only people who can save me. If I die at 70, a plate of success will be my last supper. I will decide what is on that plate. You can dine at my table or you can fuck off.

A.

prose

Waiting

i am the wife of a man, who lives in a tin can. from the moment i said that ‘i do’, this is the life that i choose. i choose to love the breeze that brings his love to me from what ever fucking fleet that he sails through this week.

but my son didn’t choose this life. he was forced to accept this- like we accepted it, 6 months in, with a bulge between my hips, we cried together when we realized he would miss our unborn sons first birthday.

people tell me to be optimistic but follow it up with, ‘i don’t know how you do it’, and seal my casket off with ‘you chose this, so get over it’.

but i have to be careful with optimism. saying things like, ‘i have a surprise for you’ is a slap on the wrist to a boy with one wish so fatefully diminished. you can seal it with a kiss. but how insulting is it to fill a child’s head with hope, knowing that he is going to feel punished?

A.

Uncategorized

Social

Hey frands! I know I have links to all my social accounts- but if you don’t already, go follow me on Facebook and Instagram!

I don’t like to share many life updates in general, but I tend to be a little more intimate on social media. I’m into soap making, fairy gardens, and making friends with snails that I find around the backyard with my son.

If you get a chance, check me out on facebook by clicking here.

Or if you’re if you prefer instagram, you can find me here.

See ya around!