Category: Mom Life

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Mom Life

Can I Really be a Pinterest Mom?

Photo by micheile henderson on Unsplash

I so badly want to be a Pinterest mom. Not badly enough to stress myself out and ignore my own rest breaks, but badly enough.

I love looking up cute holiday crafts to do with my daughter, or for when we have playdates. I love balloon arches. I love the little wooden toddler knife I bought her. I love the tiny footprints I had made when she was an itty bitty newborn. I love scrolling Pinterest to find cute things to do and cute décor for every occasion.

What I don’t love is the pressure.

The pressure to have to do these things. To look like a good mother if I cut her food into cute shapes. For some, it helps those picky eaters. For most, it’s just more damn work on an already busy day. Every time I see pancakes in the shape of candy canes or snowmen, I think I could totally do that. Then, I wonder why I would take the time only for her to eat it in three seconds, demanding more. Pancakes are like cocaine to toddlers.

Maybe my comparison there is why I can never be a Pinterest mom.

Sure, I can put in the extra work and make things more things special in her life. But, could I mentally handle it? Probably not.

I’m a big fan of mixing things, though. When she was a baby, I breastfed and formula fed. I’m a stay at home mom, but she also goes to her grandparents two days of the week so I can write (and, to be honest, take a break). I plan fun parties with tons of balloons, streamers, AND a balloon arch, but we don’t have 1,000 activities or so much specialized décor I’m stressing the entire time. She gets healthy snacks for school packaged in a bento box, complete with little appetizers picks (I found this was great for her to keep her hands a little cleaner when eating certain foods), but there are also gushers or just a buttered piece of bread some days.

As she’s gotten older, I’ve realized that I can do the Pinteresty things without going fully overboard. I can buy a 3 foot Christmas tree for her room, let her pick out decorations, and decorate it. I don’t need to make every decorate, or have it be themed (what’s the fun in that for a child, anyways?). I can bake the cookies with the fancy sprinkles and try a new recipe, but I don’t need to make frozen whipped cream snowmen for hot chocolates.

I can save the receiving blankets and sleep sacks of hers, but maybe wait until she’s a little older (and thus giving me more time to do projects) to finish the quilt. I can have the aesthetically pleasing wooden toys and hand-made items, but also the plastic toys that make wild amounts of noise.

I can protect my time because who is going to make these crafts with her if I’m too stressed from the one last week? I can take a little bit of everything, like I love to do, and go at my own pace, making sure to keep my own sanity.

Until I get caught up in the next fun Pinterest project.

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migraine life Mom Life

Stress, Self-Care, and Finding a Way out of the Storm

Photo by Hassan OUAJBIR on Pexels.com

I wrote most of this a few years ago, and man, did SO much happen since. Lots of great stuff, then a pandemic changing everything, pregnancy, my now 2 year old daughter. I can pin-point what was happening that made me write this, but it also holds true for times during the pandemic AND into motherhood. The idea that there isn’t enough time to do anything, and the world feels like it’s crumbling is something most of us have become accustomed to. Anyways, here’s my old take on a different type of self-care routine, and how it looks very similar to my self-care routine as a busy mom.

I’m a big believer in Self-Care. Most of what you see on your feed and magazines is all about masks and bubble baths and going to get your nails done, but that’s not the type of self-care I’m talking about. Yes, those all help if that’s your jam (and you can afford the extras), but it’s not the self-care that hits home for me. My self-care includes those things, but a little more, like acupressure mats, nature, meditation, and therapy.

The stress of trying to do everything all at once is crushing us. Pursuing our dreams, working a 9-5 if our dreams have not yet been realized, being the best partner, being the best friend, being the best parent, being the best mentally and physically. PLUS keep a work-life balance AND look good on Instagram? Impossible. Where do we fit in the time for self-care if we’re doing so much to achieve all of the above? Where do we fit in the time to just sit and stare at a TV and decompress?

As a migraine sufferer and someone with extremely high anxiety, I am all for self-care. I think it’s wonderful to sit down at the end of the day with a face mask and read before bed, giving myself that extra time to do what I love instead of chores or work (even if that work is my passion). It’s amazing to take a meditation session on the dock on my pond, listening to the birds chirp and the grasses and leaves blow in the breeze. That’s my self-care. I use it as a preventative ‘medicine’ coupled with my real medicine to keep my migraines at bay and myself sane.

A lot of people take self-care a little too seriously and a little too far (see: calling into work ‘sick’ or bailing on friends because you’re feeling a little stressed and ‘deserve’ a spa day). We’ve gone from having a hard time saying no to anything to thinking we need to say no to everything. At least, that’s the consensus on Instagram posts.

Feeling like we’re having to do absolutely seemingly has caused us to burn the fuck out and backtrack. But, in order to get back on track we’ve begun to think that we need entire days, weekends, weeks, of doing all of these amazingly blissful things. Obviously caught on camera, because then it doesn’t count.

But, here’s the thing: you can get through it. Without the full spa days and the binge-watching or the numerous yoga sessions. Are they amazing? Yes. Has a festival changed my entire life after putting things into perspective and allowing me to just breathe? Also, yes. But, we can’t be heading off to festivals every single weekend, or month. At least, I sure as hell can’t.

These last two months have been horrible and amazing. So many great things happened, so many things to celebrate and be happy for. An equal amount of terrible things have happened that made our lives busier, more stressful, and shook us. I’m penning this post the day after the storm has ended. There’s still a straggler stressing me out, causing me grief, but the busy schedule and the don’t-stop-keep-going is over.

Guys, I didn’t think I’d make it. Not in a suicidal sense, but in a sense that my body and mind was about to give up and I’d have a nervous break-down. It was too much to handle and one thing after the other kept piling up (much like my laundry and my kitchen table during these last two months). I had written in my notebook at work, usually kept to make lists of things to do that day, that I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t keep going. I was starting to break, but I couldn’t show it because there was too much going on, both wonderful and horrible, that I needed to make it through, enjoying what I could.

Looking at the words today, I’m surprised by how broken I had felt. I don’t feel that way anymore; I feel as if I can take on the next big issue and work through it without falling to pieces over something as simple as an e-mail (which had happened in the last couple months). I definitely know that all of that stress wasn’t healthy for me, that some of the food choices I made in the quick minute I had weren’t the best, that skipping a de-stressing routine wasn’t doing me any favours. And, of course, that only added to my stress.

So, where does self-care come in through all of this? It does, and it doesn’t. I didn’t do as much yoga (really, barely any), I didn’t meditate as much as I should have, I didn’t spend mornings or evenings reading on the deck, enjoying those beautiful sunsets I love so much. But, I did sneak in 5-10 minutes on the dock, just listening to nature and letting my feelings be heard and start to work themselves out, unraveling the little balls of stress my brain was storing.

I stretched out my neck and did a sun salutation or two, resulting in a 3 minute yoga session. Not 30 minutes or an hour, like normal. I put on a face mask and read for 30 minutes before bed at the start of my most hectic weekend, carving out just that small amount of time specifically for a minute of solitude and comfort. I wrote down my stress and my feelings while at work to keep myself going. It wasn’t the ‘normal’ self-care that everyone talks about.

The hours, or days, that I must take to self-actualize and regenerate. It was 2 minutes here, 5 minutes there, 30 seconds on some days. It was catching my breath to ensure that I could keep working on the tasks at hand. It was the idea that, eventually, everything would right itself – it had to – and that the little stresses barely registered. I used what little time I had to sneak in sessions to just breathe and right my brain.

While the stress and schedule isn’t feasible in the long term, I now know that I can get through insanely busy and stressful times by sneaking in time for myself, even if it’s not as long as it normally is. And, because I finally have one, an extra session with my therapist. The ultimate self-care.

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Mom Life

Living with that Mom Belly

Photo by Monstera Production on Pexels.com

A woman’s weight. You’d think we’d be over this obsession, this thought that it is more than her worth, that it makes up her worth, and yet…

There’s nothing like putting your body through an absolute wringer. Getting pregnant, watching as your belly swells and all kinds of crazy shit happens to your body. People compliment you, tell you how beautiful you look, how you’re absolutely ‘glowing’. They cherish your body, worship it for bringing life into this world. And then, the birth comes and a month or two passes and it’s no longer beautiful. It’s no longer worshipped for bringing life into this world. It’s viewed at as disgusting, as lazy, as the thought that the ‘wife’ let herself go, that her husband must be just beside himself with disappointment that his partner’s body has not ‘snapped back’ yet.

There is so much that happens to your body when you’re pregnant, it’s wild. From organs rearranging themselves to your uterus expanding, to your brain, basically, short-circuiting itself, it’s a wonder why anyone would call pregnancy, and the days after birth anything but extraordinary. The fact that my body makes actual food is insane. Bodies are like that. They’re mind-blowingly extraordinary and wonderful.

We need to start thinking of our bodies in those terms. Extraordinary. Wonderful. Think about what your body has done for you today. Think about everything it has done for you in the past, whether it’s getting pregnant and birthing a whole damn human, or you’re participating in a triathalon. Bodies. Are. Extraordinary.

Unfortunately, the mass media and social standards we have adhered to for decades thinks otherwise. Yes, there seems to be a pretty big shift in how bodies are viewed nowadays, as people become more comfortable in their skin, but we’re not there yet. We’re not in the place where we can sit and love and our bodies unconditionally, never worrying about stretch marks (which happen to everyone, whether or not you’ve gotten pregnant), never worrying about cellulite (anyone remember the early 2000s? As a teenager — a fucking teenager — I was using anti-cellulite cream on my thighs so as not to look dimply), never worrying about a soft belly and a belly button indent showing through a skirt, dress, or shirt.

We have fallen in love with women of all shapes and sizes, and yet, when it comes to our bodies after birth, we revert back to those stupid social standards we’ve obsessed over. We wonder why our body is so squishy, as our baby nestles happily in our arms, laying their soft little head on our soft big bodies. We look at our breasts and remember when they used to sit upright without any help at all, as our baby finds nourishment. We lament the stretch marks, coating ourselves in creams and butters and oils that tell us everything will be alright again, that our bodies will go back to exactly how they were before, even though they are nowhere near how they were before.

We don’t want to give our bodies time to heal, time to nourish our babies, time to nourish ourselves. We want to look how we did pre-pregnancy. We want to wear the clothes we used to fit, and want them to fit just as comfortable as before. We want our partners to lust after us like they did before, even if they are still lusting after us; we assume everything has changed. Because that guilt creeps in. That idea that we need to look a certain way. That this celebrity or that celebrity has the most perfect body you’ve ever seen, and she just gave birth three months ago, all the while forgetting that said celebrity has money to throw at every problem that arises, has help around the clock so they can work out until their bodies look how they think they should look, how media tells them to look, starting the vicious cycle all over again.

So where do we go from here? We stop hiding what our bodies look like. We start to love what our body has done for us, everything it can do. We stop attacking ourselves, attacking our bodies, just to look a certain way. We start realizing that a little bit of a mom belly isn’t the end of the world. When dad bods are trending, it’s time to take a step back and wonder if we’ve really just fallen off the map as people. Because if a dad can not have birthed a human being but still have a belly, still be a wonderful person, still love his children, and still be sexy to not only his partner, but to others? Then moms can, too.

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Life Mom Life

Toxic Motivation is Running Some of us Into Complete Exhaustion

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Why do some of us think we need to work ourselves into total physical sickness?

Hello, I’m some of us.

I don’t know if this weird work ethic was distilled in me during my youth, or if it’s something I’ve picked up throughout my life, and much more during the social media age, when I’ve realized that I’m a woman and am supposed to do it all.

Guess what?

You can’t do it all.

It just isn’t possible.

As a mom, the expectations have changed and not for the better. I’m supposed to work, take care of my child like I do not work, have a perfectly cleaned home, get 8 hours of perfect sleep, do not screw up raising my child in any slight way, do not watch too much TV or have too much screen time (Ditto for child, of course), have a beautiful body that requires time spent at the gym and eating wonderfully crafted healthy meals, look my best and do a 48 step skincare regime, be constantly updated on world affairs and politics, meditate and not become stressed, learn new languages or crafts, go to therapy and make sure my brain is just as perfect as my body, family, and home.

Add in the fact that I’m a stay at home mom who only works through writing a few hours a week and I have to be constantly in tune with my child, doing amazing things with her nonstop AND my house needs to be perfect. Because I’m at home, so why shouldn’t it be? With a toddler also at home. It just makes sense. Sory if that sarasm hit you too hard in the face.

Funny how my husband doesn’t need to do all of the above just to be a ‘good dad’ or a ‘good person’.

Something’s gotta give, and every day it’s different. But, still, the idea that I have to be doing it all is crushing.

The other day, I wrote down everything that I was doing. A lot included chores and day-to-day living, but there was also a hefty amount of work on there as I’m readying a large project. I thought about when I was in an office, working diligently at a desk, laughing with emplyees, and taking an hour long lunch break, daily. I broke out everything I was doing into how long it would take me at an office, and what would be an appropriate time-frame to complete everything.

Turns out, I was trying to cram in an entire two weeks worth of work in one day. No wonder I was feeling like a failure and like the weight of everything on my list was crushing me. Talking with my friend, she also mentioned how she feels the same way. She doesn’t get enough done in the day, yet she’s doing a perfectly acceptable amount of work if she was sitting in an office.

So, why do we feel this way? Why do we feel like we need to continuously be working, that we shouldn’t take any down time, even though we know that it’s good for us. Obviously, the pressure of trying to do it all is one of the biggest factors. The toxic motivation that we throw onto every situation is another one. That quote that Beyoncé has the same amount of hours in a day as you? It can get stuffed.

Yes, Beyoncé does have 24 hours in the day, but it is not the same 24 hours that you, or me, have. At least, not if you’re the average person. I could get so much done if I had a driver, a nanny, a chef, a maid, a personal trainer, a personal shopper and stylist, and an assistant. I’m making assumptions as to who she has on her payroll, but if I’ve learned anything from years of watching the Kardashians it’s that those with money have almost, if not every, single one of the above. Also, if I had the money, why wouldn’t I outsource a bunch of my daily tasks so I could focus on myself, my family, and my most important projects?

When I was working in real estate, I had a raging migraine, but still needed to finish a deal. My parents drove me around that day and the amount of work I got done on my phone was astounding. That is barely a fraction of the help that celebrities have, and yet we’re constantly comparing ourselves to them, thinking we have the same 24 hours in a day as they do.

The fact that I experience burn-out once a week is not healthy, and not something I wish to keep achieving. So, I’m trying for a little different of an approach to living life, especially that as a woman. I cannot be a career woman AND spend a ton of time with my child. I cannot have a perfectly clean house constantly AND have down time for myself. I cannot have a gym-influenced body AND get the million little things I need to do done. I cannot always provide perfectly healthy meals AND keep on a budget.

And, all of that is perfectly okay. I can’t do it all. I don’t know who can. At least, not without help. Life is a sliding scale. There was a time where my house was wonderfully clean and expertly decorated. There was a time when I worked 80 hours a week and was happy with that. There was a time where I didn’t listen to my body and ended up in the hospital with severe pain, brought on by bought after bought of stress.

We need to stop telling women, stop telling everyone, that we can have it all. Because we can’t. Not all at once, not every single day. Breaks are okay, hell, they’re encouraged. Who ever said you need to be wildly successful before 35?

Find your timeline and work with it. Slide that scale whenever needed and tweak your life until it’s what works for you, not some motivational influencer you found on social media. Because, we all do not have the same 24 hours in a day.

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Mom Life

I Used to be a Person

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I used to be a person. I used to have my own dreams, my own desires, my own time, my own identity. I used to do things for myself, working hard on those dreams of mine, wondering if they would be attainable.

I’m now a mother and no longer an actual person. My time is eaten up by minding a — now — toddler, cleaning, cooking, taking care of everyone, and forgetting about myself. Even when you have all of the support in the world, it’s easy to get lost in it. Get stuck in motherhood and forget who you are, who you used to be. Because you’re not that person anymore. You’ve changed, some of it for the better, some of it not. There are so many things I’m happy for now, and yet, I’m missing the things that make me…me.

I used to be a person, but now I’m bogged down. I guess that’s the best way to describe it, because we know that other moms have done just fine and gone on to jobs and worked and achieved their dreams and goals. I try not to think about that, not just because it makes me feel like a shitty person overall for not doing everything so ‘perfectly’ or for getting so exhausted by day to day life, but because I still label those moms as career oriented women and moms separately. I still feel like my ‘regular life’ and my ‘mom life’ are two separate things needed to be kept apart so that both can flourish, and yet one of those quietly fades away.

The ‘mom life’ is always there because it is life, it is the mundane, the daily tasks, the behind-the-scenes work. There is the never-ending list of chores, the fun activities that take up most of my energy and day. The guilt that eats away whenever I do something for myself besides sleep.

It’s hard not to yearn for the person that I used to be. For the carefree life I used to live, for the freedom I had before everything revolved around one tiny creature. I know that some things will get easier in time, like drinking my coffee while it’s still hot, but will the person I used to be be waiting for me? Will she have turned, too tired of waiting for the ‘next weekend’ or the ‘tomorrows’ that always get pushed aside because something more important came up?

I worry that she will get lost, never to be found, while this newness and wonderfulness takes over my whole life. You better not forget the wonderfulness, because you’re not allowed to yearn for different times while you’re a mother. You’re not allowed to be the person you once were, barely allowed to be your own person. So, I tell her to hold on, that’ll one day I’ll reach out and take her hand, bringing her back to the here and now, but for now, she just needs to wait. Wait for a time when life isn’t so chaotic, isn’t so new, isn’t so all consuming. Like that time will actually come.

Once upon a time I used to be a person, but now I’m just mom.

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Mom Life

The Best Mom Advice, Ever

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The best advice you’ll ever get as a parent: take the entire day, and night, to yourself.

Whenever grandparents would babysit, I would rush around trying to do everything. I’d clean the house, workout, work on some writing, study a bit of French. In the early days, I’d either sleep, or lay on the couch watching TV, half asleep, just trying to survive. There is no better feeling than sitting on the couch in your jammies, eating snacks no one is stealing, and watching your favourite TV show. To think I took this type of relaxing for granted.

I may have been getting some things done, but I still felt exhausted and like I was drowning, constantly. It didn’t seem worth it to continue to try to get everything finished as fast as I could in the little time that I had to myself. Besides, my house was completely trashed in ten seconds once my toddler returned home. The level of clean and tidiness I was reaching for when she was away was not sustainable, which is a completely different topic. So, when my husband was away on a trip and my daughter was at her grandparent’s for a sleepover, I did something I hadn’t done in a very long time: I did absolutely nothing.

I did some things that needed to be done like making supper and a few dishes, but I didn’t try to write 5,000 words, or study, or run myself into the ground trying to clean the entire house from top to bottom. I sat on that couch and watched TV and read and did everything I used to do when my husband went away on his annual snowboarding trip.

At first, I felt weird. The house was too quiet. I felt like I was wasting my time and that I should be taking advantage of the free time by trying to make last minute plans with friends, or do something productive. But, I held steady. I told myself to just relax and do whatever I wanted to in that moment. That meant lying on the couch, eating snacks, and watching that TV. It also meant that my mind start get bored (I also got a little fidgety and twitchy, which is a little concerning that that was my body’s response to total quiet and relaxation) I felt like I could write, again. So, I did that. Because it felt right.

I went to bed that night feeling a little weird, but relatively satisfied with my evening. The next morning, I woke up feeling refreshed, cheerful, and exactly how my old self used to. I got up and had my coffee, still hot, and read a magazine. Don’t worry, the lazing stopped there as chores needed to be done, but they didn’t feel quite as ‘chore-y’. I scooted through the list of to-dos, stopping to watch an episode of TV or read a little more. Even though I was being productive like I had originally that I had to be every single second away from my child, it felt good. I didn’t mind the chores because my mind was well-rested, and I had some actual time to myself.

It’s so easy to get caught up in the trap of trying to be as productive as possible every waking second, kid(s) or not. Once you have that free time as a mother, the whole perspective changes. What are you going to do with those few hours? See friends? Hang out with your husband/partner? Workout? Relax? Sleep? Work on fulfilling projects? The list is endless on what we feel like we have to do, but not what we want to do. It’s time we started thinking about ourselves and letting our own wants and needs take over. If all you want to do with your free time is absolutely nothing, then do it. You’ll reset your mind and feel a whole lot better about everything. Trust me.

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Mom Life

Making Mom Friends is Harder than I Thought

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Everyone talks about how hard it is to make friends when you’re older. And they’re correct. For the most part. I made friends easily from elementary school to high school. It was easy, still, to make friends in university and find friends at work. You’re seeing the same people day in and day out, so you get to know them slowly and yet so fast. That’s the funny thing about making friends in an office — you may only know your deskmate for a month, and yet, they feel like your childhood best friend because of how much time is spent with one another.

Now, instead of in an office, my time is mainly spent with my daughter. As a stay-at-home mom, I’m realizing the difficulty in finding friends, especially in an age where there are fewer of us, with more moms returning to work. That means fewer moms at home in the neighbourhood to get together for coffee or play dates during the day. Which means less easily made connections. While I’m not looking solely for stay-at-home mom friends, it would be nice to be able to have a little break during the morning or afternoon, the longest and most tiring part of my day, and talk to an adult.

I joined Peanut, an app for moms to meet one another and chat. I also joined Bumble, hoping for some friends who may not be moms but would love to chat or meet for lunch. I wasn’t picky and just wanted to expand my circle a little more. Damn, guys, she’s rough out there. Even with using the Mom Tinder, as my husband calls it, I’ve yet to find a good mom friend. People don’t respond, you don’t click, you can’t arrange meet-ups between two schedules, conversations get forgotten and fall away. When the Mom Tinder wasn’t working, I looked toward the activities I signed up for with the baby. They were supposed to get me out of the house to meet new people, and yet…

Why are we all so closed off? Are we just nervous? I know I felt that way when I had my first ‘mom date’ with someone I met. I was worried about what I’d wear and how I’d look to this other mom, who probably had it together more than I did. I bet she did the dishes that day or doesn’t have a pile of laundry staring her in the face constantly. Don’t worry, the worry was for naught, and the friendship fizzled away like most first dates.

We see jokes that moms will befriend any other mom with similar-aged kids, even if they’re a serial killer, but it doesn’t seem to apply to real life (for that, I am thankful, of course). I’m not going to lie; part of it is true…when I saw a mom walking her baby a few weeks ago, I wanted to run up to her and say hello! Let’s be friends, or at the very least, walking buddies! She was further up the path from me, and I really would have had to hoof it. Alas, running up to strangers and shouting at them to be friends is seen as terrifying, so I refrained from chasing her down and just kept walking to the park, hoping by some form of kismet, we’d meet again.

Maybe we’re all too shy, too nervous to sound silly, too tired, or too mom-brained to form normal sentences with adults. Maybe I need to wait until my daughter is older when she makes her own friends, where I can then latch on greedily to whatever parent is nearby. Whatever the reason why forming mom friendships is so hard, I’m surprising myself with how outspoken I can be and yet incredibly shy. And finding out new things about yourself is always rewarding. Right? I’ll wait patiently for now and try my best not to run after moms I see on the street. No promises, though.

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Mom Life

You’re not a Bad Mom if your Daughter Plays with Barbies

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I loved Barbies growing up. Loved them. I loved the creativity that came with making up stories to go with each Barbie. I loved making up their houses, perfecting them to my 8 year old mind’s dream. Obviously, it’s where I figured out sex, smashing my dolls together in fits of passion.

I also loved climbing trees, riding my bike, playing sports, watching WWE, and watching my favourite movie: Top Gun. All relatively ‘non-girlie’ things when all is said and done. I didn’t think it was weird that I played Barbies one day and scraped my knee climbing an apple tree the next.

My neighbour, and best friend growing up, was a boy. We’d constantly play together, running around playing X-Men (literally just us yelling Rogue! Gambit! Essentially playing a cross of tag and Marco Polo. Kids, amiright?), riding our bikes to the park and back. We’d play with his Action Toys, killing each other, playing the boy version of Barbies. Then I’d go home, bust out the Barbies and her dream home and decorate and make elaborte stories.

I never felt like I couldn’t do anything simply because I was a girl, simply because I wanted an Easy Bake Oven or a Barbie cruise ship for Christmas. I also received a microscope, Lego, science experiment kits, and rocks. All deemed ‘boys’ toys. It was a different time in the 90s where toys focused on learning were geared towards boys and housekeeping ones towards girls. It didn’t seem to matter what I was playing with, as long as it made me happy.

For years, my dad would be the one to play Barbies with me. My mom hated the idea of Barbies and would only play if my dad couldn’t and I wanted someone other than my imagination. She didn’t push me not to own Barbies, she didn’t push me to hate them like she did, instead she just opted out of playing with something she called ‘nauseating’ whenever she could. She simply let me play and explore the world of creativity.

Nowadays, the Barbies look vastly different from my childhood. They come in various skin tones and Barbie has a whole slew of accomplishments and careers she can choose from. While it’s awesome to see that they’re trying to be inclusive of body types and races and show that women can be what they want, they’re still what they are, what they have always been: Barbies. They’re still an instrument for children to explore creativity. Just a little more real life than before.

Never once did I think I couldn’t be anything I wanted to. When told from my dad that there would be hardships and stresses as a woman police officer, not just from criminals but inside the department as well, I scoffed and rolled my eyes. I would do what I wanted and any man who insulted me would live to regret it. A mindset I wish I had kept well into my 20s when my self-esteem could be shattered from a drunk 19 year old calling me a slut for doing nothing but kissing his friend (grown-ass men, amiright?).

Clearly, there were some errors in my ways of maturing. What adult doesn’t make mistakes in their youth? It’s how you learn, grow. My self-esteem had nothing to do with me playing Barbies in my childhood; it had more to do with society once you’re done playing with Barbies.

I had a great body not from starving myself, but from being healthy and working out. But, I still thought I was fat. I had to look great, even if just going to class, and I used tanning beds regularly to look better.

Besides feeling the pressure to look perfect, I still lived with the same type of mindset like I did as a child — for the most part. I drank with the boys and worked out harder than most of them in the gym, often benching more than they could and reveling in the glory. I rolled my eyes at their antics, then joined in, filling up the beer bong dutifully as our friend was, once again, scored on in NHL ’03.

Besides the fact that I wore a dress to the bar and took 30 minutes to get ready, and they just threw on jeans and maybe used some mouth wash, I felt as I had when I was younger. When I would play with Barbies and then go ride my bike with my best friend, arm wrestling with him to prove I was stronger. I could be that girlie girl, the one who was fine staying home and cooking, and yet the one who knew she could also go out there and be whatever, do whatever she wanted. It was a weird mix of low self-esteem and extreme confidence that got me through my 20s.

It was the obsession from fashion magazines, from the rest of society, that made me feel inadequate. From Cosmo, read early as a 16 year old that made me feel like I HAD to be the best I could be in bed. Even though I wasn’t actually having any sex. I had to be good my first time, though, Cosmo said so! I had to look great and talk beautifully, yet not too smart, never making a man feel like he wasn’t as good as, or better than I was.

Magazines have turned to social media, a place that’s constantly in your face, a place that can be toxic for adults’ self esteem. Think of how young girls feel as they watch their celebrities promote diet teas and take perfectly crafted photos of themselves. I never felt like I didn’t measure up when I played with a Barbie, when I looked at her — clearly — disproportional body, but I felt that way when looking at the women in magazines. I feel that way as an adult, when I look at certain celebrities on Instagram, their face filtered and angled to the nth degree trying to look as perfectly alluring as possible.

There was a time I wanted to look like a Barbie, but less in the flawlessly sculpted way she did and more in the fantasy life that Barbie built for me. I wanted the life I had made for her. Of course, I also wanted the blonde hair and perky breasts, too; what 12 year old girl doesn’t yearn for large, perky breasts? But, the constant need to look perfect never came when I was a kid, making up stories, it came from reading articles telling how to look perfect.

Just like a boy isn’t going to turn gay if he plays with dolls as a kid, a girl isn’t going to be a vapid idiot going nowhere in life if she plays with Barbies. So let her play, because a girl doesn’t need to hear, yet again, something else she can’t do. Simply because she’s a girl.

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Mom Life opinions

Why we Need to Talk About Pain Management for Women. Now.

Photo by Polina Kovaleva on Pexels.com

I’ve been a woman for a few decades now, but I am just beginning to realize how absolutely abysmal so many things are for us.

The top of the list for me right now?

Pain management or the lack of any type of management. As someone who has suffered from chronic pain for nearly two decades, I know a thing or two about pain. And about doctors, essentially brushing off my complaints and not helping put in place any preventative measures.

A nurse in the ER, 15 years after I dealt with my pain, was the first to tell me what I needed to ask my doctor for and to get taken seriously. The worst is that my doctor is one of the ‘good’ ones.

I’ve had doctors tell me to lose weight in order to feel better (not an altogether horrible idea, but one that is impossible when you are stuck in a chronic pain vicious circle). And doctors who gave me wicked pain meds and those who gave me absolutely nothing. Like everything in life, it’s a bit of everything rolled into one.

Some of you may be thinking, — well, you received pain medication when needed from one doctor — that’s great!’

Sure, it really is.

He didn’t hesitate to prescribe something stronger when I stated the basic T3s did absolutely nothing for my body. But he was also the one who stated that losing a bit of weight would — magically — fix my migraine issues. What an amazing tip from a neurologist.

Women’s medical issues are hardly taken seriously for many out there, including pain management, especially when it comes to anything regarding our reproductive organs.

The other day, while perusing Reddit for a little love-hate reading, I had the lovely privilege of reading some man’s rant about his vasectomy and how he didn’t receive adequate pain meds. What he wanted were T3s and all he was given was Tylenol or Advil. This was an absolute atrocity.

Could you imagine? Having a small procedure and only being given Tylenol or Advil for the pain?

He wondered why the doctor wouldn’t prescribe a few different drugs that would help so much better with the horrible pain he was feeling. I’m paraphrasing, of course. Another man chimed in with a hilarious tale of his own procedure and said that the freezing didn’t take on one side.

He was given the option of being put under and taken to hospital or to just deal with it for the next Itty Bitty amount of time it would take. He chose to deal with it as it would take only a minute, quite literally, and he said he felt okay with the pain.

While his story made me laugh with his small anecdotes on the procedure, I wondered why one doctor would send a patient to the hospital to be put under for a very short, non-invasive procedure, while my own ob-gyn never brought up anything of the like when I had a short, but more invasive procedure done in her office. I remember crying on the way home as the freezing wore off, surprisingly quickly, trying to sit on my one side that didn’t have searing pain, while safely driving.

I wasn’t told to rest for a week and take it easy. I wasn’t told to take as much Advil and Tylenol as I could muster to get through the pain. I wasn’t told much of anything except that it may need to be redone or checked on at a later date.

This is an ob-gyn that I trust and who is an extremely good and professional doctor, and yet, there was zero pain management given. It was like it was never a thought.

And, therein lies the difference between what happens when a male gets a procedure done and a female gets a procedure done.

The second man, the less whiney of the two, was offered a full show of everything the doctor could give him, while women are often left to just deal with anything that happens.

Weird how no woman I know has ever been given the option to be put under when they need their vagina sewn back up after tearing from delivering their child.

Weird how I’ve read about some women being given stitches before actual freezing happens after birth.

Weird how no woman I know has ever been given proper pain management after a c-section or a particularly hard vaginal birth — both of which are much harder procedures than a simple vasectomy.

Yes, birthing is natural. Yes, you can do it without medication. I’m not going to lie, for me, it wasn’t as painful as I thought, but still way more painful than I thought it would be. That’s not the norm, though, and everyone has their own pain tolerance, as the two vasectomy examples above can show. You can do a lot of things without pain management, but should you?

I was, and still am, for non-medicated births for a myriad of reasons, even though I ended up using some narcotics during my labour.

When I was explaining to my sister-in-law why I didn’t want the epidural or much of anything else they give you for labour, her response wasn’t the standard ‘you don’t get a gold medal for doing it without medication’ bullshit.

It was that none of the options seemed that great or helpful. This hits the nail on the head so much better than that ‘subtle’ shaming you’ll get in mom groups.

We’ve gone from all-natural births with knowledgeable midwives and women helping other women to drugging the shit out of women in a sort of half-assed attempt at helping women with the pain during childbirth. From wickedly strong drugs causing the women to lose consciousness, yet still conscious enough to thrash about hurting themselves.

To the use of the widely accepted epidural, which lots of women praise, and many loathe for multiple reasons: you can only get it during a certain window of time; it may only work on one side; the possibility of a spinal headache; and the fact that you cannot feel your lower half, the part that you need to get the baby out. For lots of women, staying flat on their back is an absolute ‘no’ as it does not allow them to move as the body intends. You won’t be able to feel when the best time to push is and pushing far too hard, allowing for the possibility of worse tearing.

And, this is mess of drugs that are supposed to work, but don’t help completely, is just for childbirth, never mind the countless women who have issues trying to get doctors to take their pain seriously in other areas of life.

Women are barely treated as humans when it comes to birthing and postpartum care. The focus is solely on the baby, leaving a near-complete lack of care for the mother. Anyone who has been pregnant can remember the, approximately, seven billion appointments and blood tests that need to be done to make sure that baby is okay. Ask her how many tests or appointments are made after the baby is born? One. One single ‘check-up’, where the main topic is birth control and, usually, lasts for less than 15 minutes.

We’re either told to be jacked up so high on drugs that paralyze you so you can barely move during labour, which isn’t beneficial to your body or the birthing process, or to just grin and bear it. Until the re-emergence of midwives and doulas becomes more mainstream, there is rarely an in between to be found.

While the male in the second vasectomy story also had the epidural wear off, like lots of women experience, he was given far more options for the pain than most women are even told about. Where are these options for women? Why was the first male’s pain tolerance ignored when talking about after-care? All parties should have adequate pain management for themselves.

The fact is, that no matter how far women have come in the world and how many times they have had to claw back their own rights, men are still treated better than women in most cases, especially in healthcare.

Like the many women who have gone through hell and back birthing their child and are told to just deal with the afterpain. Even if breastfeeding is not an option and there is no way pain medication can get into the baby’s bloodstream.

Or, the woman who has been trying to get countless doctors to take her severe menstrual pain, head pain, stomach pain, or any pain seriously. The healthcare system is failing women find relief.

If it weren’t so sad, it would be laughable that someone receiving a procedure that takes minutes with adequate freezing complains that over-the-counter medication isn’t good enough.

While most women are suffering after many longer procedures with nary pain management or given wild options that may give them not-so-great side effects. We need to start taking women’s pain seriously and work with them to find a suitable option for their bodies.

Let’s do better for women. Let’s do better for everyone.

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Life Mom Life

Why I Don’t Care if my House Looks Messy, Anymore

Photo by Andrea Piacquadio on Pexels.com

Our home. Is there anything so wonderful and comfortable? The feeling of throwing yourself on your own bed with your own comfy blankets and pillows after travelling is one of the best feelings in the world. Sitting on the couch, snuggled in a nest of blankets and pillows (perhaps there’s a theme here at my house) reading or watching TV for hours on end is one of life’s greatest joys, even if it sounds so simple. Our houses are meant to be our safe space, our comfiest spots to relax and unwind after the stressors of dealing with the public, co-workers, the elements. 

So, why have we started to turn them into museums?

I used to gobble up home decor magazines like mad. My Pinterest page has boards specified to certain types of renovations or decorating tips, and others just for things I’ve found interesting. I won’t lie, a lot of them I don’t look at again, but it sure feels exciting to look at perfectly manicured houses with perfectly decorated walls and furniture. 

I’m the type of person who changes out their throw pillows in the spring, summer, fall, winter, and Christmas. I have seasonal tea towels and hand towels. I love decor that give you clues to what season it is. When we used to own a coffee table, I’d change out the decor that would sit in the middle when the weather started changing. It always ended up messed up and full of plates and cups as we lived our lives, pushing the centerpiece over when more space was needed, but I still maintained the idea that the coffee table needed to be beautifully decorated at all times. Because that’s all I saw on Pinterest and in magazines. 

My house needed to look picture-perfect like I had Better Homes and Gardens coming over to do a spread. 

Then, I had a baby. 

Yep. That old tale. 

I was exhausted and something had to give. It wasn’t going to be my time with my child, giving her the attention and care that she deserved and needed, so out went the floors. What used to be washed two to three times a week was now washed once a month. The dishes were done as often as needed simply so we would have things to cook with, and the laundry was the same. Our house got cluttered and messy and so very lived in. 

And, I realized that it didn’t really matter. Not one fucking bit. 

So, once we came out of that newborn stupor and things got a little easier as the months went by, and even easier over a year later, I changed my habits. The dishes are done more frequently, as is the laundry, but those floors? They’re now only washed once a week, instead of my favourited — at minimum — twice a week. 

There are cheerios stuck in every single corner or cranny of this house, no matter how often I sweep and vacuum. My living room is littered with toys and doesn’t look very Better Homes and Garden-esque even when they’re put away in a, reasonably, pleasing arrangement. Yet, it feels less stressful and better than before. Because we’re living. I’m not so hyper-focused on what my house looks like, anymore, as I choose to live my life instead of clean and place baubles so perfectly here and there. 

Yes, I made myself a cleaning list. Yes, I’ve started to add seasonal decor back into my life, again, but it’s not as obsessive as it used to be. I no longer stress about the fact that my door has no hanger or wreath on it in between Christmas and Spring, having to run out and find, or make, the perfect piece that fits in between that weird time where it’s still snowy, yet not as festive as December. It no longer matters. 

We spend far too much time trying to make our homes absolutely perfect, and yes, adding our own style and flair to the place makes it feel homier and more wonderful to come home to, but it still needs to fit our lifestyles. 
When we can’t enjoy ourselves, sitting comfy on the couch because we’re too busy worrying about whether or not the decor is perfectly centered, or if it’s not on trend, anymore, then what’s the point?

When we’re already so overworked everywhere in our lives, trying our best to do everything better than we did the day before and the generation before us, why are we adding more stress to ourselves? Why are we killing ourselves to have a picture-perfect house, especially if we have kids? Homes are meant to be lived in and comfortable. A few toys on the ground and a couple of dishes in the sink from yesterday’s supper isn’t going to ruin our lives. If anything, it’ll allow us to start to actually enjoy it.