Sometimes life goes just exactly the way you expect it to, and sometimes it doesn’t. I vowed to share “the good, the bad and the frenzied” with you, and today’s post is about what happens when things don’t go quite the way you hoped they would.
Today I’m heading into surgery. I had three kids in four years the good old fashioned way, you know… with an epidural, and that has taken a massive toll on my body. I know my Dad is reading this, so I won’t get too graphic, but, basically, none of my insides are quite where they should be (thank you very much prolapse), and now I need to be put back together again. It sounds simple enough - you’re broken, and surgery will fix you. However, the recovery is intense. I’m not allowed to pick up anything that weighs more than 10 pounds, not even sweet little nine-month-old Baby Cooper, for eight weeks.
Enter mom-guilt here.
Now, I’m no stranger to mom-guilt, but I’ve really struggled with it since Cooper was born. I love him DEARLY, but Cooper has been a hard baby. With all of his chunky adorableness, we have struggled with colic, acid reflux, and lots of sleeplessness. On top of that he is our third baby, and going from two to three kids had me turned upside down for a while. It’s taken time for me to find my groove and I’ve had some setbacks. I’d love to tell you that I took it all in stride and never lost my temper, but I didn’t. It was hard, and I didn’t always handle it well.
I started struggling with prolapse when Cooper was five weeks old. For a while, it was very manageable, but there came the point when I knew it was getting bad. I was in a lot of pain and physically unable to be the mom I wanted to be. I wanted to run outside and have dance parties with them, but I just couldn’t do it. Either I was worried about making things worse or hurting too badly to keep up. When I met with my doctor and realized the extent of my medical issues, I was relieved it was a problem that could be solved, but almost immediately felt bad for what that would mean to my family. We were meshing well, and I felt guilty to rock the boat. Then, I had a lot of good friends and family give me a massive reality check.
Kids love to play tag, and the little squeals and giggles they make as they run from each other are utterly infectious. My kids want to play tag with me, and I wasn’t doing anyone any favors by trying to “make it” with this handicap. I would be a MUCH happier and healthier mom having this surgery, which would, in turn, benefit our family. Everyone says, “you need to take care of yourself,” and I think we (as busy humans leading face-paced lives) are quick to do exactly the opposite. I believe God is sending me a big wake-up call right now to do just that. Take care of myself so that I can give back to our family and friends.
Shockingly, this is going to be my fifth surgery, and I’m only 33. While I’m not looking forward to having another operation, I am genuinely excited about the outcome. I’ve really got a thing for 60’s music, and The Shirelles hit the nail on the head. "Mama said there'll be days like this,” but they’re just days, and they too shall pass. Come January I am going to be a kid-chasing, Zumba-loving, dog-walking momma and that’s something to be excited about.