Birth

This section is graphic, viewer discretion is advised (I promised mommy truths)

2:47am – You look at the clock. You literally roll out of bed, waddle over to the bathroom and pee. This is your fourth time within the last 2 hours. You are exhausted, huge, and ready for this baby to come out.

You crawl back into bed. It’s in the middle of winter, you are just in your underwear and have a sheet on. You stare at your husband who is in flannel pjs, a heavy blanket and a comforter. How is he SO bundled up? It is HOT in here.

As you’re lying in bed, your mind wanders, thinking about what’s going to happen. Is my water going to break in bed? If it does that might really suck, cause then it might ruin the sheets and the mattress. But if it does break, will I have contractions right away? Will I have time to clean the mattress and the mess or will I have to go to the hospital right away? That will suck to ruin my mattress. I hope it doesn’t happen in bed.

On the other hand, it would suck to happen out in public, my water exploding like I just peed myself. What if I am alone? Who would drive me? Would my husband get to me in time?

You look at the clock again, it’s now 3:38 and you have to pee again. Great another sleepless night. Welcome to your future!

For most moms, the sleepless nights and lack of sleep begin before the baby is born. When Hailey was pregnant she use to always complain how she could never sleep during her pregnancy. I use to warn her to try to get as much sleep as possible while she could because it only got worse when the baby came. But as most pregnant women do, the lack of sleep begins around the end of the 2^nd trimester.

I hated my husband for being able to sleep during my pregnancy. Some nights I wanted to purposely wake him up, or be loud on my way to the bathroom -  just so he could experience what I was experiencing. Not only was I exhausted, but I was so uncomfortable and so stressed out about the birth. I could accidentally elbow him in the face and pretend I was asleep and wake him up right? No that would be rude, but so is him getting sleep and me not sleeping, after all he did knock me up.

Worrying about birth seemed to be a constant thought on my mind. For the majority of women, we worry about our water breaking, even though that is one of the least likely scenarios. My doctor constantly reminded me that as a first time mom, my most likely scenario was that I would go past my due date.

WHAT?! Is that a joke? Are you fucking kidding me? Did I do something wrong in my life to go past my due date? 40 weeks is long enough, this is like torture.

Paul and I took birthing classes at a local hospital. Well let me rephrase that, we started to take birthing classes, till we realized they are completely useless. Who remembers that shit when they’re in the middle of pushing a large baby out of your vagina? I can see it now, Paul saying “Peyton breath, breath” and me replying “Shut the fuck up or I will seriously ask them to escort you out of the hospital you crazy asshole”

I did take away one key thing from this class that I didn’t realize till after I gave birth myself. Everything in this class was focused on what to do before and during birth. Nothing actually focused on what Stella and I struggled with the most, what happened after the birth.

It’s hard to talk about birth without a birth story so it’s only natural to share mine. Two days before my due date, on mother’s day, naturally, we had been walking around the mall for 3 hours. For a week now, we had been doing everything in the book to trigger my labor, I mean everything from eating pineapple to making my husband repeatedly have sex with me over and over, anything to get that damn baby out.

So we go out to dinner, with my mother in law who has come into town. On the way home I start having contractions, thinking nothing of it, we go to bed. At around 1 in the morning we head to the hospital, in which they force me to continue to walk around the hospital to dilate more. Like I really need to walk more?  I am exhausted and as a big as a bus, my body aches, I have been up for 18 hours now, I don’t want to walk anymore. Someone just push me around in a wheelchair and let’s call it good.

At around 4 am they admit me, and at around 5am they give me an epidural. Here’s the thing ladies, GET AN EPIDURAL. I will tell you what my doctor told me when I questioned getting it. We know you can do it, why try to be a hero, get one. You’ll be exhausted after birth, and then on top of that you have to raise a human being, why set yourself up like that. Get an epidural!!!!!

Well, after 23 hours, I still hadn’t progressed and was at 4cms dilated (are you kidding me?). At this time I didn’t care how the baby came out. They could’ve pulled him out through my asshole at this point, just get that baby out of me. Finally the doctor broke my water, and I shit you not, within 30 mins I dilated 6 cms. I seriously wanted to kick the doctor in the nuts for not doing it sooner, but I couldn’t exactly kick anyone since I was numb from the waist down. So I mentally kicked him in the nuts (not as good by the way).

So at 23 hours I started pushing, and pushing, and pushing. Pushing sooooooo hard, that I started to get the biggest hemorrhoids of my entire life. My ass was hurting so bad I could feel it through my epidural. Every time I pushed I got a shot of pain from my ass. I had to beg the nurse for more pain medication, nothing hurt more than my hemorrhoids at that point.

Two hours and 30 minutes later, the nurses tell me that if I push for 30 more minutes they reach their max and we have to do a c section. Damn it. 28 hours into a vaginal birth and they’re going to cut my stomach open and take him out. Screw you, you could’ve done this 20 hours earlier and saved me 8 hours of sleep you lazy bitches.  This is when I notice my doctor sitting between my legs with a scalpel.

“What is that?!” I ask him. “Well, I am trying to decide on whether to give you an episiotomy or not. The thing is if I give you one and we decide to do a c section, I’ve now cut you for no reason”. So for those who don’t know what an episiotomy is it’s when they cut you from the vagina to the butt to allow room for the baby’s head to come through. The majority of the time a women tears, a doctor chooses to cut to prevent tearing because tearing is more painful and takes longer to heal vs. cutting.

So now I’m freaking out. To tear or not to tear, he’s trying to commit. I’m determined as hell at this point to push this baby out of my vagina; I’ve come all this way!!!

Two hours and 45 mins and an episiotomy later, 15 minutes short of the deadline of a c section, my son was delivered, vaginally. My vagina and ass hurt so bad.

I lay there after my son is born, holding him, my legs spread out as my doctor is repairing my episiotomy. A portion of it not numbed and as he stitches into it, I could feel it and scream out. Here comes more numbing shots. A nurse comes around with some painkillers and some water and says to me “You’re going to be needing this” and truer words had never been spoken.

So what do those what to expect books not tell you?

First off, they do not tell you how bad hemorrhoids can be.  Pushing for almost three hours can cause terrible hemorrhoids. I had such angry hemorrhoids if I peed and pee got on my hemorrhoids it would hurt so bad.

The nurses had to give me a stool softener so I could poop. The idea of pooping brought tears to my eyes. I couldn’t poop for days and when I did, I would poop out like popcorn kernels and it would take hours just so it wouldn’t be painful (thank god for the stool softener).

While in the hospital, I could barely get out of bed and get myself to the bathroom and back I was in so much after pain. I couldn’t do it without my husband or a nurse.

I was bleeding so heavily from the after birth; it was like the previous 9 months of no period came back full force all at the same time. I was going through 2 double pads of supers, because no one tells you you can’t wear tampons right after you have a baby.

So here are actually tips of advice I’ve given Hailey and some family members if you do a vaginal, especially if you have hemorrhoids:

Ask the hospital for supplies when you leave there. Take what you can, your insurance is going to cover it anyways. Do not buy anything outside the hospital. This also saves you a trip afterwords. Some things to take:

o   Hospital underwear:  Even though they’re ugly, they served a purpose. Grab as many as you can and ruin those instead of your own. You’ll be bleeding heavily for a while so might as well take theirs.

o   Squirt bottle: If you’ve had an episiotomy, you have to clean your stitches after every time you use the restroom. My hospital provided me with a squirt bottle, take that with you.

o   Anti-itch/anti-burn spray: If you have hemorrhoids or stitches, the hospital will give you an anti-itch or anti-burn spray for them to use after you’ve gone to the bathroom, ask for that and another bottle.

o   Witch hazel pads (tucks pads): Grab a few things of witch hazel pads if you have hemorrhoids. They are extremely refreshing on your bum and can be incredibly expensive at the pharmacy.  Tuck one in between your butt checks after you go to the bathroom and it will give you some relief.

o   Nice cloth pee protective pad: In your hospital bed, you’ll be sitting on a nice cloth pee protective pad. It’s similar to a dog’s one but it’ll be a nice cloth one. Ask to bring one home. I used mine on the bed and on the sofa so if I did leak I didn’t ruin my bed or sofa (and yes I did leak and was thankful for it).

Drink plenty of fluids: Remember taking care of yourself is key you have to drink to keep up with your baby.

While on pain meds keep up your sugar level: So it took me two days to realize why I kept getting light headed and nausea and my mother in law reminded me that I was on painkillers that I needed to keep my blood sugar level up. So after ensuring I had orange juice in the house, I was back on track. If you’re on pain medication after birth and are experiencing these symptoms try orange juice or something else high in sugar.

So you might notice a trend that going to the bathroom after birth is labor intensive, and yes it is. I hated it and I hated going to the bathroom in a public setting. This is why the after birth part was extremely annoying. If you have a loved one helping you out, kick them in the ass and get them to do as much moving around after the birth as possible so you can sit on your ass and heal. Birth is a traumatic experience to the body and I wish more people would talk about the “after” part and not just the during.

Laundry

Laundry has always been my “chore”. Not because I like it, but because my husband is a fucking idiot. I don’t know how many times he’s washed pens, or gum, or a damn piece of tissue that breaks into a million pieces and takes two hours to get off a sweater. 

If you think you hate laundry before you have a baby, just wait till after you have a baby.

I have never in my life hated one chore as much as laundry. I rather clean the toilet bowl everyday than do laundry. It is never ever ever ending. 

The first few months after your child is born is horrible. Not only are you doing about 3-4 baby outfits a day, you’re also doing burp clothes, your own clothes from being puked or shit on and let's not forget your other child’s laundry, aka hubby.

I remember my tits leaking on everything, or bleeding out of your vagina like a defrosted chicken; the amount of laundry is un-measureable.

Oh let’s not forget you can’t mix the baby stuff with your stuff because they have to have “special laundry detergent”. Yeah screw that I stopped that real quick.

Just wait, it gets better when you’re potty training. Two times a day I was doing laundry. I couldn’t just let a pair of pants and underwear sit there when they’re soiled in shit or piss. Or can i? The amount of soiled underwear my poor washer has seen has me wishing I would’ve bought the extended warranty.

Don’t forget the extra clothes you have to bring to daycare, and then bring back to wash again just to bring them back to school the next day. Then you bring them home again, wash them and bring them back. My eyes are literally going crossed eyed writing this damn paragraph. 

Somehow, it also seems that my husband’s amount of clothing grew with my sons. How the hell did this happen? 

Here’s what laundry looked like before baby:

1. Open your drawer and notice you’re down to two pairs of underwear. 

2. You walk over to the hamper and notice its full. That’s ok you haven’t done laundry in a week.

3. You throw all the clothes in the washer (after you separate them of course).

4. You go sit down and watch your favorite tv show for an hour until you hear the buzzer go off.

5. Put the clothes in the dryer.

6. Watch another tv show.

7. Take the clothes out, fold them and put them away

8. Repeat steps 1-8 weekly.

Here’s what laundry looks like in our house now, post baby:

1. Go to grab a pair of underwear after you get out of the shower. Can’t find a pair in your drawer. You see one lying on the ground. “Hey it must of fallen out of my drawer, maybe?You sniff it, shrug and put them on. 

2. Look for a shirt to match your kid’s pants, can’t find one. You send them to school mismatched. What the hell it doesn’t matter he’ll spill something on his shirt at school and end up mismatched anyways.

3, Husband comes home to prep his clothes for the next morning and can’t find a single pair of socks (out of like 40 socks, seriously why the hell do men have so many socks) and none can be found.

4. At 8:30 at night, you work up the energy to throw a load of laundry in the washing machine.

5. By 9:24 you’re asleep. Drooling on yourself, you can’t wait up for the laundry anymore.

6. At 5:35 am, your husband wakes you up. He asks you where you put the socks you washed the night before. You roll your eyes realizing its' still sitting in the washing machine, it never made it to the dryer.

7. Husband, annoyingly and bitchingly, wears a dirty pair of socks.

8. 9:00am, you wash the load of laundry sitting in the washer one more time cause it has that “funky” smell.

9. 11:00am, you realize “oh shit I forgot the laundry again” and finally switch it over. 

10. 2 days later, you realize you need to do more laundry and remove the laundry from 2 days ago from the dryer to the spare bed to fold (yeah the fuck right, its not getting folded).

11. Repeat steps 1-10 again, while laundry piles up on the spare bed until your mother in law comes over and folds it for you.

Just writing this I look back at the “before” baby and realize, what the hell did I do with all my time? Laundry before baby wasn’t so bad, but after baby…needless to say, LAUNDRY BLOWS.

(The bed my laundry sits on forever till its folded, LMAO)

Conceiving

For a lot of parents, conceiving isn’t planned at all. For the average person, it happens like this (or something similar, play along).

You are sitting in the car on your way to work, if you’re lucky enough to even have a job. You’re listening to your favorite song on the radio, singing along, blasting full volume, head banging, hands tapping on the steering wheel “doooooooooon’t stop believing, hold on this this FEEEEEEL….OH SHIT!” and then that feeling hits you. You’ve realized you’re like a week late. You take an immediate detour to the pharmacy, pick up a pregnancy test, usually the most inexpensive one and rush to work.

You try to stuff the pregnancy test in your purse. You realize the pregnancy test is too big for your purse. So you somehow conceal it in your shirt and you manage your way to the bathroom.

You rip open the box. The contents fall on the ground, shit, the person in the stall next to you probably saw what you are doing. It’s probably Stacy from accounting, the nosey bitch that will probably pretend to wash her hands for 5 mins to see who exits the stall.

After you manage to find the directions, you read them. Yes, pregnancy tests aren’t hard to follow, but you want to make sure you don’t screw this up.

You pull down your pants; get setup, because you realize this is really hard, squatting and peeing on a stick. So you’re all propped up in the perfect position and realize, damn it, you don’t have to pee.

Now what? You pack everything up, head to the water cooler and throw back about 5 cups of water to get the juices flowing. This is when you run into Stacy, damn Stacy. As if your day couldn’t get any worse. 

Yup, that’s how you find out you're pregnant.

For my husband and me, we planned our son. If I knew then what I knew now I would’ve let that shit happen naturally, but I guess we all learn from our past, ha!

I had the mirena IUD. For those who don’t know what it is, I’ll sum it up real short; it’s a plastic device your doctor inserts in your uterus that prevents you from getting pregnant for 5 years without having to take a pill.

In order for us to get pregnant, I had to go get it removed. I went in July to get it out. My doctor said we can begin trying immediately, woo!

This is the fun part right? This is where you get to practice, have tons of sex. Your husband has so much fun getting to “make love” to you over and over and you get to never have a headache or any other excuse. It’s like your honeymoon every day. NOT!!!!!!!!!

This is where your vagina is so sore, his penis looks and feels like sandpaper. He’s raw, you’re raw. You’re both at this point just doing the motions and you walk like you have a stick up your ass. This is not fun at all! After so many times of making it hot and spicy, you both just hurry things up so you could lie with your legs propped up while he goes and takes a shit.

That was our July. As August came, so did a negative pregnancy test. I dreaded August, I had to do this again? I’m pretty sure my vagina was going to shrivel up and put a perm “do not enter” sign outside of it. I was afraid that my asshole was going to start to market for attention.

My husband had a work trip to go to in August. I decided to break out the ovulation kits, the temperature taking, the whole caboodle; so I could speed this process up and because we had a short window of opportunity to get pregnant this month, I was going to do it right.

After week one, I asked myself “WHY THE HELL AM I DOING THIS? This is a lot of work!” We had two days, two days to get this right, and such pressure! We both decided if it was going to happen, it was going to happen, or not.

He came home that first night and we made a joke our short time-frame. We went into the bedroom and did our thing. I told him I read somewhere that if I wanted to be guaranteed to conceive I had to stand on my head and he had to hold my legs. We both looked at each other, shrugged and walked into the living room. I grabbed a pillow off the couch, put it on the floor, knelt down, placed my head on it and I shit you not did he hold my legs up in the air while I stood on my head for 5 mins. 

Well, September came along with a big ole POSITIVE pregnancy test. I will swear by the standing on the head wives tale till the day I die.

Anyone who says conceiving is fun is out of their damn mind. I’ve had conversations with Stella about cervical fluid detection, cervix position and all kinds of shit. Really made me want to try again, not. But I guess if I didn’t have a kid and wanted to, I probably would go to any extent possible to have a kid, On the other hand it’s easier to say I wouldn’t because I have a kid. Just adopt, leave this shit to amateurs.

Inspiration behind "Mommy said a wordy dird"

Ever since I was a young child I had a love of reading and writing. I remember the frequent trips to the bookstore, yes they had those back then, and this is before you could just purchase books while taking a shit on the toilet. My mom would let me sit for hours in the young reader section while she was on the other side of the store browsing through the science fiction/fantasy section. I would get lost for hours reading the backs of books, and sometimes the first chapters of those that interest me. Then I’d narrow it down to the 1-2 books that I would buy, and eventually read within a week of bringing home.

I tampered here and there with writing when I was young. A few times some short stories, but most of my successes and what I shared mostly with the people I loved were poems. As I got older I always had a passion for writing, and my passion for reading continued. Every time I put down a good book, a fire in the pit of my stomach would ignite and I would obsess in bed at night about writing a book. I’d share these thoughts with my husband, who’d laugh a little at me, “support me” but really didn’t think much of it. Honestly I can’t blame him; he hasn’t seen me do much artistic in our relationship other than push my large son’s head out of my tiny vagina.

I’d post my thoughts about writing a book on facebook with my friends, which I’d gain my “yay go for it” remarks that I’d look for. But really my friends are laughing at me behind my back knowing it’d be a shot in the dark that I’d be the next NY times best seller.

The real thing that has always prevented me from writing was focusing my neurotic crazy ideas I have running through my head down into one idea. What should I pick? I can’t have them all. I tried so many times to do it, but it just didn’t seem natural. I grew up reading science fiction and fantasy books. The furthest from reality it was, the more I loved it. I am nuts and I had so many ideas flowing through my head I couldn’t just pick one. So I just didn’t pick. I kept going through the same cycle over and over again, I’d read an amazing book, and have an itch to want to write. Yeah, neurotic right? This crazy pattern continued for over 18 years.

Over these years my life changed, but I kept on reading, and kept on wanting to write. I lived all over the place; I spent 10 years ion the west coast. This is where I met the core group of my friends, and ultimately my husband. I got married, had a baby, and eventually moved to the east coast.

On one of my recent trips to visit a dear friend, Hailey and her husband Carter - who in a few words is a pain in the ass to most he interacts with, I had a aha moment.

During this trip, my son who was 2.5 at the time, who is incredibly smart, intelligent, and mouthy, was pushing my patience. Terrible twos, multiplied by seeking independence, divided by lack of sleep, squared root of 3 hour time change, equaled a disaster waiting to happen.

Needless to say our first day on our trip was hellion day for my son and me. A hard enough day as it was, my friend’s husband, Carter, added to the fire. They have a child of their own, but younger than mine, and it’s their first. With the roll of Carter’s eyes, the sighs in his breath, the muttered comments and the body language Carter exhibited toward me and my son, inflated the situation and at the same time gave me my first idea for writing.

So many people think they know what to expect when parenting or they think it’s this hippy shit, when it’s really not. I remember experiencing that with pregnancy. So when I was experiencing the terrible twos with my son, and being “judged” for his behavior from a guy who, in not so long, will be going through the exact same shit, ignited that fire inside me. To explain to people, what to expect really. The honest truth, all bullshit and sugar coating aside, when it comes to parenting or other issues.

What I really wanted to say to Carter was, “Don’t worry, this will actually be you soon, but probably worse, because Karma’s a bitch”. But I decided to let it lie and let him learn for himself that actually my son’s behavior was a toddler issue and not a parenting issue.  Ignorance, at the time, is bliss. It’s when you’re blinded sided that pisses you off. Its why so many of us count on each other to share our stories and our experiences with each other. So in the end, we don’t end up like him, an ignorant ass who thinks he’s invincible and that it’ll never happen to them.

When this idea came to me, I started thinking about all the stuff me and my best friend, Stella, whom I’ve known for a very long time, joke about a lot as parents. We both love being a parent, but some things never change, no matter the kid. You see posts and tags running around online, but in reality a lot of what you see online is true. Don’t get me wrong, I love being a parent, but I also love being prepared. I learn a lot from Stella, I’m not sure I ever told her I do, but I do. I’m honest with all my friends and family too when it comes to everything kid related, someone has to be. Parenting is not all puppies, sunshine and butterflies and this is the point of what I’m writing.

There’s all these books out there about “What to expect” when you’re pregnant or “What to expect” the first year. They’re all great, but they’re all full of doctor facts and crap. Here’s what to really expect, THE TRUTH and the UGLY! 

Before reading this, and before I get attacked for not sounding like I like kids, let me correct you. I love being a mom, I love my son to death and would love to have more kids (some days). But what I don’t appreciate is fake mothers who glorify motherhood constantly. What I want to say is probably what a lot of women are feeling or thinking but won’t for the mere fact of being prosecuted for feeling that way. In summary, you can be a great mom and still feel frustrated, tired, exhausted and feel like everything you’re experiencing has to be a fucking joke.

So pretty much If you offend easily, stop reading now, screw off. If you read on, read on at your own risk.

About me

This subject will probably be the most boring section of anything I write. But I guess its needed to give you some perspective on where I’m coming from. 

I grew up in a broken household as one of six children. I got the magic curse and blessing of being the youngest, by many years. My parents, who were married for over 23 yrs, got divorced while I was young. 

Before I knew it my mom started dating, quickly, my stepdad. To this day I considered him as the person who raised me - even though they’re no longer married and he’s no longer in my life. 

I grew up watching my four sisters all get pregnant by the age of 20. One of them had two kids by 18. I'd watch their constant struggle with motherhood. I can’t really say that any of them were spectacular moms when they were young and it truly burned the thought in my mind that I would probably either never have kids or wait a very long time before I did.

My mother was extremely OCD, whatever I did was never good enough. Because of this she always ended up cleaning my room, I grew up with no responsibilities, but I did suffer true wrath when my room wasn’t cleaned. I contribute this childhood experience as to why I almost horde everything or am not as clean as my husband, who sadly is quite like my mom with cleanliness, (fuck me).

At a young age of 17, my mother moved across the country and gave me the option of staying behind or going with her. I thought she was crazy. I decided to get a roommate and move out on my own. Probably one of the best things that ever happened to me. Though it will strain my relationship with my mother, subconsciously, for the rest of our lives.

When I was around 19, I took a leap of faith and moved across the county to a city in which I had only visited a couple times. It was probably one of the best decisions I’ve ever made. I began working right away in the financial industry, which became my core competency and where met a lot of great people. I always tell people that I feel like I really grew up in those years, I learned so much.

When I was 24, I met my current husband through a mutual friend at a Christmas party. When we first met, I was taken back. He was in the military and he had just moved to the area. My biological sperm donor was in the navy and we moved around a lot and because of it and I never wanted to live that kind of life. So for Paul to be in the military, for reasons of my own, and reasons of his (to this day I say was commitment issues) we tried not being together. I didn’t want to lead a military life, or raise my kids in it.

The harder we tried to stay apart, the more we ended up liking each other, till ultimately we got married in 2009. 

Being a military wife is one of the hardest yet rewarding experiences ever. When we were stationed on the west coast, my husband was gone almost every month for some type of training exercise or mission. I got use to being on my own a lot and started relying a lot more heavily on my friendships. Since the majority of my family is spread across the country, my friends became my family. Their advice I sought out or took because they really knew me and they really knew a lot. 

February 2009 changed my life forever. My husband deployed to Iraq, leaving life and me behind for a full year. I always tell people that I grew up a lot while my husband was in Iraq. I learned the true meaning of being alone, and the truth about which friendships were the ones that would stick around.

Because I learned so much and grew up fast while Paul was deployed, our first talks about babies began while he was deployed. I never really considered being a parent till I realized how much I loved Paul and how amazing it would be to have a kid with him. 

I think thats truly when the planning began, or when my single life was really over. I had no fucking clue what I was doing and I think that is part of the support I received from my friends - whom I thought were great parents. I always ask people “Why re-create the wheel?”. So much knowledge is passed down from generations or from friends who just went through it. I don’t see the point on struggling on your own. 

I was the abnormal military wife who also carried a full-time job. I didn’t relate to most other military moms and deemed it a huge lack of support when it came to any advice. For the record; there is nothing wrong with a military wife whom doesn’t work, it just wasn’t my situation. Military wives who don’t work didn’t understand my situation of having to juggle both a career and a baby on top of being a military spouse. The military always comes first and I knew that going into a marriage and a pregnancy. I began to continue to heavily lean on friends. Being a military spouse is unique and not very many people understand it. 

Parenting is different when you’re life is the military. A lot more is left to the responsibility of the non-military parent. 

When I became pregnant, the advice of other parents became so significant I sought it out constantly. I even sometimes got the shitty unwanted advice. 

Our circle of friends whom we really value their opinion and experience is sometimes so small and for others, nonexistent. It inspires me to share my experiences and my truths for those whom might be a military spouse themselves, or just a parent seeking advice from others.

So here I am. A wife, a mother, and a blogger.