YEP, I'M OFFICIALLY A MOTHER OF BOYS
Monday sucked. And it was bloody. It was Monday bloody Monday. I had it on my chest, on my robe, on my legs. One of my twin sons gashed his head before 9 am. Yep, that baby on the left currently has stitches on that pretty forehead. It was a shitty Monday. And I'm officially a mother of boys.
I don’t do blood.
My sister does blood. She delivers babies and stuff. She’s down with that whole see the organs, blood and shit. Literally. Me, not so much.
But surprisingly, I do blood. Or blood did me on Monday and I survived.
When I discovered I was pregnant with twins I desperately wanted girls. I only knew girls. I didn’t know anything about boys. Really hoped I would have girls because I didn’t think I could connect to boys. I know, silly. Ridiculous. Well, God knew my heart, and he had the plan, and we got boys. My husband named them Bo And Luke. I thought it sounded cute for twins and I loved both names. He just loved Dukes of Hazzard. Ha! Southerner. I never saw the show. Go figure. But Bo and Luke they were, and the moment they were born, I was in love. Duh. I’m obsessed with them. Literally. Crazy in love. It’s over the top. But boy, do I have a lot to learn. Pun intended.
photo by Sydney Clawson
So I said I don’t do blood. But as of Monday February 27, 2017, I do blood. Oh lot’s of blood. 6 stitches worth of blood. And as much as I don’t do blood, I’m a mother and I’ll die before anything tragic happens to my children. And when my son fell and gashed his forehead and I saw blood, I grabbed the nearest washcloth and I stopped the blood. I didn’t know what I was doing, I just stopped the blood. He was flailing and screaming and his twin brother watched the whole thing in horror as he could see mommy was frightened too. I was sweating in my robe and drops of blood covered my chest, my arms, my robe and I held onto to him for dear life and I stopped that blood. I cried in panic as I didn’t know what to do, but I kept one hand on the rag on his forehead, and I called the husband, the neighbor and the nanny. Nobody answered, so I called the doctor. I kept my hand on stopping the blood. I stuck to my mama instincts. And I calmed down. The blood stopped. I remained calm. My son calmed. I got direction from the nurse. I executed. We went in for stitches.
Aside from the complete torture of the 15 minutes Bo screamed (and I sobbed) while they injected lidocaine straight into his wound, and the doctor put 6 stitches into him, all while two nurses held him and I held him and rubbed his legs whimpering "mama's here you're ok", we did survive the bloody Monday of February 27, 2017. And I learned I actually do, do blood. And also, when there's a crisis and you don't know what to do, you actually do. And that lesson in and of itself, is like, woah.
This all sounds a bit dramatic and indeed it was. It was scary as shit. But here's the thing. There isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for my children. Nothing. But you don’t know that until you have them. You also don’t know that until you are faced with what motherhood throws you. This has changed me. Truly. I’m not who I was 6 years ago when I became a mother. I’m a different person. Similar, but different. The woman in me now is more strong to the punch, more smooth to the sting, and more open to the broken heart. And I’m proud of who she is. Although from time to time I call her imperfect and sometimes not accomplished enough, I realize those are all the things that make me human and make me the woman I am today. And when and if I doubt myself in any endeavor in life, I must remember the strength is there and has been all along. Thanks to my littles.
They always say momma's have a red badge of courage. I never really knew what that meant until Monday. Clearly I do now. And clearly I have a lot to learn. And yep, I'm officially a mother of boys. Bring it.
