Mallory Mishler (34) and Dorothy Maureen Reyes Gomez “Dotty Mo” (5 months)
Reno, NV
Mallory shares -
“I used to think enormous boobs were a curse, now I see their innate purpose, their duty, and I'm grateful my nipple flees to my armpit when I lay down and side nurse. I spent so much of my youth not feeling pretty enough, feminine enough, thin enough... and yet here I am, sustaining the life I created inside my body... with my body. No matter how my back and arms ache, I still hold her. No matter how tired I am, I find the energy to nurture. My body is more than enough and I apologize to her regularly for not giving her enough credit before. I'm sure when the hormones subside and regulate I'll begin to feel sexy again.
I didn't mean to get pregnant. I love kids. I love other peoples kids. I am a fantastic Aunt. It was kind of this... ''oops... heh...guess this is happening'' moment that I didn't shy away from. I had been dating Dotty's father for two weeks and we both decided to just... go for it. ''All in'' we said. So we dove in. Together. Head first. Or so I thought. I read books and articles on pregnancy, learned what to expect, and watched vigilantly for change. In retrospect, I should've seen the signs.
I stopped painting, stopped socializing, stopped doing what I love. I stopped leaving the house, stopped seeing family, and grew such disdain for everything around me. Anxiety filled thoughts consumed me and endless worry poured into endless worry. I thought it was my boyfriend, I thought it was life, I thought it was fate.... I had no idea it was tremendous antenatal depression and anxiety. By the fourth panic attack in the fifth month of pregnancy (which lasted two days), my baby's father threw in the towel and dumped me. "All in'' wasn't all in at all.
I scrambled for mental health help through medicaid, I moved home, I hid from the world, I cold called every therapist in town. I was so ashamed and I'd never cried so hard in my life. Finally my OB prescribed me antidepressants and the world began to open back up. I started doodling my feelings, drawing them out on to paper. I started blogging my journey so as to purge these toxic, valid emotions. My Mother took care of me as I turned this radical corner in my life to my own Motherhood. I dug myself out of a grave-like hole with a spoon. It was exhausting and at the very end of it... I had no idea who I was going to become. I just knew I was no longer going to be just me.
I was put on bed rest for preterm labor at 32 weeks and managed to keep little one inside until 37.
I don't know where I would be without my Mother and her understanding, her support, her love, her strength. I count my blessings daily. My Mother nursed me back to mental health day and night and I credit her with... so much now. I literally cannot begin to express my utmost respect for her soul.
I had a vaginal birth, no drugs. I felt it all and then some with my Mother by my side, counting and breathing with me the entire time.
I didn't see Dotty's father again until after she was born. I decided to allow him in her life regardless of my feelings because no matter what... *I* give a shit. He can just be the bonus. We attempt to co-parent as much as possible and so far so good. Many women have it worse. It would be nice to have an extra set of hands and arms sometimes, but what's attached isn't for me anymore. At least not in that package.
I feel like my body bounced back relatively well... numerically. Under the skin--lord knows what's going on in there. I mean, I really hope my colon is parked in the right place but sometimes I wonder.
Not only does becoming a Mother consume all your antenatal energy, your nutrients, your dreams, your subconscious, your future plans - but it continues to do so and we as Mothers are just expected to keep pace. Get back in the mix. Go back to work. Back in the groove. Maintain sanity.
It's a shit hand society tries to deal us and it feels a card or two short.
My expectations differed from reality immensely. The good news is that being dumped by my baby's father combined so violently with the anxiety and depression that it shattered me from the inside out. And, as Hannah Gadsby said, ''there's nothing more dangerous than a woman who's rebuilt herself." That's exactly how I feel. Rebuilt. Not only physically--don't get me wrong, the va-jay-jay is like a finely tuned engine ready to fucking rock--but mentally. I'm so much more grounded and aware, so much less worried about filling some invisible hole inside myself. My daughter inspires me, awakes me, leads me, all while laughing every minute of every day. Yeah, I do mean every minute because I'm a single mom and all minutes are belong to her now. But honestly, this upgrade to Motherhood.... is so amazing. I wouldn't want to share it for the world.
{I chose to participate} Because women are amazing. Our bodies are amazing. Because I had no idea what mine was capable of... because babies forever change us. Because I'm unilaterally breastfeeding so my frankentitty demands documentation. Because I want to love myself more. Because I want proof. Because I believe these stories deserve to be told. Because I'm a visual artist. Because we should support each other. Because my dear friend Allison told me about it.”