Skylar Berget

Wife. Mom. Teacher.

I miss you

by Skylar on category

I need more time but time can’t be borrowed.

On May 1, one of my worst fears came true. It felt like an icicle damn came shattering from a roof and impaled me right in the core of my heart. I punched the wall over and over and kicked the door, then I laid down and sobbed. I couldn’t move. I wanted to wake up the next morning and realize it was only a nightmare, but I never fell asleep that night. I lay there and drowned as the invisible pain held me captive. I never thought you’d leave so soon.

I miss you, Dad.

I wonder where you’re at right now; then I realize you’re all around me. I can feel your presence in each sense. In the silence, I can hear you. I hear your quiet wisdom reassuring me. I still smell the ripped black Carhartt crewneck you wore the last time you hugged me. I never thought I’d miss the smell of dust, sweat, and cow shit, but I’d give anything for your warm body to wrap around me one last time. I feel your touch through Marlow Girl. The number of times you told me that the best feeling in the world is when a little one wraps both arms around your neck and hugs you. I squeeze the breath out of Marlow and hold on extra long when she does this now because I sense you through my daughter. In the night sky, I can see you. Memories start seeping out of a hidden drawer I didn’t even know existed. Your smile is my favorite memory. Even though I can’t be near you, I still feel you holding on. Even though you left, it doesn’t feel like you’re gone.

I never thought you’d disappear. I was wrong. I promise, Dad, to make you proud even if you can’t be here with me. Since you left us, I’ve been back home twice to see Miles. The silence of the drive was almost unbearable, but the hug I was met with was worth every mile. You constantly told me, “He’s your only sibling, so you better love him.” I promise never to part ways with Miles again without hugging him and telling him I love him. I will call him and check up on him. We will continue camping every summer and snow skiing every winter. I promise my kids will see their Papa through the man you raised in your Son.
I promise to dabble in photography and video making. I’d been running ideas by you for the last couple of months about how to start a little side hustle during the summers. I had so many ideas, but you kept coming back to videography. You sent me three TikTok videos and countless texts about it. You told me I have absolutely nothing to lose. I promise you, I’ll give it a try, Dad.
I promise to slow down. You have called Marlow Girl a Nervous Nelly since the day she was born. All you wanted was for her to sit on your lap and cuddle, but you accepted that she’s our little-spirited mover. In the rare instances when she crawls on my lap to snuggle, I won’t move. I’ll hold her tight and think of you and how you used to cherish every moment she sat unmoving in your arms.

Returning to Kalispell after my last trip home and driving back into ‘normal’ life felt anything but. It almost feels wrong that everything is exactly the same, yet something is now hugely different. Sometimes, being back in normalcy makes it feel like you’re not really gone—as if I’ll get a call from you any minute. The call never comes.
I question God sometimes, and I still do some nights when I’m trying to make it make sense, staring up at the ceiling and having conversations. I know you crossed a bridge that I can’t follow. The love that you left is all that I get. I miss you more than life.

Mind Your Own Motherhood

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“We listen and do not judge. We keep an open mind and speak kind words.”

I repeat that statement to my students, sometimes multiple times a day. Middle schoolers can be ruthless.

So can Mommas.

It starts before you even have the baby. I heard letting your heart rate get above 140 while pregnant can be harmful to the baby. Why are you still strength training? You shouldn’t lift more than 20 lbs. Are you having a natural birth or going for an epidural? Don’t get induced. Inductions force your body to labor before it’s ready. Then the baby is born. Are you going to breastfeed? Breast is best! You’re putting your baby in daycare? Oh … the germs! Did you give your infant all their shots at once? Spacing them out is the best route. Co-sleeping? That is so very dangerous. Cry-it-out method? You’re creating attachment issues.

I have a 21-month-old feral spitfire occupying my household, so math tells me I’ve been exposed to the Momma Judgment comments for 30ish months. I’ve concluded that the judgment isn’t going to stop. Instead of daycare, it will be the age at which we allow Marlow to have a phone. What kind of car will she drive, or will we make her get a summer job, and what clothes will we allow her to wear to church?

I told myself that I wouldn’t open up my heart and offer my personal opinions if I put my thoughts to paper and published this writing to the public. Still, here I am, about to get honest without knowing who I may offend.

Fitness During and After Pregnancy

You do not need to comment about whether it’s in the Mom’s or baby’s best interest if the Momma-to-be is training during her pregnancy. I can guarantee you that Momma is ONLY thinking about the health of that growing bean instead of her uterus. I am 100% sure she has discussed her training routine with her OB. That Momma knows her body and limits better than anyone else.  

Post-Postpartum bounce back? Please, shut up! Do not comment on that Momma’s appearance two weeks or two years after giving birth. You have no idea what she may be experiencing internally, physically, or emotionally.

I experienced prolapse, pelvic floor distress, and damage to my sphincter. Telling me I look great and bounced back! Thanks, but I can’t run, jump, or lift weights. Thanks for thinking I bounced back because I no longer have the extra weight around my tummy.

Natural Birth / At Home Birth / C-Section / Induced

You can write a birthing plan. You can be as detailed as having a playlist that is played starting at the time you begin the birthing process. You can have a plan, but sometimes that plan combusts, and you have no control. You can’t control if the baby is breech. You can see if you’re a candidate to try to flip the baby to head-down, but if you don’t have enough fluid, you are getting a c-section even if your original birth plan stated vaginal delivery.  

I was told by more than one person that Marlow’s delivery was so long and difficult because I chose to get induced. I was told that my body was not ready to give birth and that I should have waited because my body would have naturally gone through the birthing process without the help of Pitocin. What I never told those individuals who had such strong opinions is that at my 40-week appointment, it was determined through the ultrasound that my placenta was deteriorating. My OB said I had 48 hours to see if contractions started naturally or I needed to get induced for the safety of the baby. I’m not sure if the general public knows, but a baby can’t survive in the uterus without the nutrients from a healthy placenta. I would have never watched Marlow grow into the spicy spirit she is today if I hadn’t forced my body into labor.

Stay-At-Home or Daycare

There are pros and cons to both. Do what is best for your family, and don’t (excuse my language) fucken judge others. It’s that simple.

I could continue my rant with breastfeeding vs formula, co-sleeping vs cry-it-out methods, and the vaccination situation, but I’ve made my point. We’ve got to start trusting Moms. Our jobs as Moms, whether we rear face until they are 12 or send them to private school, are hard enough. Can’t we build friendships and love one another because being a mom is the most complex job in the world?

I don’t care about your personal decisions [that do not affect me or my family] because I care about you as a person, Mom, and friend. Ask a pregnant Momma-to-be how they feel physically and mentally instead of judging their weight or fitness routine. Who cares how they deliver the baby? Regardless, it is personal, challenging, and will 100% be life-changing for them whether it goes as planned or not. There is no need to ask about daycare or whether they will stay home with the baby. Instead, offer support once the baby does arrive Earth-side. You don’t need to ask them if they want to try to breastfeed. Every Mom wants that, and if they choose it’s not best, it’s not working, or the baby doesn’t latch, I can guarantee that Mom feels guilty. You should listen and not judge. Have an open mind and speak kind words.

I believe motherhood should be something that unites women. I hope women cheer each other on instead of giving our un-valued opinions that bring each other down. I know we are all humans. It is impossible not to think negatively when someone is doing something you don’t believe in. However, how you handle that thought is totally something you can control.

My Daughter is a Spirited Carnivore

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This past Monday, at 10:00 A.M., I finally sat down at my desk to write up my lesson plan for my formal evaluation on Thursday. My mind was clustered with quizzes I still needed to grade, the chili fixings I needed to pick up at the grocery store after school, and the sub plans I needed to make for Wednesday.

DING – notification from daycare

Marlow was involved in an incident.

Open Marlow’s daycare app. Posted 10:17 A.M. “Hey guys, Marlow has bit a second child on the arm. Marlow wanted to climb a toy, and the other child was using it. She went in for a bit. We stopped two other attempts. Will you let us know when someone is available to come grab her?”

Deep Breath. Bury my head in my hands. I have 33 minutes before students roll into class. I can get my sub plans made before then. I should text Brittany I need a sub to cover 4th period. Call Kody to see if we can split time at home with Marlow so I can return to teach 6th and 7th periods. Text Gabby to tell her I won’t make our lunch date today. Fifteen minutes later, I grab my car keys and head across town to pick up my daughter, who is identifying as a carnivore today.

Rinse. Wash. Repeat.

Marlow has been biting since before the Thanksgiving Holiday.

There was a common trend in the advice Kody and I received. 1) Bite her back, 2) Have you considered taking her to a speech therapist?

1) I did bite her back. I bit her so hard that she had my teeth marks as a bruise on her thigh for 36 hours. It didn’t fix the problem.

2) We’ve looked into speech therapy. Given Marlow’s ability to communicate her needs verbally and through signs, this doesn’t seem to be the correct route for multiple reasons. However, we have not ruled this out.

We also tried an elimination diet, timeouts, spanking, reasoning with her, more outside time, incorporating sensory activities, and chewy necklaces. We have considered OT or behavioral therapy. Kody and I are exhausted trying to solve the problem of why she bites and how to get her to stop biting. We even worked with daycare to record trends and habits. We are frustrated and embarrassed about her behavior. We love her dearly, but we are drained.

Over the last 18 months, I have had many silent bursts of humor. It is now clear to me that Marlow was handpicked for me. She has a way of exposing my flaws and turning them into life lessons, reminding me to ‘be better.’

I am so good at judging that I typically start my arrogant phrase with “I don’t live their life. I don’t walk in their shoes. I shouldn’t judge, but (insert judgemental phrase). I know passing judgment is a gross character trait, but it’s easy to blow up someone else’s troubles with a microscope, dissect their current challenges, and write a verbal essay about how they could fix their problems with my solutions.

I park my car outside Marlow’s daycare on Monday. Deep sigh. I had to turn up my lips at the lesson Marlow was teaching me. I should stop judging. Parents are doing everything in their power to help their child(ren) thrive in this world, and here I am, making petty comments about how they should be raising their child(ren) and how I would be doing it differently.

I always knew that all children are different and respond differently to their environment and redirection from adults. However, it wasn’t until Marlow’s carnivorous phase that it struck me like a lightning bolt. Clearly, biting a toddler back once they bite you typically stops the behavior. It doesn’t work for Marlow. She looks at you dead in the eyes and returns for a second bite, only harder.

What I learned this week is that life is demanding, and we can’t always control the outcomes. There are two things you can control, though. The first is how we choose to feel about the judgment of others. Most people are willing to listen and attempt to learn if I am given the chance to explain. I am so grateful for those who are eager to hear me out. I choose to be supported by these people and pull them tight into my circle. The second is empathy. You can control empathy and were born with an abundance of it. Never underestimate what other’s are going through. You may not feel or understand it, but you know they are feeling emotionally heavy, and at the very least, you can be there for them. Be a kind person.

Fatherhood Is Hard Work, And a Heart Job

by Skylar on category

There was a food truck festival in town last weekend. The honey-soaked corn dog was well worth the $9.25. As we were strolling Marlow around, trying to keep her occupied in the aroma-filled heat wave, Kody made an offhand comment about the clothing choice of a teenage girl. I laughed, “That is a very modest look compared to what most teenage girls wear nowadays.” Kody didn’t need to verbalize for me to know that he was envisioning 12 years from now when his little girl would be a teenager. (Oh … the parenting ahead of us!)

Becoming a mom was life-changing. The emotions you feel when you hold that baby in your arms for the first time are almost indescribable. It’s the purest love. We, mamas, are the lucky ones. We have nine months of bonding, whereas the Dad starts that process when the baby is born. Even then, it is an uphill battle for the first six months. If nursing, the Mom provides the food. The familiarity of your heartbeat and voice offers comfort and safety. Marlow looked for me to meet all her essential needs in the scary new world, and I loved being her everything. Still, it caused great sadness when Kody had to offer Marlow up because no matter what he did, she would sometimes not soothe with him.

Kody’s heart has always been full of love and compassion, but it grew twice as big the day he became a Father. I’ve never seen anyone so determined to create a bond with his daughter. I saw the frustration in his eyes after he’d spent an hour rocking her to calm her down, and the second I put a hand on her, she’d immediately stop fussing. He wanted so badly to be Marlow’s safe place. It would have been easy for Kody to say that Marlow would grow out of her neediness for her Mom and would grow to like her Dad. Instead, he was relentless. I would scold him at 4:00 am every morning when he snuck into her bedroom to say goodbye. I would stare at the monitor and pray she would not wake up as he smothered her with kisses. The second he walked in the door after work, his bags and nasty gym socks sat on the floor all night because he became too busy playing on the floor with that little girl. Bathtime is Kody and Marlow’s time! The speaker comes out, and they splash and scrub away the day.

Over the past year, I’ve watched Kody work every day to create a bond with our child. I often hear him say, “I’ve never loved anything like I love this Baby Bug.” He loves her, and she loves him. I know this as a fact.

Dear Husband,

We were in our mid-twenties when my heart was drawn to you. You were carefree, and your eyes were filled with light. I see you now as a man, the weight of responsibility heavy on your shoulders, eyes dimmed with exhaustion. I want to encourage you today—the work you do matters—outside our home, yes, but especially here in our home.
I love watching you play. I listen to the giggles as you hide behind the corner. Marlow’s hands and knees pound on the floor as she speeds to peak around the corner, waiting for you to fly out and tickle her. I love the way you love her. I am thankful she will have an example of a gentle, loving man.

Fatherhood is a hard job and a heart job. It requires strength, gentleness, patience, and time. Dear Husband: I love watching you be a Father.

https://youtu.be/ebB5AuY2sLY

Becoming A Mom Changed My Perspective

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My whole perspective on life has changed. Everything I once thought was important no longer occupies space in my thoughts. I dreamed about having a white house with a big porch. I lost summer weeks and gave up evenings at home to work extra jobs to fill my bank account. Time in the gym was insufficient if it didn’t result in a six-pack. I am a creature of habit, and I filled my days with endless tasks; the hustle was all I lived for. Owning a house, a substantial bank account, a shined-up vehicle, the ideal body, and a career people respected – that’s what success is, right? 

Not a soul uttered these words in the nine months leading up to Poppy’s arrival: ‘You’re about to meet someone entirely new. And it’s not your baby, it’s going to be you.’ Yet, this is the truth I’ve come to realize. My values remain unchanged, but my perspective has shifted. 

I’ve come to embrace the joy of simplicity. True happiness isn’t confined to a big white house. It’s found in Marlow’s smile peaking through the bars of her crib, illuminated by the morning light. A large backyard isn’t necessary to enjoy a BBQ; our five-by-five-foot area in front of our garage is just as delightful. I no longer trade my evenings at home for a $60 check from officiating basketball games. Instead, I treasure our family walks to Sweet Peaks or moments on the stoop with Marlow Bug cooing and diving for ants. 

I used to dedicate my early morning hours to fitness. It took me a while to be okay with whatever workout I did during my lunch hour these last few months. The lack of fitness resulted in a lot of frustration and resentment. Kody asked me what my fitness goals are. Easy, ” I want to be healthy. I want to feel good. I want to be able to snow ski with my grandchildren in my 70’s.” Nowhere in our conversation did I talk about what my body should look like. I found my entire view of my body had shifted. I used to criticize it; no matter my strength or endurance, it was never good enough. Now, I have nothing but respect for what my body did and can do. It nourished Marlow from when she was a PoppySeed until she was seven months old Earthside. Isn’t that incredible? I now accept the cellulite and stretch marks. I discovered that our bodies aren’t meant to be forced into what we think they should look like, but they need to be respected for everything they are capable of. 

I am so proud of my career as a teacher. I love teaching children, and even if I were financially able to stay at home, I would still choose to teach America’s Youth. I never missed school. I am still determining if it was pride or a hustle mentality, but I wasn’t willing to miss a school day—until this year. I am embarrassed to look up how many sick days I have taken this school year to be home with Miss. Marlow Girl on days she wasn’t feeling well. My students will survive the day without me, and work will always be there the next day. 

Don’t get me wrong, there are moments when my brain questions my new perspective on life. Old habits are hard to break. However, there are places in your heart you don’t even know exist until you love a child. What once was important in the past seems funny in the present moment. 

I often think about the end of my life. At the end of my living days, whether that is next week or in 40 years, what truly matters? Spending moments with the ones I love and who love me. It’s that simple. 

I will never again wish for a big house. I will only hope for a home where my whole family lives. 

I don’t need a substantial bank account. I only need enough money to fulfill our basic needs. 

Daily exercise and overall health is perfectly okay at this stage of life. 

Work will never take precedence over family. 

If you are able to tuck in a healthy, peacefully sleeping child into a warm bed in a safe home, you’ve won the lottery of life. 

I am a living millionaire. 

The Significance of Dad 

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I teach a gratitude lesson to my students each year. I usually introduce it around the Holiday season, but I had too much fun teaching PE games in November and December this year. (My teaching partner and I created a new version of Quidditch and The Hunger Games). This last week, I sat my students down in Health Room #2 and pulled up the lecture slides to “The Power of Gratitude.” The closing assignment asks students to write a handwritten letter to someone in their life who has impacted and positively influenced them. I like to call this person ‘their trusted adult.’ I have also written a letter to someone in my life for seven years. This year will be my eighth letter. I told my students I am writing my letter to my Dad this year. I paused as I said this because I was slightly embarrassed that it’s taken me eight years to write a gratitude letter to my Dad. I have started writing the letter but have not finished it. (Maybe I should do that instead of writing this blog post). This gratitude letter to my Dad has proved to be challenging to write, and it’s not because of all the detailed reasons I am grateful for him but because I realized how much I fear losing him.

I have been a Daddy’s Girl for as long as I can remember. I am sure my Mom would confirm this. What does being a Daddy’s Girl mean? It is so much more than being a daughter to a Dad. I have watched my brother and his relationship with his oldest, Vivianne. I observe Kody and Marlow together. Marlow Girl loses her balance from excitement when Kody opens the front door, and her eyes follow him around the room until he gives her attention. The common factor I observe is that the daughter often looks to the Dad for acceptance, attention, and affirmation. I should clarify that us daughters need our Mom, too. We look to our Mom for safety and security. That’s a different Blog Post, though.

I didn’t realize that I sought out the three A’s from my Dad until I started drafting the gratitude letter. I remembered personal, detailed moments forever ingrained in my memory. I recalled the countless times in my teenage and early adult years when my Dad rescued me from heartbreak or opened up his home many times when I was temporarily homeless; however, some more recent memories sparked my gratitude letter.

It is customary for a man to ask the Father if he can marry his daughter. Kody asked my Dad. I am not even sure how that conversation went. Considering I am married, my Dad must have given his blessing. Additionally, it is common for the Dad to walk his daughter down the aisle during the wedding ceremony. What is the significance of this event? I looked it up. “Fathers walking their daughter down the aisle and giving their daughter, the bride, away represents a transfer of ownership from the father to her new husband.” It was interesting when family and friends found out Kody, and I went to the courthouse to get married and realized that we had no plans for a future ceremony or reception. Many individuals asked me about the absent act of my Father walking me down the aisle. My Dad and I had many conversations about Kody and I getting married and the lack of the traditional Father/Daughter walk and dance. What mattered to me was that my Dad trusts Kody and views him as genuine and honest. My Dad and I talked about what marriage symbolized. My point is that we talked about marriage, not a wedding, which made the conversations special. I could be wrong by assuming, but I don’t believe I screwed my Dad over by choosing not to have a wedding. Instead, I included him in my bundled emotions of marriage. I valued his opinions, advice, and approval of my marriage with Kody.

This past year, I became a parent. I hope to be half the parent that my Mom and Dad were for me. Over the past eight months of motherhood, there have been many tears of frustration and joy. It happens that in the times I have spent with my Dad since becoming a parent, Marlow was doing Marlow things; she caught her first cold while we were staying with my Dad in September, had a cold/flu when we met in Missoula for a Griz game, and was trying to cut some teeth during Christmas. My Dad coined Marlow with the nickname Nervous Nelly – the girl who never sits still. Marlow Girl is always up to something. She’s never been simple. Anyway, as usual, my Dad hugged me when we were parting ways after Christmas dinner. He said, “You are a good Mom. I am proud of you.” I didn’t realize how much I needed to hear that from my Dad until after he said it.

I reflect, and my mind swirls with remembrances of significant and simple moments. I will cherish these flashes of memories that fill my heart with gratitude. I have realized that putting all my appreciation in one gratitude letter is impossible. Simply put, I am blessed to have memories and fortunate to continue making memories to treasure.

I thank all the devoted Dads out there. I thank you for your love, patience, and sacrifice. It can’t be an easy road to raise a daughter in today’s world, but eventually, we ladies grow up and realize the significance you had on our development and character.

This year, I am grateful that the lesson on the power of gratitude allowed me to reflect and recognize how blessed I am to have a Dad who always answers his phone, hugs me goodbye, and says I Love You at the end of each conversation.

The Pieces to the Puzzle Shifted 

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My childhood best friend texted me in November and asked, “How have you been doing balancing work, mothering, Wifing? How’s your pelvic floor?”

I responded, “I think I’d be lying if I said it’s been all going well.” And then I unloaded.

I feel guilty when I unload. It feels like complaining. I look at my life with Kody and Marlow; this is all I have ever wished for. I have a healthy child and a husband who loves me on my bad days. Looking at the big picture, I honestly couldn’t ask for more.

As I was trying to find a way to respond with honesty to my best friend, I found it easiest to describe life as a puzzle. In my late twenties, I had figured out my priorities. I knew how to place my relationships, health, work balance, and social life into my puzzle. I knew which piece was the biggest and which piece I put first.

In June 2023, my puzzle gained a new piece. It is a vast, precious piece I placed right in the center.

After describing this silly puzzle, I realized that I was talking about something ubiquitous that comes with parenthood: identity shifts. Everyone tells you what to pack in your hospital bag and the ‘must have’ registry items, but there aren’t any conversations about managing the emotional and mental shifts that happen when you become a Mom (or Dad).

Out of curiosity (mostly frustration) about my recent irritability and temperament, I started poking around and reading literature on the subject. Multiple articles used the term “matrescence”, the process of becoming a mother. The term was coined in 1973 and encompasses the hormonal, emotional, physical, and mental changes that happen when you have a baby. The whole concept reminded me of adolescence. The awkward teenage years when you felt like you didn’t know who you were or what you wanted and lacked any self-confidence.

I started to reflect (and I’m still in the process). I am realizing that the things that used to fulfill me no longer do the trick. Or at least, those puzzle pieces have shrunk and are no longer the first pieces I gravitate towards.

I understood that having a child was a significant life transition, but I did not prepare myself for the major shift in identity that I would undergo. To be blunt, I am still working through the reflective process. I lost touch with my identity, the core of who I am, and that has been earth-shattering. When you don’t know who you are, you sometimes feel like nobody at all. Currently, I am reflecting on who I am NOW. Not who I think I should be, who I was, or who I will be.

I am learning to embrace this new identity and love it for what it is. Having patience is a virtue, but definitely not my forte. My hope is that new parents (and I consider Dads, too) realize that they are not alone in feeling lost and frustrated in the world of parenthood. You went through a big life event. There is no timeline for having things figured out.

For me, this means allowing who I am and what I want to change. I can only trust that I am doing what is best for my family in the phase that we are in right now. This is my season of surrender, being in the moment, going with the flow, letting life be messy at times, and embracing every inch of that. I know my other seasons are coming, but I will bask in this one and give it my whole heart right now.

My puzzle is the same size, but new pieces have been added; some have grown, and others have shrunk. I will continue to shuffle and resize the pieces as time evolves. My puzzle may look slightly different now than it did in my twenties, and that’s okay. It’s not better or worse. It’s just different, and it includes a Marlow Girl!

The Truth Isn’t Always Pretty

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Ever since I can remember, I have been a writer. Not professional. I write to express my emotions. It started with journaling, I dabbled in poetry, went back to journaling, and now I have this Blog. I have been feeling very emotionally heavy lately, and I wanted to release my thoughts with a Blog post, so I wrote Twelve Weeks of Motherhood this morning. Typically, after I write, I feel so much lighter. This afternoon, as I drove to the gym, I almost cried. I don’t feel lighter. I feel worse. Everything I wrote in Twelve Weeks of Motherhood was factual, but it wasn’t the entire truth. I usually don’t hold back when putting my thoughts and emotions to paper, but I did today. Postpartum has been incredibly difficult, and if I’m being honest with myself, I haven’t quit yet wrapped my head around how I feel, which might be why I had such a hard time writing this morning’s post, Twelve Weeks of Motherhood.  

I feel angry. I feel guilty. I feel isolated. I feel loved and supported. 

I feel angry that postpartum recovery has been so challenging. I expected tearing and being sore. I prepared myself to lay low for six weeks. I even had a plan in case Postpartum Depression presented. I didn’t expect to have zero control of my bladder for weeks. The Moms at the gym always joked about wearing leggings if jump rope is in the workout, but I wasn’t experiencing a lil leaking. I, in fact, no longer had any control of my bladder. One evening, I asked Kody to hold Marlow, and as I stood up, I became wet from my urine. Was this supposed to happen? Was this normal? I laughed at losing all my dignity during the labor and delivery, but I hoped to regain it once we were discharged. 

Exercising while pregnant was easy. I found it informative and enjoyable. I was worried I wouldn’t return to fitness postpartum correctly, so I purchased an eight-week certified postpartum fitness program. A few weeks into the program, I started to experience pulling on my pelvic floor. I couldn’t lunge, plank, jump, jog, or do a burpee. I took the six weeks off. I followed the programming. What am I doing wrong? Why was I in so much pain? All I wanted to do was sweat. I feel like my body is failing me. 

I was angry. I am angry. 

I feel guilty. I love teaching. I miss my students and was sad I missed the first day of school. I find so much joy in the teaching and socialization of my everyday work life. I am excited to go back in October. Once Marlow is in daycare, I can workout for 45 minutes without being interrupted to feed Marlow or put a binky back in her mouth. I also feel sad that our days together are ending. I love cuddling her while sipping coffee every morning. I know I am going to miss these days. I feel a push/pull. I am excited to return to work, but I don’t want to wish any days away. Mostly, I feel guilty. 

Many of us hold many titles in our daily lives: spouse, daughter, friend, coach, co-worker. I know many new Moms lose their sense of identity as they transition into their new role of a constant caretaker. In this transition, I feel isolated. I know so many others have experienced this same shift. It doesn’t matter how often I talk about the loneliness with Kody or how many friends I talk to daily, it is still isolating. I know the root of isolation is learning MY new responsibilities and routines. This is my new normal, and I have to process the changes. 

Mostly, I feel loved. The outreach of support from all my social branches has been overwhelming in the best way possible. There has never been a moment that I haven’t felt supported. I have had family and friends to confide in through every high and low. And I have Kody. Many say that the Dad can’t do much if the Mom is breastfeeding, but the truth is the Mom needs her husband the most in the first months. On the days I feel angry, he reminds me that my body carried and nourished our lil girl. On the days I feel guilty, Kody tells me he is proud of the Mom I am to Marlow. On the days I feel isolated, he hugs me. I feel loved. 

The first twelve weeks of motherhood have been a beautiful mess. Postpartum has been hell. It has come with challenges, fears, and LOTS of emotions. The truth isn’t always pretty. 

Twelve Weeks of Motherhood

by Skylar on category

I have been wanting to write about the experience of motherhood /parenthood for a couple of weeks now. I have so many thoughts I don’t know where to begin. I will share what I’ve learned, what has helped me most, and what I’ve discovered about myself. 

Pushing Against Martyr Mom 

Social media paints motherhood as an endless rough patch of sleepless nights, tears, and loss of identity and social life. I’m not saying this doesn’t happen. I didn’t sleep for more than three consecutive hours for the first month. Tears have fallen from frustration and fatigue. Feelings of identity loss have surfaced, and my social life looks different than it once did. 

I knew motherhood would be difficult, and I was very worried about Postpartum Depression because I know so many women experience it. 

Kody and I intentionally put a plan in place to ensure I was supported in the case PPD presented. Kody’s role entailed taking care of me. He was very headstrong about me being honest and open with my emotions. (I tend to crawl into a hole and suppress my feelings – hold habits). He made me promise I would ask for help. As for me, I was adamant about not subscribing to the ‘martyr mom’ narrative, and I knew the solution to combat that was to ensure I was doing what I could not to lose myself. Some of those plans included returning to work in October and daily movement. 

I get asked if I plan to stay home with Marlow or at least take a year off teaching. We secured Marlow a full-time spot in daycare starting in October so I could return to work. I don’t have to work; I choose to teach because it fills my soul. Marlow and I would have all joyful days together if I stayed home with her, but that’s not best for me or our family. 

Exercise looks different for me right now. I am still processing postpartum and working through unanticipated recovery challenges. I am learning to adapt to what my body can do in the season that I am in. Somedays, movement is simply pushing Marlow in the stroller for ten minutes. 

The moral of the story is, to be honest with yourself. Set boundaries and expectations that allow you to thrive as a family. 

Hormones 

It is almost comical how wild your hormones are during pregnancy and postpartum. I truly don’t recognize myself some days. I can feel the hormones surging through me. I wonder if this is just who I am now. I snap at the dumbest things. Simple tasks seem so huge and like a big deal. I feel like my mind is playing tricks on me. I have never been a crier or emotional, but I can’t even count the number of times I have looked at Kody with silent, giant tears running down my face. There is usually no reason behind these tears, and we laugh about how ridiculous these silly hormones are. 

I have always been anxious, but Postpartum Anxiety is a different level of unease. I get so scared that Marlow will stop breathing or never wake up. Thank you for the invention of the Outlet Dream Sock monitor. I lay in bed, and my mind races through all the horrible things that could happen to Marlow or stress about my never-ending ‘to-do list.’ Luckily, the rational part of my brain can talk myself through the craziness. Hormones are a wild ride. 

Kody + Skylar + Marlow = Family   

Kody and I share a vision of what we want our lives as a family to look like, and we actively work together to fulfill that image. 

There is nothing easy about transitioning to parents. As a couple, it tests you. Discussions need to be handled with care. Kody and I know what type of people we are as spouses, friends, or family members. However, we are learning who we are as Marlow’s parents. Everything is new. We do not revolve our lives around Marlow. We integrate Marlow into our lives and bring her along for the ride. 

I had no idea what to expect coming into motherhood. “Is being a parent what I thought it would be?” Honestly, it’s better. Life without Marlow doesn’t make sense anymore. 

I Fell in Love for a Second Time

by Skylar on category

Being pregnant is similar to riding a roller coaster. There is excitement, fear, anxiety, joy, and anticipation. At my 36-week appointment, I asked my OB if she had any advice as I prepared to become Mom. She replied, “Spend as much quality time with Kody as possible in the next few weeks. Go on a road trip, watch movies together, and go out for a nice dinner. Your life is about the change forever, in a wonderful way, but you’ll never have this time of only Skylar and Kody again. Don’t wish these last few weeks away. Enjoy them.” That is not what I thought she was going to say. I was expecting a list that included the following:

  1. Preregistering at the birth center.
  2. Ensuring my breast pumps are working.
  3. Prepare frozen meals.
  4. Have a formula on hand. 

I left my appointment that day with thoughts of the Kody and Skylar era coming to a close. In the following days, I admitted to Kody that I feared having a child might change us. I didn’t want our relationship to change. I loved Friday movie nights. I enjoyed the car rides to Libby when we chose not to talk but to listen to an entire country album. I’ve even come to appreciate waking up early on Sunday mornings to watch Formula 1. I knew we could still do all those things with a child, but it wouldn’t be the same. Life would never be the same. These thoughts of our relationship forever changing were at the forefront of my mind leading up to the due date. 

On another note, when you are pregnant, everyone (and I mean everyone!) loves to share their story. I heard at least four birth stories a week from close friends to complete strangers. I didn’t mind hearing others’ stories. It was a good reminder that every labor and delivery is different. I listened to others’ advice, recommendations, and warnings. I ignored and forgot what I didn’t fancy hearing. Of all the guidance I received, everyone failed to tell me I’d fall in love a second time. No one mentioned it, yet it has been the best part of this 10-month journey. 

You might be thinking, “Of course, you fell in love with Marlow.” Yes, that is true, but I loved Poppy -> Marlow long before June 24th. I didn’t have to fall in love with her. She imprinted on my soul the day she was conceived. 

People failed to tell me that I’d fall in love with my husband all over again. Kody was supportive and understanding of all my emotions during pregnancy which I was beyond grateful for. I expressed to Kody on multiple occasions that I feared labor. He usually shrugged it off and said I’d be fine, but when it came to the real deal, he showed up in every way possible.

Many Mommas have told me that the labor process becomes a blur after some time, and we soon forget the pain and discomfort we endured. I don’t want to forget. I don’t want to forget how Kody walked with me down the hallways as we waited for contractions to begin. I want to remember how the nurse and I forced him to leave to get food when he refused to leave my side. I want to recollect him telling me how proud he was of me during hour 3 of 4 of active labor. I want the memory of him holding our daughter for the first time stuck in my brain forever. 

We knew our relationship would change as we transitioned from a couple to parents. However, we didn’t know that we would witness versions of each other that we’d immediately appreciate and adore about one another. I’ve always been in love with Kody, but I didn’t anticipate falling in love all over again. It’s been the best blessing that everyone forgot to warn me about. 

The Kody and Skylar era now includes a Marlow, and I believe the best is yet to come for this family. 

✕