Chainstitching Done Right

My son is 3.5 years old. When we were released from the hospital around midnight after having him, I felt there should have been a small reception of some sort as we left the building; a small crowd of people behind banners clapping and cheering. The days that followed I felt the same; I was half expecting to receive a letter in the mail inducting me into this new world of motherhood, into the Bad Bitch Club where I'd get a lapel pin with "Bad Bitch" on it that I could wear like a badge of honor. My body and my brain literally just changed these past 9 months in order to carry this baby and I was proud, exhausted, but proud. Even though the rest of the world seemed to treat being pregnant and giving birth as just another day, I knew I'd just accomplished this arduous miraculous act.

I thought after having my son I'd go back to life as usual, I'd jump back into my same routine and the only thing that would change would be I'd have a little person tagging along. I'd go to dinners with girlfriends, play dates with my nephew, planning, working, and all the things. I was going to be the mom reading all the books and would be calm and have everything under control. I was WRONG. I had post-partum depression and anxiety, rarely showered, didn't sleep for months, barely made it to the grocery store on a regular because my son screamed bloody murder in the car, and I almost completely lost my mind. Thank God his food was attached to my body, otherwise, I would have always forgotten to bring his bottle and he would have starved. Motherhood took my by storm and I was no longer the planning, semi-put-together, regularly showered, social, bubbly woman I thought of myself as. Seeing mothers with multiple kids simultaneously caused me stress and amazement. The mother's alive, the kids are alive, they’re out of the house, it appears they’ve all showered and have been fed, hell, some would even have on matching outfits; now that was a Bad Bitch x 3.

So here we are, almost 4 years later and I no longer have those unrealistic expectations but I do still feel like being a mother deserves a Bad Bitch title. Neither am I the person I was before nor am I the mother I thought I would be, but I'm slowly learning to be ok as a hybrid of a crazy mama with spurts of productiveness. I just stopped wearing my final comfy maternity bra and returned back to real bras so I'm feeling pretty stellar and Bad Bitch-ish.

-Thank you to We Tight Knit for making my "Bad Bitch" branded club a reality.

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