I've been pretty open that my childhood wasn't the best. My mom tried her hardest, my dad did not. I was in a lot of crisis until my dad passed away when I was 11. And yet, I lived in suburban Maryland. I had food, water, clothes. While we lived fairly modestly, especially after my father passed, we lived in an area of definite affluence, during the 1980's - that decade of gratuitous greed. I was surrounded by all the things anyone could want, much less need. That was over 30 years ago. Even given all the progress in the world, there are still people everywhere that live in extreme poverty. Ten years ago, musical hero Bono (now aided by Bob Geldolf of, yes, Band Aid) started an organization called ONE to battle this issue. Many people think that ONE raises funds for Africa. And while in some ways - indirectly - that is true, it's primary function is advocacy across political borders to relieve poverty and disease, plus help awareness of a wide variety of critical issues that we all face.
It's funny how anger feels when it is bottled up. Sometimes I imagine my chest is a mason jar and the heat of my emotions just continually push, condense, drip and reform inside the glass walls. That is how I have been feeling lately. Trapped inside my jar. I know part of all this is perimenopause; slowly creeping in, at least five years earlier than I imagined it would. If you have been through this fantastic stage of life, you understand how anger stays on the fringes of everything. Chipping a nail now becomes something that makes your blood boil. Your child making the most normal child-being-a-child comment makes you wonder why you ever wanted to be a mother. Then, add shifts in friendship, pressure at work... and a general feeling that there is nowhere to go with these feelings.
Note: March of Dimes and Cigna provided statistics for this post but I was not compensated in any way.Last week I posted about pre-e and mentioned that Dex was a premature baby. Honestly, it was one of the most stressful times of my life. Since then, I have bonded with other moms of premature babies, and also found support through the March of Dimes. We try to join in their annual March for Babies, but sometimes it conflicts with my birthday (this Sunday) and any corresponding plans. Yup. As it does this year. It's amazing to think these are the first photos we have of Dex. The first memories of motherhood I have are of the NICU and tubes and lights and stress. But without this amazing medical intervention, my son would not be here. I had a placental abruption, which could not have been predicted - and they still have no idea why it happened.
Approximately 7% of pregnant women develop a serious complication called preeclampsia, which can be deadly for mothers and babies. Symptoms include high blood pressure, protein in the urine, headaches, swelling, and a pain in the right part of the midsection. Preeclampsia is a leading cause of premature birth and kills 500,000 babies and 75,000 mothers worldwide each year.
Via Albert Bredenhann. In February 2014, one of Gerdi McKenna's friends wrote an email requesting a photoshoot for all her friends as she was diagnosed with breast cancer a few months before ... and this what happened...
Note: Concert tickets were provided by Frank Turner; all photos and words are mine. My experience at the Frank Turner show was different than any other. Since my friend Erica has written about it, I am free to tell you we had some, well, "issues" while the music rolled on. (I am also free to tell you, on a completely separate note, that her little one just had a bout in the hospital, so give her some love if you can.)