Sweatshirts and Pearls

I know you've probably heard about "Post Partum Depression" aka "Baby Blues" where the mother is a hormonal mess after delivering the baby... well this post is dedicated to all of that and then some; aka post partum hues. [See what I did there?] I will break down the hues using our friend Roy G. Biv. R-is for Red. Yes. Red. You are frustrated probably because the Birth Plan you had, went out the window and or the doctor you wanted to deliver your child was not on call that day. It happens. I was red, because after 4 weeks, the scar from my unplanned c-section is not completely healed and in fact I had to go back to the doctor because the stitch knot loosened and a shallow part of the wound is open. I never thought I'd have to have a c-section but I did. My doctor was on call, but Brayden decided to stay put, so her shift was over by the time he made his debut. The doc that did deliver Brayden is pretty awesome tho, so I didn't mind. O- is for...

I woke up early on June 29th [2016], the plan was to accompany Brian to Alexandria for the day. However, as you know my plans do not happen the way I anticipate. I felt a trickle of liquid and after several trips to the bathroom, I was sure my water broke and that I did not have a 2year old accident. I didn't feel any contractions so, I figured we had some time. What's a girl to do when she's in labor and the contractions aren't heavy???! You guessed it. Put your game face on... no eyeliner though. I heard pain was going to be a beast and I'm a crier. Don't need raccoon eyes in my son's pics. I mentioned to Brian that maybe we should just go about our day and wait until the contractions got bad, but of course you can never be too sure. I didn't want to be on the side of 66East in labor. So after I finished getting ready, we headed to the hospital. I called my mom, Brian called his mom and they both made it to NOVA in record time only to be told th...

After the events of the past week (#AltonSterling #PhilandoCastille #Dallas #Atlanta) my heart is heavy.  Not to say that I haven't felt this before, but this time it was different. Perhaps because not only do I have brothers, cousins, friends, and a BF to consider when the topic of Black male lives are at hand; I have a son.  Today my son is 12 days young. He is the perfect 7 pounds 15 oz. He smiles in his sleep and is comforted at the sound my voice. I. Have. A. Son. His life matters to me. To his father. To his family. I believe that he will be a good citizen and serve his community. I also know that because of the color of his skin there is a chance he will be judged. This is not okay. Of all the things I've done in my life, he is my greatest accomplishment. I am a sister, a daughter, a girlfriend, a Black woman, but most importantly now, I am a mother. The past few days I have spent looking at my son and crying. I prayed over his life before he entered this cruel wo...