The Barefoot Boys

The barefoot boys like to have snacks together.
The barefoot boys like to play cars together.
The barefoot boys like to hum the same songs. Sometimes together and sometimes different songs at the same time.
The barefoot boys can turn anything into a musical instrument and start a band.
The barefoot boys like to play wooden blocks together.
The barefoot boys like to play balancing games together.
Baby barefoot likes to copy big barefoot, especially when he puts a bucket on his head.
The barefoot boys like to ride scooters, bikes, motorcycles, skateboards and basically anything with wheels.
The barefoot boys like to play basketball, hit golf balls, throw baseballs, kick soccer balls and basically do anything with a ball.
The barefoot boys like to take tubs full of bubbles.
The barefoot boys like to explore nature together.
The barefoot boys like to build castles of sand, build towers of blocks, build mountains of pillows, build forts out of furniture, and basically just build anything from anything.
The barefoot boys like to play baby dolls, they like to rock, feed and put their baby's to sleep, they like to give their baby dolls a tub and change their clothes and give them a fresh diaper after they poop or pee, they like to play kitchen, they like to help clean up the house, they like to play school where big barefoot teaches baby barefoot everything he knows and basically they like to play anything that will help make them good daddies someday.
The barefoot boys like to play dress up together and put on puppet shows and have tea parties with their stuffed animals.
The barefoot boys like to make up dance routines together, take dance class together and stomp around in their tap shoes making as much noise as possible. They also like to dance hip hop and be B-Boys.
The barefoot boys like to swim and swim and swim.
The barefoot boys like to run and run and run.
The barefoot boys like to sing and dance and have fun, fun, fun.


The barefoot boys also like to sit quietly together with their arms around each other and holding each other tight forever - as only brothers can.

Baby Barefoot (2 years old) Big Barefoot (6 years old)

Written by Colleen Canavan
Instagram: @naturemama3

Why The Shame Of Postpartum Depression?

Why is there a dark cloud of shame hanging over admitting we have postpartum depression? It's not bad enough that new moms are sleep deprived, we have sore nipples and overfilled breasts or a sink full of dirty bottles we need to wash and we're down to the last scoop of formula and the store is already closed - and sore breasts, or breasts that are refusing to produce milk at all. It's not bad enough we're still bleeding heavily from the traumatized vagina that just pushed a watermelon out of a pea hole (I'm being generous ladies!) or got it yanked out from some device the doctor used or that our bellies got ripped open, insides tossed aside like clothes on the floor to birth a perfect angel. Or maybe our angel wasn't so perfect yet and needed to spend time in the "chicken warmer" as my husband calls it. Referring to his own time spent as a jaundiced newborn still "needing to bake." Or maybe the baby we carried inside us for all those months was handed over to someone else the minute it left our body because it's meant to be with a different mother. Or handed over to God because that life wasn't meant to be.

It's not bad enough we have a mother or mother-in-law (or husband) who doesn't approve of our birthing methods and OB's and nurses who disregard our birth plan or a judgmental sister or co-worker who doesn't approve of our wanting an elective c-section or a husband who does not support our wanting to breastfeed, or a husband who insists on us breastfeeding when we can't or don't want to, or an entire community or culture who doesn't support our decision to breastfeed, or family members or mom's group friends who disapprove of our wanting to formula feed.

And a baby who's crying because they are hungry.

It's not bad enough when we have our own self doubt, or our own fear of pain and fear of childbirth,  and fear of, "are we going to be good enough?" Or our own stubbornness of wanting to give birth at home but it leads to a hospital transfer after hours and hours and hours of not progressing where you then face the judgment of the L&D nurses who have that, "I told ya so" look on their faces when you breakdown in desperation to say, "yes, I will take the epidural after 27 hours of hard labor" - already crafting our birth story to tell others to justify, to defend, to protect ourselves from more judgment and shame.

It's not bad enough that we finally get the strength to go out of the house with our newborn, a million baby items in tow and the baby cries that hunger desperation cry they do regardless of just eating an hour before, so you start to breastfeed on a park bench not wanting to disturb the peace of your toddler finally entertaining themselves after weeks of being cooped up in baby village only wanting you, and you get harassed for breastfeeding in public, or a picture gets taken of you and it's blasted on social media about you being a slut wanting to show off your breasts to everyone. Little do they know the extreme pain you are in because breastfeeding can hurt in the beginning, the tears burning your eyes, dripping down your nose onto your baby's tiny face, your toes curling, baby not wanting to latch properly, can't get the cover to stay on right, because it keeps covering the baby's face, can't unhook your nursing bra properly, fiddling with the breast pad, then comes the menstrual-like cramping of your uterus contracting back to normal size once your milk lets down and the extreme pain that is causing you as you sit on this uncomfortable park bench wishing you were at home in your rocker with your breast pillow and your cup of tea watching Wild Krats with your toddler - and trying to look sexy to score another woman's man at the playground is about as close to being on the top of your list right now as sky rocketing to the moon in a cardboard spaceship - yet that is what you get accused of doing. Did I mention the still-bleeding-for-weeks vagina and a huge freaking pad or two inside huge freaking postpartum granny panties?

All I'm thinking about is trying to score a nap and a shower.  A man?  Not so much.

Don't even get me started on the extreme stress and war zone-esq conditions of having an extremely colicky baby. I'm still not quite over my PTSD to start talking about that, but all I can say is survival mode. Having a colicky baby will put a person into survival mode as quick as a car crash. Add in a disgruntled toddler who is seriously pissed at you for bringing this little yelling machine into their perfect little mommy snuggle fest and you have a recipe for tear stained pillows for months.

Your toddler watching you as you play with the baby thinking: How dare you? The look of disgust towards the bassinet while they sit and eat cheerios one by one. How dare you smile at that little noise maker?  How dare you coo?  How dare you pick the baby up in the middle of reading me Goodnight, Goodnight Construction Site? 

It's not bad enough ladies... all of these outside pressures we have and don't get me started on the feelings of isolation!

Why are we so hard on ourselves about postpartum depression?

I'm determined to do my part to break the cycle. To do what I can to erase the stigma of postpartum depression and admitting it to myself and others.

I am saying it loud and proud, "I have postpartum depression." 

It does not mean I don't love my kids. It does not mean I regret getting pregnant or regret having this baby. It does not mean I regret being a stay-at-home-mom. It does not mean I regret making the decision to homeschool after a difficult kindergarten year in public school. It does not mean I regret breastfeeding my baby, all of my babies. I have postpartum depression. It's not something I choose to have. It's not who I am as a mother. It does not define me as a person but it is a part of my life - right now. It is a part of my motherhood journey - right now. It is a part of the path I am taking as a mother to tiny babies and young children. I can't imagine it will be a part of my journey when I have teenagers. Unless we have an oops baby when my kids are teens! Which we won't. Oh my God how we won't!

I have postpartum depression. It does not mean I don't love my husband or that I want to kill myself, or kill my children, or harm my children or abandon my children, or leave my husband.

However, I have wanted to kill myself.

I have thought about dying and I have postpartum depression, but that does not mean I don't love my kids. It does not mean I don't love my kids. It DOES NOT MEAN I DON'T LOVE MY KIDS.

It does not mean I don't love my kids.

Why do people insist in linking the two together?!

It simply means I have postpartum depression and I need help getting to the point where I no longer have postpartum depression. That may take medication, it may take therapy, it may take drastic changes to my diet and environment, it may take a ton of work on my part, but my life is worth fighting for. I'm worth fighting for.

I have good days and lonely days and critically unproductive days and every-minute-packed-to-the-gills-days and fun days and horrible days and yelling-like-a-tyrannical-bitch days and sitting on the floor playing cars days and watching Disney Junior from breakfast til dinner in our PJ's days, and feeling like a zombie days and spending all day at the aquarium days and fighting days and sleeping days and laughing days and crying days and sobbing days and days where I'm too broken to cry. All of these days have comprised my journey of postpartum depression.  My baby is 10 months old and yes, I still have postpartum depression. It's not as raw as it once was where it burned my eyes and was sticky in my mouth. The grit in my teeth and the cracking of my neck and stiffness in my back. But it does creep in like a bitter wind under the doorway from time to time when the house is a mess, when the kids are fighting me to get out the door because we need to be somewhere at a certain time - another person's time frame or schedule. When the clean laundry is piled high on the couch waiting to be folded yet I don't have a clean pair of damn underwear anywhere. When there's nothing in the fridge to eat because taking 3 kids to the store wasn't in my vocabulary that day so it's cereal for dinner - again. And then comes the look of disappointment in my 7 & a 1/2 year old daughter's eyes because I did not cook a gourmet, organic, home cooked meal from scratch. Because she's used to that, and she loves my cooking and prefers it to any restaurant you could ever take her to, and she even tells random people about my cooking from time to time and tells me how I should enter whatever meal I just made into a contest. (Melts my heart!)

"Cereal again?" and I avoid her gaze as I go into the bathroom to cry into my hands - again - as I pretend to poop.

Postpartum depression, my friend, does not mean I am a bad mom. It does not mean I am a bad person. It does not mean I don't deserve to have my kids or have my amazing husband.

It does not mean I am a bad mom who doesn't love her kids. I love them with everything I have in my body. I love them more than I love myself most of the time. Especially since I have postpartum depression.

I need to be kinder to myself - because I am worth it.
I need to love myself more - because I deserve it.
I need to take care of myself more - because I'm worth saving.

I need to treat myself as if I were one of my children because they are protected, cherished and loved dearly. 

to be continued...

To read more of my posts about postpartum depression click here.

To read more from My Tales From The Crib click here.

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This Is My Motherhood: Mundane Monday Morning

Nursing and nursing and nursing the baby

My life once again as full-time milk lady. 

Turning off lights

Putting out fights

Ballet today. 

Better find shoes and tights.

Reminding kids about making good choices.

Reminding kids to use inside voices.

"Everybody go outside!"

"Careful at the top of the slide!"

"Stop fighting!"

Baby's biting-

    everything in sight. 

Teeth coming in-

"Rub their gums with gin?!"

Ridiculous, crazy, outdated advice!

Found out that our playgroup has lice.

Springtime breakfast picnic outside. 

From the bathroom I'm aware the baby just cried. 

...Another fish died?

Mama doing chore after chore. 

"Be as loud as you guys want as long as you close the door!"

Laundry and dishes piled up to ceilings

Reminding me of those PPD feelings. 

Buying food, 

     prepping food, 

          cooking food,

               serving food,

                    "Eat your food."

                    “I don’t want food.”

               clearing food, 

          storing food, 

     freezing food, 

wiping up food. 

"...Mama, I'm hungry."

“I’m too hot.” 

“I’m too cold.” 

“This tag is scratchy.” 

“My bread has mold.” 

“We need more milk.” 

Always running out of milk. 

Over the years I've produced millions of gallons of milk, but

"Who drank all the milk?!”

"He's laughing too loud!"

"She's breathing my air!"

"He looked out my window!"

"You're not playing fair!"

"Mommy, will daddy be home from work soon?"

I could swear it was 3 but its not even noon. 

Kids are fighting, 

baby's drooling and biting, 

tantrums

crying

Mother's Day flowers dying

"Did you break that?"

"She did it!"

"No I didn't, he's lying!"

Nursing and nursing and nursing once again. 

Thinking of rubbing my own gums with gin. 

-Colleen Duncan Canavan


What does your Motherhood look like?  Please join in and write your own Motherhood inspired poem and include the hashtag(s) below.  We can celebrate Mother's Day all year long.  

#MothersDayInspiredWritingPrompt

#ThisIsMyMotherhood

Please join us in sharing your story. Read about the Mother's Day inspired writing prompt here.

To read more from My Tales From The Crib click here.

To follow me on Twitter click here. 

To follow me on Pinterest click here. 


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This Is My Motherhood: Capturing The Moments Of Motherhood With A New Baby

I'm sitting in my rocking chair. The rocking chair that has helped me nourish my 5 month old baby almost every day of his life. This rocking chair has become a part of my body. This is where my kids find me when they wake up in the morning. This is where my husband kisses me as he's leaving for work. This is where he finds me when he comes home for lunch and then again when he comes home for dinner. This is where I try to find ways to heal my PPD. Every sleepless night, during all of the cluster feedings, all of the growth spurts, the colic, the colic and the colic - my little nursling and me. My comfortable rocking chair.



The kids are 7, 4 & a half and 5 months old. I'm exhausted and This Is My Motherhood:

Rocking chair sitting tall
Breast pads in big boxes
Big breasts in worn out nursing bras.
Breastfeeding pillow on the ottoman

          That gets thrown to the floor by kids...

Cooling Hydrogel Breast Pads

          'cause damn, it can hurt!
Humming, bubbling fish tank that used to hold three...sadly, down to one.
          The fighther. He's in good company 'round here.
Pictures of my children smiling back at me. Talking to me. Reminding me of their sweetness that day.
          No comment.
Hand lotion, throat drops & chap stick -
          Breastfeeding sucks you dry!
Water bottle that can't get refilled enough. Never enough.
          More ice please!
Coffee cup. My favorite that holds handmade decaf hazelnut lattes - when I get the time.
          Somedays I never get the time...
Non-perishable snacks in plastic containers that sometimes dub as my breakfast.
          Usually dub as my breakfast...
Baby clippers, baby socks, baby blankets & burpie cloths.
My phone, of course.
A novel that is collecting dust.
A children's book that gets opened daily.
Big box of Kleenex to wipe up tears, spit-up, kid boogers, baby drool, runny noses and mama tears.
          We have those too. Sometimes more than babies.
Every remote to every device in the room, especially the fan.
          Tiny bodies are like tiny heaters. 
Amber teething necklace to ease achey babies.
Camera to capture it all - this beautiful, messy life I have.

...oh and a pile of laundry just whining, begging and throwing tantrums to be folded.
          But let's be honest here - it's more of a "family dresser that sits on the couch" at this point.

This is my motherhood.

#MothersDayInspiredWritingPrompt
#ThisIsMyMotherhood

Please join us in sharing your story. Read about the Mother's Day inspired writing prompt here.

To read more from My Tales From The Crib click here.

To follow me on Twitter click here. 

To follow me on Pinterest click here. 

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This Is My Motherhood: Mother's Day Inspired Writing Prompt

In honor of Mother's Day coming up on May 10th, I have decided to write a few blog post writing prompts to inspire other bloggers to write about their experiences of motherhood. If you are a dad blogger I'd like to invite you to write about your experiences with fatherhood and/or a post honoring the mothers in your life. Make sure to use the hashtags below so we can read your post!

#ThisIsMyMotherhood

#MothersDayInspiredWritingPrompt

The first writing prompt is a simple poem type format (although there is no real format, really) - let's call it a list type of format where you list the things that surround you right now that capture the stage of motherhood you are currently in. Here's mine.

You could be surrounded by baby clothes, kids toys and piles of dishes.

You could be surrounded by backpacks, homework and school books.

You could be surrounded by sports equipment, drivers permits and college applications.

You could be surrounded by your grandchildren's toys and overnight bags because they are visiting.

Wherever you are right now and wherever you usually write your blog posts, I'd like you to look around and list the things you see that remind you of where you and your children are right now.

If you are out getting coffee alone (lucky you!) you might write about what it feels like to have a much needed break. Maybe you saw the toy car or the baggie of goldfish your child left in your purse as you were reaching for you wallet.

Maybe you are in your car with a napping toddler because that is the only way you can get some peace in the afternoon (I've been there!) So maybe you'll write about the things in your car or diaper bag.

Maybe you are at work and you're pumping on your break or you can see pictures of your kids on your desk.

Maybe you're like me and you're sitting in your favorite nursing chair feeding or rocking your baby.

Be sure to list your children's ages somewhere in the post and begin and end the blog post with:

This Is My Motherhood.

Please be sure to share and tweet and hashtag your post with:

#ThisIsMyMotherhood
#MothersDayInspiredWritingPrompt

so we can all read, comment, link, follow and share!  I will retweet every post with the hastags! I promise! You can include @coco_cana and comment here with a link to your blog post so I'll be sure to see it!  I will choose my favorite post to feature on our blog in a special Mother's Day post.

Have fun capturing your moments of motherhood!

Here's mine: This Is My Motherhood: Capturing The Moments Of Motherhood With A New Baby

To read more from My Tales From The Crib click here.

To follow me on Twitter click here. 

To follow me on Pinterest click here. 

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Someday: A Poem Inspired By My Toddler

Someday you won't need me to rock you to sleep while I stroke your hair and hum your favorite songs holding you for as long as you need me to because I know this won't last forever.

Someday your tiny body won't feel like a squishy marshmallow.

Someday you won't have that sweet baby smell.

Someday your chin won't be as soft as a baby's bum.

Someday you won't be sucking your thumb and twirling your hair as you gaze into my eyes while I make you laugh and watch your thumb fall out of your mouth.

Someday I won't lift you up to change your diaper and gasp at what a heavy baby you are.

Someday you won't cry when I leave the room and then throw your arms around my neck sobbing into the soft spot between my shoulder and cheek all because you want me to hold you.

Someday you'll be big enough to ride all of the "big kid rides" with sissy.

Someday I won't be the favorite person in your life.

Someday you won't run everywhere you go making your cheeks bounce up and down while you are making silly noises.

Someday you won't stand at sissy's door crying your eyes out because she won't let you in to play Calico Critters.

Someday mommy will let you have an ice cream cone even though daddy already has.

Someday you'll know every word to all of your favorite songs and you'll have lengthy conversations with your friends and we'll no longer marvel at your amazing vocabulary for a 1 & 1/2 year old.

Someday you won't want to hold my hand.

Someday you'll say, "Goodnight mom. Goodnight dad." And you'll walk into your room and go to bed without first needing to read, "Goodnight Moon."

Someday daddy and I will be able to eat dinner and watch a movie without any interruptions.

Someday you won't spontaneously break out into a silly dance while you are eating animal crackers.

Someday you'll stop eating all of your veggies.

Someday you'll be able to cross the street without me holding your hand or carrying you.

Someday you'll be too big for me to carry.

Someday you'll be too heavy for me to pick up.

Someday I'll be able to get rid of the diaper bag, the stroller, the car seats, the Ergo, the crib...

Someday you'll tell me that you fell in love.

Someday you won't cry in the middle of the night and daddy will bring your into our bed where you'll proceed to do downward dogs and then fall on us and jam your head into our ribs and make snow angels until you are taking up almost the entire mattress...at 3am.

Someday you'll jump off of the side of the pool and you won't need us to catch you.

Someday I'll say, "Give mommy a kiss" and instead of reaching up to kiss me you'll say, "Mooooom!  You're embarrassing me!"

Someday you won't need a high chair, a bib, a toddler spoon or a sippy cup.

Someday you and your sister will be mad at us for moving from Kauai.

Someday you won't use your entire hand as a yogurt spoon.

Someday you won't draw all over your body with markers.

Someday you won't find it hilarious to walk around the house with a box on your head while you bump into the walls.

Someday you won't need a night light or a bed time story or a favorite lovie to comfort you.

Someday you'll make yourself something to eat.

Someday you'll complain to me about your own toddler going through the "terrible two's" and I'll smile and think back to this phase of my life and I will laugh because I'll be so far removed from it, it will finally become funny....I look forward to that day.

Someday you'll want daddy to teach you how to ride his shovelhead, and we'll hold our breath as we watch you ride away.

Someday you'll have your own life, your own thoughts, your own ideas, your own worries and someday you won't want our advice.

Someday you won't need me to rock you to sleep while I stroke your hair and hum your favorite songs holding you for as long as you need me to because I know this won't last forever.

******

So today I'll cherish this life we have right now with you being my baby and me being your mommy. I'll cherish the laughter and the tears, the tantrums and the all-nighters, the Houdini-like escapes as I try to change a dirty diaper, the mad dashes down the hall to get a giggling baby into the tub and the naked baby chases after.  I'll cherish every silly whisper you breathe into my ear, every eye poke you give me announcing, "eye!  eye!" and every wet finger in my ear yelling, "ear!  ear!"  I'll continue to marvel when you say things out of the blue like, "5-4-3-2-1 Blast Off!" because you aren't even 2 yet or when you spin in a circle singing, "ashes, ashes..." I'll laugh when you stack all of your toys up on top of each other and when they don't fall over you throw your arms out parallel to the floor and yell, "Taaaa daaaaa!" And above all my heart will continue to melt whenever I see you smile or laugh or run and jump, or say "thank you mommy" when I bring you your "eggy and cheeee" at breakfast, or when you reach for sissy's hand to hold, or say, "ess you mama" when I sneeze or when you keep repeating, "thank you, thank you, thank you!" until I take the thing out of your hand that you no longer want to hold. Because you are my sweet, precious angel baby and I will still love you even when I am no longer walking this earth.

You will forever be my beautiful baby boy with the bright blue eyes and the bouncing blonde curls as you run away from me when I try to kiss you.

Love,
Your mommy



-Colleen Duncan Canavan

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