Queen B or Queen Me?

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To celebrities having or who have been blessed with twins or multiples in general,

This is what being a mother of multiples really looks like. Even mothers with multiple children. No makeup, no retouching on my belly, booty or my baggy under-eyes. I have yesterday’s spit up on my wrinkled sweats and today’s regurgitated sweet potatoes running down my shoulder. I have this beanie basically glued to my head because what I refer to as “hair” is a mashed down matted mess (say that 5 times fast)
I tell myself that it’s an “earthy” look to feel better. My glasses have the cutest, greasiest little fingerprints on them that are (what seems like) impossible to remove. I’m wearing a sports bra because I don’t even own anymore real bras that fit my weirdly shaped postpartum “boobs” if that’s what I’d call them. Did I mention that I stink? Or that I only managed to shave one leg this week because I was too tried to even bother with the other one? I hear ghost cries when I shower, when I go to the bathroom, even when I sleep. I don’t have a nanny to run to them when I’m doing basic everyday things.

Please…I am not hating on you Beyoncé. Queen B. Your maternity photos were beautiful. They made me wish I hadn’t been on strict bed and pelvic rest when I was pregnant with my identical twin sons. I dreamt of being in that iconic whimsical long gown with my bare belly exposed. In a forest of natural beauty behind me. I would have looked down that camera lens with a stare of longing…longing to be that mother I’d always imagined. Longing to show the real beauty of what it truly is to carry a child within our wombs. The only background I saw for eight months was the blue wall that my 55 inch TV sat in front of. Laying in bed watching Netflix in my two bedroom apartment that felt like a padded cell or what I would assume solitary confinement feels like.

If you’ve made it this far, it sounds like I am complaining. Sounds sad and pitiful doesn’t it? In reality everything I am describing is typically how a twin or multiple pregnancy goes. None of it…not only single minute of that experience mattered once my sons were born prematurely at 34 weeks gestation. I’d have laid in that bed for years longer if it meant that I got to physically hold those two tiny babies in my arms at the end of it all. Because missing out on those gorgeous maternity photos didn’t end up mattering. No one around to see my “pregnant glow” didn’t throw me off of the goal. The goal to make sure those boys made it.

The internet broke when Yoncè announced she was having twins. A week later Madonna adopted twin girls and George Clooney just announced he will be the father of twins this summer as well. The internet is exploding with pictures of these celebs. Yet my worst nightmare is someone taking a picture of me walking into Walmart with my puked on sweats, mismatched slippers and oversized jacket on. People stare at me. They seem apprehensive with me walking behind them….trudging on a mission to get to the baby isle for more formula and back out before I see someone I know. They probably think I am some vagrant or a shoplifter with the way I look and how hastily I try to get in and out of grocery stores. The dark sunglasses probably don’t help this matter much but c’mon I’m trying to hide the planet size half-moon bags under my eyes.

When a celebrity, announces a pregnancy let alone a multiple pregnancy…the world does freak out. Though for every one “like” on E News’s article showcasing B’s beautiful belly…their is a mom out there just trying to make sure everyone is still breathing at the end of the day. There is a sleep deprived, coffee pounding gremlin with stale vomit on her clothing dreaming of “sleeping in” just one more time. For all of the mothers and moms of multiples out there who dream of putting their makeup on everyday and being “Becky with the Good Hair” we welcome you to this weird kind of amazing group you’re about to enter, Beyoncé.

Disclaimer: This is a blog about twin/multiple pregnancy BUT to the mothers who have just one child or two children of different ages or more (Look at me. Feel me) you are nonetheless absolutely amazing! You’re doing this too! You’re breastfeeding a newborn whilst also telling your toddler to take that penny out of his mouth. You’re a goddess too and you are included here.

I don’t know if my butt will ever look like Kim Kardashians again. I don’t know if I’ll ever be confident enough to wear a two piece bikini showing these stretch marks. I don’t know if I’ll ever have the patience to let my hair grow out and be long and whimsical. I don’t know if I’ll ever shower regularly again and “slay”. You know what I do know though? I am slaying…I am doing the absolute best that I can to make sure I’m raising good human beings. I may be “B The Diaper Demon Slayer” but I’m still slaying. WE ARE. All of us little people. All of us who struggle to eat sleep and poop in peace.

So far I’ve found that motherhood isn’t about getting that perfect Instagram photo of your baby. It isn’t about mommy groups and judging each other over parenting styles. It isn’t about who still takes the best selfies and can wing their eyeliner like a pro. It’s about being absolutely overwhelmed and sticky and gross and tried and mentally exhausted, sore, and grumpy…and that little person…those little people that you made, they look up at you before bed every night and you have that moment like nothing bad mattered. They matter.

If unconditional love had a look…that look from your children is it. And you know what? You f*$&@ing slay mama, you’re the women Beyoncé writes about. The women Madonna’s career stands on empowering. You are.

-B

Hearts Scream

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With so much beauty in this world, there is so much hate and ugliness. Discontent, pain and sorrow. We all feel these things. Sometimes daily. It pains me to an extent unheard of to see so much pain all around me every day. We all do the things we do because of a sorrow we carry the burden of in our hearts. Our vices, our bad decisions all stem from some hurt that blackens our soul, everyday. If I could reach in and put a metaphorical blanket on these wounds I would. Like a mother that consoles her children. I love human beings. I don’t want to know how great you are, I want to know you’re pains, you’re heartache. I want to feel what hurts you. I want to love you. I want to fill the void of love and comfort in you’re heart that I am missing from mine.

From the outside, I may seem so put together and ready, ready for life and its fastballs. But really, inside I am as introverted as an artist, a poet. I carry so much yearning and discontent. And with this, it makes me want to meant others, or at least try and love. You’re accomplishments don’t make you better. You’re mistakes make you the person you carry. You’re pain makes you gorgeous. You’re pain makes you every color. You’re pain makes you real.

If our hearts had a loud-speaker on them, we would all hear each other screaming out for help, screaming for love. Screaming for forgiveness. What do you scream for? What can one person give to you, that will fill you’re heart with calming sensation. Look at the person you most admire today. And remember these words. Their heart is screaming and longing for someone, something. No matter how strong one person may seem. Our hearts all scream together. Maybe is we all took a second from our day and just listened…you can hear..you can but slightly hear the screaming, the calling of all the bruised hearts around us. Listen to the screams one by one, and comfort, quite the hearts you can. Fill the voids with a silhouette of the softest blanket you can imagine.

Look down…to the spot where the most important muscle in you’re body beats. Look at you’re heart and listen to its cries. Listen to the pain. Don’t ignore it…please don’t ignore it. Let someone mend you. Let someone love you. Let faith in others overwhelm you with all the kindness this cruel world has left to scrounge up.

We all know what it is like to feel like a bird in a cage. A cagable, tamable pet. Looked upon with judgment and a decoration for others to admire or hurt. All you want to be is free, free to feel the wind under you’re wings. Free to sing atop you’re beautiful lungs as long as the day carries. We all know what it is like to be this caged bird. Sworn off from the world around us. Only seeing as far as our locked door allows. Please, open you’re cage door today and carefully, yet surly…fly out. Let the world in. Let the light overwhelm you with welcomness and courageous tendencies. Let love find you behind this open door and be who you yearn to be. Fly where the eprevesant wind carries you. Let you’re heart stop screaming, and let it sing.

shut you’re eyes and sing to me,

shut you’re eyes and sing to me.

You’re uncaged bird,

Muavarosebud

Releasing You

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I know what it is like to feel so on display. Sometimes we all wish we could just sit in an empty room an just be. Just exist. Without judgement. Without question. Or hesitation for that matter as well. It is okay to be yourself, you know? That weird personality we keep tucked inside. Only let out when we are alone or in front of very select induviduals. It is okay to trust. That weird in us is what makes us…us. The way we presume our day to day lives isn’t really who we are. It is who society says it’s OK to be. To mention social networks. To be internet famous. To have the most followers. To get the most likes on a picture uploaded. That shouldn’t be what we depend on to make us happy, right?

I want to live everyday and be that person you feel you can let you’re weird out in front of. I want to make you feel like I am you’re friend. Because I am. I want to know those secret stations on your Pandora that no one knows you listen to, only when your alone. I want to see the face you make in the mirror when no one is looking. I want to know what the last thing you think about is, right before you fall asleep every night. Tell me how sad you are. Cry even. Let me look at you in the eyes and listen to what you have to let out. Let me touch you, in comfort.

For one day. I wish everyone could get up and do the daily rutine. But do it for yourself. Dont put on makeup for to impress any single person. Just be who you are. That weird self that wants to come out. Snort when something is too funny. Please dont cover you’re mouth when you smile or laugh. And tell someone you dont know that they are pretty. Tell someone that they look lovely. You have no idea how good it feels, and how good it feels to hear it. Go write to a person you have had a bad past with. Forgive them. Unburden them, and unburden yourself. No matter that persons response.

Today. Forgive yourself for being so hard. Forgive that “me” in you’re head that is such a tough critic. Look at yourself in the mirror and smile. Know that you are going to go out and be every single thing that you are with all that you have. Love people harder. Sing your favorite song louder. Cry when you feel the urge. Get it out. Get every negative thing out of your body. It is time to clense. Take you’re hair down and shake it out. Jump onto the highest thing and scream! Hit something. Fall to the ground and forgive. Today you can be that person. The person that you are. Go do that thing you have always wanted to do. Who cares? You don’t. You are free.

I want to release you.

– Mama Muavarosebud

Melodies to Memories

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Every once in a while, we hear a song on the radio. Maybe we were kids when its melodies stuck in our minds with comforting memories. The song triggers an emotion in us…maybe its hymns bring tears, a smile, pain. Where where we when we heard this song?

Maybe down those never ending rows of people in a sanctuary saying goodbye to a loved one lost. The song emphasized who this person was, “Look at the stars, look how they shine for you…and everything you do.” Maybe we where driving away from a chaotic scene, driving harder, faster away from destruction, “Have heart, my dear we’re bound to be afraid even if it’s just for a few days making up for all this mess.”

It is kind of cliche and ironic to recall this story now. When I was four years old, I remember begging my mom to play the “purple song.” I would cry until she’d reluctantly say “Again Brittany Taylor good lord!” I know it must seem silly…but there had to have been symbolic meaning then…well to some extent. Driving away from a broken home, a cold April night.*Crash* glass shatters on the kitchen tile. Mom was crying the hardest I’d seen. So I cried. She scooped me out of my bed, threw me in the car, and we sped away down the long driveway. I didnt understand why she was holding her hand, how did she get hurt so late at night? She always placed my hand under hers on the gear shift. I finally mustered up the courage to as. “Mommy?” She answered, “The purple song?.”You say you want a leader, But you can’t seem to make up your mind. I think you better close it, And let me guide you to the purple rain.”

Songs can bring us back, motivate us to move forward. I can’t tell you why that specific song. But the times when it comes on in the car radio now fourteen years later, my eyes well up with tears…and my mom puts her hand over mine of the gear shifter.

Cherished Stories; Valuable Lessions

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We all would like to think of ourselves as a connoisseur of certain sorts. Me myself, I am a listener. Tell me your story, your dreams, your thoughts. It is all important here.

As a child, I recall looking up at my grandmother. Telling me stories of love, loss, adventure. Most of us have these memories. Fortunately for those. Not only did i listen to these stories but I learned a specific valuable lesson that has recently revisited my troubled mind. My grandmother, a wise, even tempered beautiful Indian woman, never let a soul see her cry. Her face always stoic and porcelain like. Yet if you looked behind her eyes you could sense her past.

She taught me that at times in life, every woman believes she has found her one and only. But as we all know, surprises come about in many aspects. People aren’t usually what they seem. We make mistakes as couples and the test on the relationship is if it can sustain these trials and tribulations.

Time does not always seal wounds. If we fail as a couple…we cant always put the pieces back together, no matter ho hard our hearts strain for this. Moral for this story, sometimes there is just too much history between two people. It makes a future impossible. Chemically we cant bring our minds to stop wanting to attach to a person whom we shared many memories with. But for better health and a less regretful life…we have to move on. Love between these people doesn’t have to dissipate. Memories are forever. Though letting go is at most times the true sign for eternal love.