My Mother and Me. Org

A Story for Moms and Dads- Learning As They Go.

So even though you’re just starting to get used to the idea that things are changing—and not always in a good way—you’re also trying to adjust to the sudden drop in energy.
The ZZZs come fast and hard.
No matter how much you fight it, no matter how determined you are to stay awake…
Sleep wins.

And not just once.
Every. Single. Time.

Much to your surprise—because no one warned you about this battle.

It affects you so much that your doctor eventually puts you on bed rest after you’re found falling asleep while standing up. Shocker, right? Let’s not even talk about dozing off while driving—when you suddenly realize you need to pull over somewhere safe and call your honey to come get you. He does.

Of course, your honey insists on calling the doctor.
And of course, the doctor restricts your driving.
Who knew?

Now you understand why cops give pregnant women a much-needed break.

Meanwhile, everyone around you is buzzing with excitement—planning, plotting, dreaming up the best baby shower they can possibly throw. And there you are: starving, craving, and falling asleep mid-thought. All you can really manage is a smile and a quiet, “Sure.”

Some days, all you can do is drag yourself into a much-needed actual shower. Other days, sleep wins again and bathing has to wait. Yet somehow, despite heightened senses, you don’t hear a single, “Girl, go bathe that skin.” You don’t carry a negative smell—maybe because of the hidden internal changes no one talks about.

Still, health and hygiene matter—not just for you, but for that little one growing inside you. So no matter how late it is, when you finally wake up, you hit the shower. Or drag yourself to it. Whichever comes first. And even if the energy only lasts a few hours, you feel Renewed, Refreshed, Revitalized.

At this point, a shower—even a baby shower—is welcomed. And if that’s what the family wants, so be it. As long as you can sleep and satisfy your cravings as they pop up. All you really have to do is show up dressed, clean, and beautiful. You tell yourself, Don’t get nauseous that’s the goal. Even though you have no control. Lofty, huh? I am sure God laughs.

Morning sickness—it’s called.
But that’s another story.

Eating healthy and sleeping have officially become your top priorities.

So when your honey—your bestie, your boo—calls before heading home to ask if you need anything special to eat (how very considerate), you don’t hesitate.

You break out the list.

Sweet midget pickles—but only Vlasic.
Nothing else will do.
A gallon, please.
And if there’s no gallon, bring five jars.

Then you add,
“Oh—and honey, can you please bring two gallons of milk. It must be this brand.”

He comes home, and you’re happy to see him…
until you see the milk.

It’s the wrong brand.
That’s all you can process.
The wrong brand.

Never mind that the stores didn’t carry yours. Never mind that it’s not sold in his state. Never mind that he went to four different store on the hunt for your special brand. After four stores, he brought what they had. You try—really try—to be a good sport. But everything tastes like water. The craving isn’t satisfied.

And suddenly, an unrecognizable outburst fills the air. It comes from inside you. You are not a cryer—but now, tears are gushing. You don’t even recognize yourself as you dissolve into a puddle that lasts well into the night.

You try to stop crying.
You can’t.
No one sleeps.
The craving remains unmet.

So your honey(Lord bless him) loads you into the car and drives across state lines and stops at the first gas station market and low and behold he finds “The Milk”.

He returns prepared—with several individual sizes, a couple of quarts, and two additional gallons for future emergencies.

Nope. Not at all, but In my mind he did. All he could say is this is not a grocery store and the prices at the station is ridiculous. My mind spun with questions…what if this happens again? What are we going to do? I was drawn back to the reality that I needed this milk so badly I could cry. Oh no I did, and still was.

He brought 1 gallon and as the tears are dripping and as it’s was fought back at the same time because we came all this way all you could think is… cold, thick, rich, creamy, soothing milk. It is in my hands, and what if you needed some more again well that simply flew out the window. Carvings are new to him, and you too. You then ask for a cup, and he looks at you like really? You stop; say “Thank You,” and without a thought just breaks into it. It’s open and just as you raise it…

He looks at you in disbelief and states “you are not going to put that to your head and drink it are you?” The look you give him is one of don’t mess with me right now as you have to quench this need for “the milk” in hand. You say nothing you are happy to get “The Milk”.

You look at your honey and smile.
“Thank you.”

He asks softly, “Are you okay now?”

It’s after midnight when you get home from the four-hour round trip. Worth every drop of gas—but reality hits. He has work in the morning. Four hours of sleep maybe less.

You cry again, feeling terrible, questioning these waterworks that appear at the drop of a thought.

In silent frustration, he gets up without a word, takes “the milk”, walks out with his keys—and returns without it.

You ask “where is the milk?”

Calmly, he says he threw it in the community dumpster… turn out the lights, and goes to bed.

The tears explode again—like a broken spigot.

You can’t climb into the dumpster, even though you try. It’s locked. Too tall. Standing on the hood or roof of the car isn’t an option. Looking back, it reminds you of that sitcom “According to Jim” in the episode where Jim and Andy climb into a dumpster over the kids’ artwork—but that’s another story.

Trash day is tomorrow. Panic sets in. You even consider sitting by the dumpster until morning, but it’s cold. So you sob until dawn.

Eventually, your sour honey wakes up, calls his mom, and tells her everything. She, JoAnn (Doedoe), and his Dad, Daniel(Dink) is on speaker. They are explaining what happens to most women to your Sour Sweetie.

She explains gently: This is normal.

Suddenly we both hear the ariel beeping. sure enough it is…you guessed it; the trash truck. As the trash trucks approach, he silently throws on a robe, drives to the dumpster, retrieves the milk, washes it off, and puts it back in the Refrigerator.

His mom, JoAnn( Doedoe) makes it clear—it’s not you. It’s cravings. And until they’re satisfied, things only get worse.

From that day on, the special branded Milk, Jamocha Shakes, sour Crabapples, Ten-Bean Soup, and Double Chocolate Coca-Cola cake were never questioned again.

You smile.
You drink your milk.
You go to bed—happy and forgiving.

He showers, shampoos, shines—kisses you lightly, and heads to work.

So maybe showers shouldn’t just be for moms.

Maybe dads deserve one too.
A dad shower.
A bro-key shower.
A laid-back celebration with food, sports, and support—because this journey changes them too.

Or maybe a baby shower for both parents—celebrating with all their friends ( a real party) not just the arrival of a baby, but the adventure they’re already living.

Because motherhood begins early.
And fatherhood?

It does too. So yes—
Two showers.
Please.