A God Bleeds & Cries- Guest Post, Rachel E. Bledsoe

Rachel E. Bledsoe is an extremely talented writer and Mother. When I decided to kick off a segment on my blog highlighting real parents and honest feelings; I knew I had to have her as my first featured guest post. So here is the first installment of “Real Parents”: A God Bleeds & Cries by Rachel E. Bledsoe.

​One Gatorade bottle sat on the blue kitchen counter full of needles. Every day required three to seven finger pricks, and one shot to the abdomen. Needle after needle was placed into the orange capped bottle.

​Gestational diabetes left my pregnant body with bruised fingers. Big black bruises coated an expanding belly and love handles. Some days, I cried because I didn’t want to inject another insulin shot. I didn’t want to find the finger that didn’t hurt; they all hurt. I didn’t want to do it anymore, but my doctor’s orders required every number to be counted. And I wanted my baby. I wanted a healthy baby.

​I’ve watched “The Crow” every year since I was a freshman in high school. Every year, I fell harder in love with this movie. Every year, a nuance made a bit more sense. It wasn’t until I had my baby I understood the true depth in one quote.

​Children think their parents are Gods. We are their original teachers. We are what they idolize from the beginning. We are their first role models. We are the first God they know. Parents, supposedly all knowing and omnipotent, are only a God façade.

​Our babies don’t realize we’re not equipped to be placed on their pedestal. We were never given a parenthood manual. Mostly, we are just as innocent coming into this new role as they are upon inhaling their first breath. They are our teachers, and we’re all in the same school. The school of life is a brutal bitch for everyone.

​My child never notices when I’ve forgotten deodorant. He never remarks, “Mommy, you haven’t washed your hair in a week.” He never concerns himself with the fact that my blonde hair is being rooted away by a dark brown color.

​He doesn’t understand that I didn’t buy those “Toms” shoes on sale at Whole Foods because I wanted to save that money for him. He doesn’t see the holes in my secondhand clothing. He is not fazed by the new patterns of snot stains adorning all my black yoga pants.

​He doesn’t see the fading figure which has lost over 25 pounds in two months. The weight loss is due to my every day toddler chasing, never eating an entire meal, and the worry. To my God, hear my prayers, “Take care of my child. Watch over him.”
​My child sees his own God in the form of his “Mother.”

​I say to my child, “I am no God.” I bleed. I bled for nearly eight months trying to get you into this world safely. Little blood droplets fell from my fingers onto an electronic measuring system. Every day and night, I placed the needles which drew my blood or injected my medicine into a Gatorade bottle. I wanted to save that bottle, but it was rapidly replaced by a bottle warmer and Playtex Ventaire bottles.

​I cry. I cry more than anyone will see or know. I cry from rejection. I cry from worry. I cry from feeling like I’m never doing enough. Gods don’t cry, but I do.
​I want to be the God he sees. But, I am not. I am a parent. I am a mother trying desperately to be the best Mama to one little boy. One day, he may have his own son. One day, a child may consider him a God. I hope I have prepared him. Today, I am a parent. We are all parents doing the best we can. We are trying the best we can with what our Gods taught us.

​Rachel E. Bledsoe-Rachel is an Appalachian mayhem loving Misfit Mama who works at a local newspaper during the day. At night, she stays up late and writes her blog, The Misfits of a Mountain Mama. She enjoys long walks on the beach, puppies, Marie Antoinette biographies, and babies (only the one she birthed.) She is the Mama to the Terrific Toddler who is rambunctious, rowdy, and can bite other kids within a blink of an eye. Be sure to follow all the antics and chaos by visiting The Misfits of a Mountain Mama’s Facebook page or join her on Twitter @MisfitMtMama.



My wife spent the past day and a half in the hospital. She had been feeling under the weather for a few days before it all came to a head. There was nausea, dizziness, headaches and vomiting. I would be a liar if I said I wasn’t scared. The whole scene was a flashback to our first pregnancy.

When Diana was pregnant with the boys we had a fairly smooth pregnancy until the very end. Twins are expected to come early, usually around the 38 week mark. Throughout the pregnancy everything went well. The boys grew at a good pace in their womb for two. Diana was, well, exhausted but she was healthy. Other than normal first time parent jitters we were smooth sailing into a happy, healthy family.

On March 30th, 2013 Diana began to feel absolutely awful. She had a splitting headache, so bad it affected her vision. Apparently inside her body was a disaster. Her blood pressure had skyrocketed to dangerous levels, putting strain on everything. The doctors don’t tell you about HELLP syndrome, I assume because of the amount of fear it could instill and it’s slim likelihood, they don’t want you to worry about it.

HELLPS wreaks havoc on your body. Red blood cells rupture, your platelet count plummets and your liver enzymes begin going haywire. It usually occurs during the later stages of pregnancy and is life threatening. When Diana went into the hospital they told us she was fortunate for catching it early and coming in, that a few more hours would have been her life.

IMG_6371.PNGFrom American Pregnancy

I’ve already talked about losing her briefly during the emergency C-Section so I won’t recount every bit of our first experience. What I didn’t tell you was those weren’t feelings I had shared with Diana, ever. I have always felt a need to be a rock, being strong for the both of us, for the good of our family.

I still feel that need.

When Diana began to get sick a few days ago we dismissed it as the common cold. Our boys had just gotten over not feeling well and we just assumed they had transmitted their illness like the jerks little kids are. Then came the puking. She couldn’t hold down anything, even water. Off to the hospital we went.

At the hospital they set her up on IV’s, hooked her and the baby to heart monitors and began observation. Diana was having contractions due to being dehydrated. Now while this incident wasn’t exactly the same as our first go around, the same fear creeped back.

Here we go, again, before our projected due date. Here we go, again, with Diana feeling terrible.

Here we were, again.

Flashbacks began immediately. I saw her pulse dropping. I saw the color and life leaving her face. I began to get scared, no, I began to get terrified. They hooked Diana up to her forty different things and i braced myself for another nightmare delivery.

The doctors probably think I’m some sort of sociopath. In situations like this I get super calm. I will let my insides rage, but I will not betray my emotions by showing them. They stay hidden, for I am the rock, I am strong for my family.

I didn’t sleep hardly at all the night before last. My bed felt unbearably empty. I continuously checked my phone. Was the ringer on high? Had I zoned out and missed a call? I should probably be upfront. I can’t stay in hospitals. I get uneasy. Diana was on a sleeping pill and we live five minutes from the hospital so I was at home, taking care of the dog.

I gave up on sleep around 2:30 in the morning and began doing odds and ends around the house. The doctor had said Diana would be free to go in the morning, I was still terrified. Morning rolled around and Diana was still sick, so they decided to keep her. My insides raged, my voice remained calm and collected.

“Better safe than sorry”

Around five in the afternoon they released her. Emotionally and physically drained, I took the night off from work. I have been saving my personal time since news of our latest addition, so I have about 100 hours dedicated to bonding with my son and building that paternal connection. Having my wife home, still sick but feeling better, I needed last night. I’m excited for our newborn son, but I want him to be full term when he comes. I don’t want to relive having a wife in ICU and a child in NICU.

The past few days have been a reminder of our first childbirth. From that experience I got two handsome boys who have taught me so much more about being a man than anything else. I also gained a phobia for when the time comes, a fear of loss. As flashbacks to the first time play through my head I begin to feel the full impact and gravity of what’s to happen very soon.

How were your pregnancies? Were there complications? Do you or your significant other feel the need to stay strong during such emotional times?