BlogHer 09 is less than one month away. Everywhere I go, I see posts and tweets about how nervous people. Will they feel left out? Will they get snubbed by The Populars? What will they wear? Oh, the anxiety!
I remember how nervous I was the first year that I went. I worried about the same things I’m seeing pop up on twitter. But decided I wasn’t going to let those fears keep me from having a good time. I was going to MAKE MY OWN FUN! And do you know what? That’s exactly what I did. I made the experience my own. When a friend had to ditch me to go to the Super Exclusive Hotel Room Part-ay, I didn’t allow myself to feel hurt or bitter. There was entire group of interesting people I could mingle and get to know outside!
I ended up having the BEST time, meeting fabulous women. And I know that sounds so cheesy, but it’s the truth.
After that first year, I realized there was nothing to be nervous about. (Well, with the exception of THE PLANE RIDE BECAUSE OH MY GOD JESUS HELP ME IN THE SKY!!) Each year I have made new friends, hung out with old friends and made memories that will make me smile and, in some cases, Make Sweet Pee Pee, for the rest of my life. So, I’d like to share my Top 10 BlogHer Memories with you. If you’ve been to BlogHer and would like to do the same, please do and make sure to link back to it in the comments so I can come read yours!
#10 Getting punched by Jen Lancaster.
I had known Jen (online) for a couple of years before I met her at the 2007 Chicago conference. I was more than just a little bit excited to know I would finally get a chance to meet her in person. At the first cocktail party, I kept asking everyone that I talked to “have you seen Jen Lancaster?” It was kind of sad, because I had “bulging discs” and literally could not turn my head, so I had to rely on others to be on the lookout for her. I was on the “dance floor” watching Oh, The Joys, Bossy and Casey dance it up when out of the BLUE, I hear someone say “OH MY GOD, YOU ARE SUCH A LIAR, YOU ARE NOT FAT!” followed by a “POW” right on my arm. It was Jen. And she had just a) called me a lair b) punched me. I love telling people that Jen Lancaster punched me!
#9 Getting a text message from Heather B (also, discovering my phone had texting capabilities!)
It was my first BlogHer experience and I was nervous as I walked through the doors of the conference room after just having arrived from the airport. I received a text, so I opened it up. I didn’t recognize the number… the message said something like “OMG I just saw you walk by.” I was all “um, hi! who is this?” And she was all “It’s Heather B” and I was all “OMG. where are you at?” And she was all “by the pool!” So I ran out the door, headed for the pool where I not only met Heather, but also Chris, Mir and Carmen. Who knew that would be the beginning of the kind of friendship where we were comfortable doing things like this:
#8– The Unexpected and Terrifying “Ride” Elevator Ride at the St.Regis Hotel.
When Lindsay and I first stepped into the elevator, I may have said something like “Oh, look, it’s glass, you can see outside!” I think I was so in awe of the pretty view, that I may have forgotten to push the button to choose a floor. WHOOPS. All of a sudden, the elevator shot up, then came flying back down again, then back up again, then down again. I was trying to hold my shit together (had I been alone, I would have been all “JESUS SAVE ME I’M SORRY FOR EVERYTHING!”) so as not to look like a jackass, but then Lindsay, Ms. CoolCalmAndCollected kind of started freaking out so I was all “What the hell? THIS IS THE WORST!” We realized we hadn’t chose a floor, corrected our mistake and all was well with the world again.
#7 – Kicking back in the FURNITURE DEPARTMENT at MACY’S drinking wine and talking with Glennia and Maria and many, many others.
No, seriously, there was a part-ay INSIDE OF Macy’s. And the party moved from one floor to the other, one of the floors was the home furnishings floor. They had the book signing for Sleep is for the Week there. I can’t even express to you the panic I felt in my soul watching people sit on the white couches with their glasses of wine. NUTS, I tell you.
#6 Getting my hair and make up done by a professional. Named Jesus.
This is not only one of my top Blogher Memories, but one of the best memories of MY LIFE. I was doing an interview with Leah Peah for Alpha Mom. I had no idea there would be someone there who would do my makeup. Nor did I have any idea his name would be JESUS. And it wasn’t pronounced like every other person who I had ever known in my life named Jesus (Hey-Soos.) It was actually pronounced “JESUS!” I can’t even begin to describe the joy I felt in my soul when I got to say “Thank you for making me look so pretty, Jesus.”
#5– Crashing a Part-ay!
We had heard that Rhymes with Meal Pimple was having a party. So, we were all “let’s go check it out.” When we got there, The Meal Pimple people were all like “this was an invite only party.” And we were all “oh, we weren’t invited, we just came to check it out.” And they were all “that’s okay! Go ahead and grab a name tag and write your name on the back.” And so we were all “OKAY! Awesome! Thank you!” We entered the room and were immediately served a delicious dinner that I still think about every now and then. After dinner was over, we sat in an area in the back of the room where we quietly sipped on drinks from the Open Bar. I began to suspect that EVEN THOUGH they had invited us in, they weren’t happy about us being there. Something about them picking up the Swag Bags and HIDING THEM FROM US just made me think that MAYBE, we weren’t as welcome as we were led to believe. The hiding of the Swag Bags was followed by a not so loving suggestion that we were “FREE TO TAKE OUR CONVERSATION OUTSIDE.” and also by a very personalized announcement that “Ladies? THE BAR IS NOW CLOSED.”
#4 Sleeping with Amalah
It’s not as sexy as it sounds. After the cocktail party, I joined Amy in her room for a little after party with HeatherB, Jen and Becky. (If I left someone out, I’m sorry!!) I remember ordering pizza and wine. I remember laughing, A LOT. I remember being forced into doing The Worm. And the next thing you know, it was 4 am and I woke up in Amy’s bed in a pool of drool and with severe After Too Much Alcohol Shits. I was seriously like OH MY GOD THIS CAN NOT HAPPEN IN AMALAH’S ROOM. THIS SIMPLY CAN NOT HAPPEN. But it was happening and there was nothing I could do to stop it. I ran to the bathroom, where my ass proceed to explode. I must have done 20 Courtesy Flushes, but they were not “helping” if you know what I’m saying and I think that you do. I needed air freshener (and quite possibly towels to lay in front of the opening at the bottom of the bathroom door.) In a moment of panic, I reached for one of Amy’s hair products and began to spray. SPRAY SPRAY SPRAY. It helped a little, but not much. As soon as I felt like the worst of it was over, I knew I had to make a mad dash out of there before she woke up. I washed my hands, closed the bathroom door behind me. I crawled on my hands and knees to feel the floor for my shoes. Once I found them, I took off RUNNING from her room, barely making it back to mine to finish what I had started in Amy’s bathroom.
#3– Drinking a beer with Miss Zoot.
I don’t like beer, but I love love LOVE Miss Zoot, so when she told me she wanted a beer, but felt awkward about having one (because everyone else was drinking Girly Girl Drinks) I was all “I’ll have a beer with you!” I loved being able to do something with her, that made her feel at ease. That’s what friends are for, man. For drinking beers with.
#2 CheeseburgHer Party!
If you’ve not heard the story, you can read how it all started here. So many memories from the first and second one. People eating bean dip WHILE SITTING ON OUR PILLOWS. Serious Conversations With Bags on Heads. “We’re just writers, sir.” security threatening to EVICT US, but then laughing about and posing for pictures in the hallway while trying to get rid of the 100’s of people in our room. There isn’t anything I haven’t loved about those parties. I can’t wait for this years.
#1 Reading at the First Annual Community Keynote.
I was stunned when I received an email informing me a post of mine had been submitted and chosen for this event. I hadn’t submitted it. (Thought about submitting something, but was terrified at the thought of reading in front of 1,000 people.) I was flattered to have been selected, but also terrified. I had absolutely no idea that it would be a life changing event. I know that sounds Very Dramatic, but it’s the truth. I stood up there, barefoot and trembling and read words that were deeply personal and painful. The paper shook as my hands trembled. I felt a lump rise in my throat and tears form in my eyes as I read. I also felt the love and support of every single person that room and that is what kept me from losing it entirely. When I finished, people cheered. I couldn’t see the faces, but numerous people approached me after it was over to tell me that they had cried as I read. That they related to the words that I spoke. It was amazing and I am grateful for having been given the chance to be a part of such an incredible event.
Honorable Mentions:
Singing in the bathroom with Jenny (The Bloggess)
The cab ride to the airport after BlogHer07 in which Lena was a liiiiiiiiittle sick and not in the mood to talk, but I couldn’t help myself and kept talking anyway. EVEN AFTER she turned her head away from me and said things like “please stop talking.” Also, the plane ride home, in which we argued about whether the creature in the ocean on the tv screen was a whale or a shark and I was all “OBVIOUSLY, you’ve never been to Sea World” and some business dude couldn’t help himself, turned around and corrected me. But, you had to be there, I think. Actually, pretty much EVERY SINGLE MOMENT with Lena. I love her.
Meeting Amy Sedaris AND making her laugh.
Walking into to the lobby of the W in Chicago and seeing WOMEN DOING THE WORM. I’m looking at you, Jessica.
I could go on for hours– so many wonderful memories. So many beautiful people.
In conclusion: BlogHer is kick ass fun and you really don’t have anything to be nervous about. You WILL make friends, you will find Your Tribe and have a good time. I promise you.
You know things aren’t good when you’re crying over french toast.
Yesterday was one of the most beautiful mornings I can remember.
The sky was a perfect shade of blue, the clouds were white as cotton. The air was crisp and cool, but the sun was shining brightly. It was breathtaking, really.
I pushed back the curtains to let the rising sun light up the house. I opened every window in the house at 6:30 in the morning to let the cool, fresh air in. I sat in front of the window, closed my eyes and took a deep breath. Inhale. Exhale. Sometimes I feel like I’m fighting to catch my breath. It felt good to sit there, to relax and enjoy the moment.
I’m having a rough time right now. I won’t elaborate except to say I’m feeling overwhelmed with things.
I’m doing the best that I can– using techniques that I learned to deal with anxiety and stress. It helps get me through each day.
And really, right now, that’s what I’m doing. Just trying to get through each day, hoping each night as I lay my head on my pillow to go to sleep that tomorrow is the day I don’t have to remind myself to breathe.
My Babies Daddy
I regret publishing the previous post. I wish I had waited until we had kissed and made up. That way, I could have written something I was proud of. Sigh.
In any case, we ended up having a wonderful day with our children and really, that’s all that matters.
Happy Fathers Day. I’m sorry I called you an A-hole.
Lately, it seems I’m a constant disappointment to the people in my life.
Let’s take today for example. I called my Dad this morning, 20 minutes before his service started, to wish him a Happy Fathers Day and to tell him I wanted to come over after church to bring him his present. “All morning I thought you were going to surprise me and come to church… that’s all I wanted. That would have been the best present in the world.”
Guess who was still in their pajamas? And who had no intention on going to church?
I hung up with my Dad, feeling awful, knowing I had disappointed hm yet again. That is when my husband thought it would be a good time to remind me for the 15th time that I didn’t give my Grandma a card for her birthday. He kept going on and on about it until I got pissed off and fought back with anger and tears. “How many birthday cards did you give YOUR Grandma while she was alive?” (The answer? NONE.) He was quick to point out the only reason I said such an ugly thing was “out of guilt” and to try to make myself feel better.
I wanted to write a heartfelt post for my husband for Fathers Day, but it’s not easy to do when I’m hurt and angry with him. But no matter how I feel about him right this very moment, I must acknowledge what an incredible father he is to our children. He always put his children first and I’ve never once heard him complain about how hard he works every day of his life to make sure they’re taken care of. He’s patient, compassionate and creative. Our children love him deeply and they are aware of how lucky they are to have such a dedicated man as their father.
I wish I could do this morning all over again, but since I can’t, I’ll just say Happy Fathers Day, Tony. I still love you.
.12.
I still remember the very first time that I saw him.
June 19th, 2:47 pm.
When the nurse handed him over to me, I was in awe. I guess I expected him to look exactly like his brother did when he was born. But he looked completely different. Creamy white skin. Big ears, one folded over, pressed against his head. Tiny, squinted eyes, perfect little lips.
I had worried that I’d not have enough love to give to a second child. I loved my first baby so much, I couldn’t imagine giving that love to another child. I think most mother’s worry about that and I certainly was no different.
That fear melted the minute I laid eyes on him.
Corny as it may sound, I knew in the first few weeks of his life I knew there was something incredibly special and wonderful about my son.
He had the most amazing personality. And Oh! how he loved loved loved his Mama. As a baby, he could grab my face and give me slobbery wet kisses. As a toddler, he would climb up on my lap, hold my face in his hands and say things like “I just wuv you so much my booyeeful mommy!” And if anyone dared to be mean to me, he would tell them where they could shove it. Like the one time my brother was teasing me at dinner. E was only 3 years old. We were out to dinner with the family. My brother kept teasing me saying things like “What about that what time you did *insert mocking words.*” E had had enough. He stood up, walked over to my brother and said “HEY, WHAT ABOUT YOUR BUTT?!”
E always loved to spend time with me. He was my little shadow and man, was he ever a joy to have around. He could be difficult– like, how he refused to wear plain t-shirts because “THEY ARE SO DUMB AND UGLY!” (when he was THREE.) but he could also be the sweetest, kindest, most considerate little person. I always knew where I stood with him. If he was mad, he would cross his precious little arms and say “I’m SO mad’tchu, Mommy!” Then, 5 minutes later, he’d wrap his arms around my legs and tell me how much he loved me and how I was the best mommy in the whole wide world.
Yesterday, that adorable little boy turned 12 years old. And even though he’s older, not much has changed. Sure, he’s older and more mature, but he’s still that same tenderhearted boy at heart. He still lets me know when he’s upset, but is always quick to tell me how much he loves me. He can hurt me deeply when he’s angry at me, but can melt my heart with his kindness.
Hard to believe it’s been 12 years since I first laid eyes on him. It takes my breath away every time he talks about how much he’s looking forward to starting junior high in August.
Junior high.
I didn’t post this yesterday because I’ve had the hardest time writing this post. Not because I don’t love him, but because he’s the most wonderful, unique, hilarious child in the world and I sob like a baby when I think of how wonderful our lives have been since he came along.
Happy Birthday, beautiful boy. Thank you for making me laugh so hard that it hurts on a daily basis. I love love love you.
What he looked like the morning he turned 12.
I Wasn’t Lying When I Said I was Taking Pictures of My A-S-S
Someone left a precious little comment here about how they hadn’t visited my blog in two years and how they were all “I bet she’s still talking about fat!” And HA HA HA HA HA she clicked on my blog and whatt’ya know? I was posting about fat! hahahahhaha.
That is why I had originally started the weight loss blog. I wanted to keep my weight loss stuff separate from my personal writings to keep other people happy. But I quickly realized that I didn’t have enough time in the day to update ONE blog, so having two was stressful. Also? I can write about my weightloss, or my thyroid or whatever I want to write about every day if I feel like it. I mean, I love most people that read here and would never purposely want to offend anyone, but if you get sick of what I write about, you’re always free to stay away for Two Years and then check up on me and then comment to tell me how much I suck for STILL WRITING ABOUT FAT.
My life is consumed with trying to lose weight right now. I HAVE to lose weight. When I went for my appointment with my NEW endocrinologist, she informed me that I’m insulin resistant (pre-diabetic.) She prescribed me metformin (but I’m too scared to take it.) She told me that I have to lose at least 80 pounds. Diabetes runs in my family, so hearing those words was frightening. ( And don’t even get me started on the heart issues.) My life has been altered drastically by this stupid autoimmune disease and I’m doing my best to deal with it. It’s been the hardest thing I’ve ever been through. Writing it out, although I’m sure it is boring as all hell to read, is helpful to me. I know I’ve lost a great deal of readers because of it, but I can’t worry about that. All that is important to me right now is losing 80 pounds so that I don’t develop further health problems. You know?
It’s been difficult. Months of working out and changing eating habits with very little results. But finally, FINALLY, things are changing for me. Weight is dropping (I’m at my lowest in YEARS– 222 pounds, down from 237) and my body is changing in size and shape. Also, my body is getting stronger. I no longer need to run to my car to use my son’s inhaler when I finish doing the elliptical. in fact, last night? I RAN on the treadmill. Granted, only for 2 minutes at a time, but still. I RAN.
Also? I sweat when I work out now. For the longest time, I wouldn’t sweat. No matter how hard I worked. Then, I would sweat a little and I was so happy about that. Now? I ACTUALLY DRIP SWEAT. And? I GET SWEAT MARKS ON THE BACK OF MY SHIRT
ALSO?
MY ASS IS SMALLER. And I know this because I took pictures of it.
Before:
Current (in the same jeans.)
(still big, but smaller, but also kind of flatter and I’m not sure I like that. I don’t want a flat ass! Am going to google “how to lose weight and keep your J-Lo ass RIGHT THIS MINUTE.)
(Okay, turns out it only LOOKS flat because the jeans are big. I put on my yoga pants and you can still Rest a Cup on It. Whew!)
Every single day I need motivation to keep working out, to keep eating right. Every.Single.Day. So I write about it, so I post pictures. And while I find writing things out to be incredibly therapeutic, I have to be honest and say the feedback I get on these posts help keep me going. If that makes me pathetic, so be it. I’d rather be pathetic than I would HAVE DIABETES.
Thank you for following me on this journey. It means more to me than you could ever possibly imagine.
The Story of Our Joy Unexpected
I was asked to write a birth story to coincide with Discovery Health’s Baby Week. I agreed because it was the perfect motivation to finally write Her Story. (And no, I was not paid to write this.)
*******
It was August 2nd, two days before my due date. I had been down this road twice before. I knew what the beginning of labor felt like. I knew that the time had finally arrived. I was only 4 days late, but it felt like 4 months. This pregnancy was not planned. This pregnancy had come at a difficult time in our lives. But we had 9 months to get over the shock, 9 months to fall in love with The Baby We Never Thought We’d Have.
I wanted some time alone with my boys before I had the baby. I wanted one last chance to have just the two of them, only 11 and 7 years old, before their baby sister arrived.
“Mommy is going to have her baby soon.” I told them. “Would you like to lay on the couch with me until it’s time for Dad to take me to the hospital?”
In one of the sweetest, most touching moments of my life as a mother, my two beautiful sons lay on the sofa, one on each side of me, their heads on my lap. I ran my fingers through there hair as I told him how much I loved them. How lucky I was to be their Mama. Tears began running down my cheeks as I tried to imagine how our lives together would change with a new baby in the house.
“Why are you crying, Mommy? Does it hurt?” My youngest asked, while looking up at me. He always worries about his Mama, that one.
“Just a little bit.” I answered. “But don’t worry. I was fine when I had you and your brother. I’m going to be fine.”
They took turns asking questions. “What will it feel like?” “How long will it take?” “How bad will it hurt?” I would answer each question as honestly and delicately as I could, pausing only to breathe in between contractions. I don’t know that I’ve ever felt more loved by my boys as I did on that night. Nor do I think I’ve ever felt such guilt– how could I put them through this? How could I make them worry about me? How could I bring another child into our perfect little family? Did they think they weren’t enough? Because oh my God, they were more than enough.
They eventually feel asleep, but I stayed awake, just staring at their precious faces. “If anything happens to me, I hope they know how very much I love them.” I thought to myself, as they lay there next to me.
The contractions began to get stronger and closer together and although I was determined to stay at home to labor on my own for as long as possible, I truly felt like “it was time.” I left the boys on the couch, made sure everything was packed and told my husband that it was time to go. We packed up the van, took the boys to Grandma’s house and left for the hospital.
Kissing them good bye that early morning wasn’t easy. I knew they were experiencing a plethora of emotions– fear, excitement, nervousness– and I couldn’t be there to help them through it.
I hated that.
The entire way to the hospital, I worried about my boys.
“Do you think they’re okay?” I’d ask, in between contractions.
“They’re fine.” My husband would respond.
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure. Your Mom will take good care of them and they’ll come to see you in the morning. They’re fine!”
We arrived at the hospital at 6am. I was SURE they’d tell me I was already dilated to 10 and ready to push! SURE OF IT! But after checking me, the news was pretty much the exact opposite of “you’re ready to push!”
“You’re only dilated to 1 and a half. I know the contractions are close together, but you still have a while to go. We’re going to send you home. You’re scheduled for induction on the 4th– we’ll probably see you back then!”
It was the 2nd.
And I was 4 days late.
I looked at my husband and said “I want to kick her in the teeth! There is no possible way I can stand 2 more days of this! (I was in labor! Labor makes you say crazy things!)
They sent me home and I wasn’t happy about it. And I made sure that everyone in the elevator on the way down to the lobby knew it. I cursed and cried and cursed some more. If this wasn’t The Real Thing, how would I know when it was? How would I know when to come back? I was scared. And in pain. SO MUCH PAIN.
We arrived back home after what felt like an 8 hour drive. Time goes slow when you’re contracting and breathing and still cursing the nurse for sending you home. I was an emotional and physical wreck. My husband walked to the bedroom, where I stripped out of my clothes to TRY to find even a shred of comfort in my bed. Just as I laid down, there was a knock on our front door. “Who could that be?” I asked in horror. This was the absolute worst possible time for a visitor.
Turns out, it was my Mother in law and her cleaning crew. I forgot that she had offered to come over and clean my house before I had the baby. (Which I recognized later was such a kind, thoughtful thing to do. it’s just kind of hard to sees things that way when you’re laying naked on your bed, four days past your due date, having contractions and stuff.)
“I don’t want her here!” I cried. “I’m in labor! I don’t want to deal with anyone right now.”
“You won’t have to deal with her, Babe.” My husband said, trying to reason with a woman in labor.
“But what if she comes in here and WANTS TO TALK TO ME? I DO NOT WANT TO TALK TO HER RIGHT NOW.” I snapped back. “Ohh, FINE. Let her in, just make sure you tell her not to come in my room. I DON’T WANT ANYONE IN HERE, DO YOU UNDERSTAND?”
It was almost impossible to relax while I heard the scrubbing of tubs and the vacuuming of carpets. I kept reminding myself that she was doing something nice! (Which, she was.) But the noise, it was too much for me to deal with. I left the house and went for a walk up and down my street. That was a lovely sight for my neighbors, I’m sure! Here I was, in full blown labor, taking a few steps, stopping, breathing and then crying because “It huuuurts!”
I had been having contractions for over 14 hours, I was in pain, I was tired, but mostly, I was scared and confused. Was it too early to go back to the hospital? Or what if I had waited too long? I told my husband I wanted to go back.
When we arrived at the hospital, they hooked me up to the monitor. Contractions were strong. They checked my cervix again. It was only dilated to 2-3. I couldn’t believe it. “Can you break my water?” I asked, in a very desperate tone. “Won’t that help speed things along?”
“Unfortunately, we can’t. The baby’s head is still too high and the cervix is still too hard. We’re going to keep you here now, though, because the baby’s heart beat is dropping a little with the contractions.” I immediately panicked on the inside, but kept it together on the outside. She then said things like “monitor closely” and “possible emergency c-section.”
Do I need to tell you how scared I was? Because I was scared.
I thought this birth would be so easy! I mean, I had done it twice before! I thought by the time you got to the third one, they practically just FELL OUT.” Apparently, I was wrong about that.
The nurse asked me several times if I wanted an epidural. The answer was, no, I didn’t want an epidural. “But, the pain.” She said, as if I had NO clue that it would be painful. As if I needed a reminder. “I am terrified of needles.” I explained. “And the thought of a needle IN MY SPINE is worse than the pain as far as I’m concerned. Also? The idea of not being able to fell my legs freaks me out!”
Next, it was the doctors turn to ask me if I wanted an epidural.
The answer was the same as the one I had given the nurse. “No.”
“But, the pain.” He said. (Again,with The Pain reasoning.)
“I know about the pain.” I snapped back. “But I’m scared of needles in my back!”
And then, he said something that made me want to kick him in the place it would hurt him the most.
“Well, if I were you, I’d be more scared of The Pain than of a needle.”
Way to be supportive of my choices, Doctor!
Labor went on for what seemed like forever with very little results. They finally decided it was safe to break my water, but only after I begged them over and over again. After the water was broke, things finally began to progress. Contractions became more regular and more intense. I started to dilate. And then? I started to SCREAM FOR DRUGS!
The nurse gladly gave me a shot of I don’t remember what. But I do remember that it made me pass out. And of course that was the exact moment that my boys came in to visit me. I remember they came in and stood next to me. I remember they asked me if I was okay. I remember hearing their voices, but not seeing their faces as I had a hard time opening my eyes. They love to imitate me during that visit. They thought it was HILARIOUS that I was unable to say words properly and that I was quite possible drooling. They kissed me good bye and went back to the waiting room with the family. Shortly after they left, my Dad came in to visit and to pray for me. (My Dad is a pastor.) He went to lay his hands on me. “Don’t touch me.” I slurred at him, in my drugged out state of mine. He ignored me and placed his hand on my forehead. “DON’T TOUCH ME!” I said, possibly while slapping his hand away from me. I was in so much pain, so miserable, the last thing I wanted was to be touched. (I blame the drugs!)
The medication began to wear off and oh, how it hurt. It felt like one continuous contraction that WOULD.NOT.END. I called my husband over.
“Baby.” I cried. “It hurts so bad! I need more drugs.”
“Oh, honey.” He said, all lovingly. “Your breath is HORRID. You need a breath mint.
NOT “Okay, I’ll get the nurse and get you some more drugs!” NOT “Can I get you some ice chips?” NOT any of those things that a husband most definitely should say to his wife who is in labor. Nope. His answer was “You need a breath mint.”
I literally could not believe he said that. COULD.NOT.BELIEVE.IT.
“I don’t give a @#%@ if my@@%&#!! breath stinks! I’m TRYING TO HAVE A BABY HERE! I’M IN PAIN!”
Apparently, my breath was so bad, he was willing to risk his life to continue to convince me that I should pop a breath mint in my mouth.
“But honey. Think of the doctor. It’s really bad. I’ll be right back.” And he left the room. He returned within a few minutes, with smile on his face and package of breath mints in his hand. He then proceeded to open it and lovingly put one in my mouth.
And then I punched him in the neck.
KIDDING! But I really, really wanted to.
Twenty two-ish hours had passed since I first began labor. There are no words to describe how tired I was or how much pain I was in.
“I WANT AN EPIDURAL!” I shouted, surprising everyone, including myself. But I simply couldn’t take the pain for a minute longer. I thought I would die.
A few minutes later, I was sitting up, bent over, trying not to pass out as a woman inserted the needle into my lower back. I was surprised at how easy the whole thing was and wanted to kick myself for not having done it sooner, or with my previous two births. I waited for it to numb things up, but I still felt pain. “Should it still be hurting?” I asked the nurse. “Why is it still hurting?”
The anesthesiologist came back right away to adjust things, but the pain was still there. It was at that point the nurse decided it was time to “check down there” again.
“Oh my goodness” she said “you’re dilated to 10! It’s time to start pushing!”
I suddenly didn’t care that I still had pain because, I could push! My baby was almost here! Pain? What pain?
I was wheeled into the delivery room, followed by my husband and my sister who would be recording the birth. I couldn’t believe that the moment had finally arrived. Suddenly, I felt energized, excited to finally meet my daughter.
“P-U-S-H!” The nurse shouted. “Come on, you’re doing so good! Keep going! Harder! Harder!”
“Oh, baby.” My husband said. “I can see her hair. She has so much hair!”
I could feel the tears welling up in my eyes. “What color is it?” I asked
“It’s black. Jet black. And it’s so thick!”
“Oh, I can’t wait to see her. I can’t wait to meet my daughter.”
I pushed for almost an hour.
“The head is out.” The doctor said. “Give me one more push and you’ll get to meet your daughter.”
My daughter. The daughter I never thought I’d have. Just one more push til I’d get to see her beautiful face.
I pushed with everything that I had left in me.
It was 12:18 am, my daughter took her very first breath. “It’s a girl!” the doctor said while holding her up for me to see.
There she was. My daughter. She was more beautiful than I had imagined she would be.
My husband wept as he started at the little girl he had always dreamed of having.
They placed her in my arms. I placed my nose against her warm, damp cheeks and inhaled. “I love you. I love you I love you I love you.” I whispered. My husband leaned in and kissed me. Then he kissed his daughter. All of the fears I had about bringing a new baby into our family vanished in that moment. She belonged with us. I couldn’t wait for her brothers to see her, to hold her. They’d love her, I just knew it. And oh, how she would love them.
In that moment, I knew that life was as she should be.
I’m happy to report she can now say BeeVUR without any problems.
My daughter has decided she no longer wants Mommy or Daddy to read stories to her before she goes to sleep.
“I’m a big girl now, guys” she says. “I will read stories to YOU.”
And so, every night, I let her choose 3 books and she “reads” them, sometimes to herself, but most times to one of us.
Last night she was reading to her dad when I overheard the funniest dialogue.
“It’s BEEEE-VUURR.” PigHunter would say.
“Beeuurrv.” She’d respond.
And he would laugh and laugh. Then she would laugh and laugh.
It was One of Those Moments I wanted to be a part of and one that I’d never want to forget.
G has watched this video repeatedly this morning and she laughs every time. “I can’t believe I didn’t know how to say it!” She says, all grown up like.
And we laugh again.
I’m so grateful for her sense of humor.
I was embarrassed to post this, but then I thought “It is what it is and I am who I am.”
(click HERE to enlarge. AS IF IT NEEDS ENLARGING. haha)
Last night I was scrolling through old photos. I came across one from my trip to NYC last year. I was immediately drawn to my belly– my very large NOT AT ALL pregnant belly.
I wondered if I still look that big.
So, I grabbed the shirt out of my closet and put it on. Then, I called The Middle Child into the room. He is my most trusted child when it comes to being Brutally, but Lovingly, Honest.
“Look at this picture.” I said. “Now, tell me, can you tell I’ve lost a little bit of weight?”
“Mom!” He said. “You can tell A LOT. Your belly doesn’t look anything like that anymore.”
So, I asked him to take a picture of me.
He was all “Pretend like you’re talking on the phone like you were in that picture.”
And so I did.
I guess he’s right. There is a difference. Not a huge difference, but enough of a loss to motivate me to Keep Doing What I’m Doing. And by that, I mean WORK OUT ALL OF THE EFFING TIME.
It’s working. That right there is proof that it is working.
