Struggling for Understanding

As I watch Hoarders and am given the motivation to clean up the toys that my daughter, the tornado, deposited throughout my entire apartment, I’m also struck with a painful realization.  I’m watching this episode about a woman in Hawaii, whose home is so cluttered, dirty and filled with roaches that she is at risk of having her children taken away from her.  But what strikes me so much about this isn’t the deplorable condition of her home or the risk to her children.  What strikes me is her husband, who is by her side, helping her clean up, helping her deal with the emotional and mental struggles that she is being faced with during the clean up process, who is going to counseling with her to help keep their family from ever being in that situation again.  I watch him cry for his wife and for her sickness, despite the enormous frustration that it’s caused him.  And I think, that is love.

There’s a lot I still struggle to understand about my own situation.  I have looked inside of myself and have faced the truth of my own flaws and shortcomings and looked at what I can do to try to become a better person.  I have come to terms with the disease that I was afflicted with after my child’s birth and I am proud of myself for how far I have come.  I believe that I’m strong, forgiving, loving and compassionate and I’m happy with the person I am. I’m not perfect and will continue to falter now and then.  I’m human.  I’ve made apologies to the man I love, to the father of my child, for how my disease impacted him.  And I have tried everything that I can think of to suggest to work on repairing our family.  Not just for our daughter’s sake but for us as well.  Because we deserve to have love.  Everyone does.

What I can’t understand is the unbreakable wall that I am met with.  I fell in love with a man who talked to me.  Really talked.  About feelings.  I swear, I’m not making him up.  They do exist.  I fell in love with a man who wasn’t afraid to tell me or show me how much he loved me.  He wasn’t afraid to tell or show everyone else how much he loved me, either.  He showed up at my place after a disagreement and apologized, telling me that he doesn’t ever want to let me down again.  And what I can’t understand is how there doesn’t appear to be a trace of this man left.

CC admits that he has changed.  He’s implied that I’m responsible for that change and, he’s probably right.  I said and did some unexplainable things during the first few months of my daughter’s life. For which I’ve already apologized.  There is nothing more that I can do.  I can’t take them back.  I can’t turn back time.  All I can do is say that I’m sorry.  And I’ve done this over and over again.  Despite his admitting that he is no longer that same person that I fell in love with, CC is adamant that I’m the only one who needs to change in order for us to ever be able to be together again.  When I try to talk about working towards reconciliation, I’m repeatedly told that “You haven’t changed.”  But I can’t understand how one can expect change when they’ve done nothing to help facilitate it.  We don’t talk. We make small talk about our child.  But even trying to have a conversation about her birthday turns into a battle of wills and it winds up being a fight and I wind up crying.  When nothing is done to work on improving our communication with one another, nothing will change.  I can’t understand how someone can expect change to just happen.

I can’t understand why I’m blamed for so, so much.  I can’t understand how two people can see one situation so differently.  I can’t understand how someone can put their foot down and say “I will xyz” when trying to have a conversation about our child’s best interests, instead of having a calm, rational conversation, and yet state that I’m controlling and everything always has to be my way.  I’m not the one putting my foot down.  I’m the one trying to talk things out, to find a way for everyone to be able to live with the decisions that are made.

I can’t understand how someone can truly believe that they were always there for you when they left you alone because they “couldn’t stand to be around you” and told you that you had to leave your home, saying that it was never your home to begin with and they just allowed you to be a guest there.  I can’t understand how someone can say that they are still always there for you yet they won’t go to counseling, won’t stay after putting your daughter to bed so that you can talk like adults, and when you ask for help with your child because she’s sick and you’re exhausted, they tell you no.  I can’t understand how someone can do all of these things and still believe that I’m the “bad guy” for saying that he wasn’t there for me. Being there for someone means getting on the floor with them while they’re crying and holding them. It means accepting their apologies. It means being there. Physically.

I can’t understand why I can’t win, so to speak.  I know that there are wonderful things that CC has done and continues to do.  And I have bragged about him many times.  When I was recovering from childbirth, a bad infection and a back injury all at once, I couldn’t pick my child up from her bed.  CC would bring her to me for her night feedings and then put her back to bed for me afterwards.  He changes diapers.  Gives her baths.  He would leave breakfast on my nightstand before leaving for work in the mornings because I wouldn’t eat otherwise.  He shoveled my car out of the snow for me during our recent snowstorm.  He has a good heart.  Underneath all of the hurt and anger and frustration is a wonderful man.  I can’t understand why me bringing up something that’s hurt me or that I don’t think is right seems to negate all of that to him.  It’s as if just because I think he does one thing wrong, it means everything he does is wrong.  And that simply isn’t the truth and for the life of me I can’t understand it.

I can’t understand why I’m always wrong.  What CC took away from my heartfelt post, The Day the Earth Stood Still was that he wasn’t there for me and he’s to blame for our relationship falling apart and that I love him.  And yet, I spent so much of that post talking about what I did to contribute to our relationship failing.  I took ownership of my part in all of this and I can’t for the life of me understand how nothing I said in that post could touch him in any way.

I can’t understand how someone who held my hand and cried watching the amount of pain I was in during labor could later turn around and tell me “Women give birth every day.” Like it was no big deal what I went through to give him the incredible child he loves so very much.  I can’t understand how this man who told me that I was his best friend, could truly believe that we always had a poor relationship.  I can’t understand how this man who has left work to go to the aid of a family member who suffers from seizures could not show any compassion for the challenges I faced as a result of my disease.  I can’t understand how, when I point out how much I have changed already, when I talk about how I get up and shower and get dressed every day and my home is maintained (whatever that is with a ten month old) and I’m singing and dancing and taking our daughter out somewhere every day, how he can respond to me with “that’s what human beings do.”  It’s cold.  It lacks any kind of understanding or compassion.  It’s belittling.  Because it isn’t my fault that there were times I was in the same clothes for three days straight.  It isn’t my fault that I couldn’t stay on top of a breastfeeding newborn, recovering from major surgery and a serious infection that landed me back in the hospital when my daughter was only a week old, a back injury that made caring for my daughter incredibly difficult and trying to maintain our home.  It isn’t my fault that I was sick.

It isn’t my fault that I suggested counseling several times before we actually went.  Or that, after only two sessions, CC gave up, while I kept going – alone.  It isn’t my fault that I went to the church to speak with a Deacon about the state of my family – alone. And that when I ask him to go he tells me no because “I don’t have to.”  It isn’t my fault that every thing I do to try to be pleasant with one another, to try to rekindle some spark between us is interpreted as “manipulation”.  I can’t understand how he can question my motives so very much when all I want to do is anything in the world that I can to somehow be a happy family.

I can’t understand how someone can be so admittedly unhappy.  How they could say that they do want to have their family back together but just don’t want the arguing, yet be unwilling to do anything to facilitate that happening.  It took months for us to destroy our relationship.  It will take time to fix it as well.  But if you want a family, if you want to be together, you make it happen.  You try anything you possibly can.  Because, really, what more do you have to lose?

I like my apartment, for the most part.  I could do without the noisy neighbors and unassigned parking spaces.  And the flight of stairs.  But it’s mine.  No one can tell me that it isn’t.  It’s cozy.  It’s warm.  It’s inviting.  It feels like a home.  It’s filled to the brim with toys.  And love.  I feel more at ease here then I did in his house for a long time.  Perhaps because it was his house.  At one time it didn’t feel that way, it felt like home, but that was a long time ago.  And yet, I still fell asleep every night next to the father of my child.  I kissed him goodnight every night, no matter what.  He was always there next to me for me to curl into, to put an arm around.  He was there for me to cook dinner for and to enjoy family days.  And that is greatly missing from my home.

I made a lot of mistakes.  I hurt people who I cared about.  I stopped truly showing appreciation for the good that I had.  But I stopped being appreciated as well.  I stopped being understood and loved for who I am unconditionally.  I stopped being allowed to take up residency in his heart.  And so, here I am, confused.  Lost.  Because I can’t understand how two people can want the exact same thing and yet not be able to find a way to work together towards that common goal.  I can’t understand what more I’m supposed to do.  And I can’t understand how to not feel guilty for my daughter being in the middle.

“Right now it don’t make sense I can’t make it all make sense So I’m gonna sit right here On the edge of this pier Watch the sunset disappear” ~ Luke Bryan

To My Daughter, With Love

This has been one hell of a year. Recently, it hasn’t been in a good way. In fact, as I think about what there is to be thankful for this year, I can think of quite a few reasons not to be.

So far, the second half of 2013 has been riddled with heartache, fear, confusion, loneliness, sadness; I wonder if I’m leaving anything out. Having gone from being part of a family in a two story home to being a single mom in a two bedroom apartment isn’t exactly something to put in the Holiday Newsletter. But then, I peek into that second bedroom, where my little girl is sleeping soundly. I watch the gentle rise and fall of her chest as she breathes. I take a deep breath of my own, taking in her scent (and that of the diaper pail). And I’m reminded that I have everything in the world to be thankful for.

My life certainly isn’t what I expected it would be right now. But it’s still incredible. I have this amazing little girl who loves me like I’m the greatest thing in the world, a blessing I had given up hope of ever having. And, as I write this, I’m watching her on the monitor as she sleeps. And I’m at peace. Whatever other challenges or disappointments life has thrown my way (and will continue to do so – that’s life), when I look at her, everything is right in the world.

It’s so easy to look at what we don’t have. To want more. To feel we deserve more. And sometimes, we’re right. But we should never let that make us forget the blessings we do have. My daughter has opened my eyes and my heart in ways I never thought imaginable. I hope she never loses her happy and determined spirit. And I hope I’m able to teach her the value of the small things in life and of appreciating all she has.

To my daughter, with love,

I’m thankful for:

• Your incredible smile that is contagious beyond words.  Never lose that zest for life.
• Your laugh that lights up a room brighter than every star in the sky.
• The kisses you surprise me with.
• Having a successful breastfeeding relationship with you despite some early challenges.
• Being a strong enough woman, mentally, physically and emotionally, to have stuck with something that was so important to me.  I hope that I’m able to pass that trait on to you.  Never give up on something that means everything to you.  Always believe in yourself, even when it’s hard.  Especially when it’s hard.
• The way you snuggle into me while sucking your thumb when I let you watch Sesame Street.
• The way you clap your hands whenever I first turn on music.
•  A warm bed to sleep in.  Some people, even children, don’t have this.  Don’t ever take that for granted.
• Food on our table every day.  One day, I will teach you my secret sauce recipe.
• Clothes on our backs and shoes on our feet.
• Family that, though they drive me crazy, is there in a pinch to pack my moving truck. Yet again.  Your family will always be there for you, no matter what.  You can and should always come to me with anything and everything.  There is nothing you could ever do that would make your family love you any less or turn their backs on you.  That’s what being family is all about.  Being stuck like glue.
• The way you giggle when we dance to Stuck Like Glue by Sugarland 🙂  Your daddy and I once danced to that song at a concert.  You’ve always loved it.
• New days full of opportunity.  Treat every new day as a fresh start.  Leave any anger, frustration or disappointment from the day before behind you.
• Life. Messy, unpredictable, difficult but so rewarding.
• Friends who are there when it matters and the ability to accept those who fall short for who they are.  Not everyone will treat you the way that you treat them.  Accept people for who they are.
• the intelligence to know that not all who smile at you have good intentions or your best interest at heart. Pay more attention to people’s actions then their words.
• Memories of incredible love and a heart full of hope for the future. Never lose hope.
• Sunsets.
• Fluffy snow.
• Cozy blankets.
• Peppermint.
• Hot chocolate.
• Peppermint hot chocolate.
• Good books.  I hope your love of books continues as you grow.  I hope to one day share some of my favorite books with you.  And that one day, you will read to me about Gerald the Giraffe.
• My permanently distorted belly button that, while no longer perfectly adorable, reminds me that you and I were one once.  Love your body always.  It won’t be perfect but it will be beautiful.
• Photos – both having them to remember special moments and being able to take them and help others preserve their special moments.  Find something you love to do in life, that takes you away somewhere magical.  And do it.
• Healing.  We always do.  Some wounds, physical or emotional, take longer to heal than others.  Allow yourself that time.
• Our innate, incredible ability to constantly change and grow.
• That perfect pair of panties and matching bra that make you feel like you can take on the world. You will understand this many years from now.
• Drive thru windows without which, I would miss many meals.
• Autumn leaves and teaching you how they feel and how to make them crumble.
• Seasonally scented candles.
• Pandora Radio
• The way you always calm when I sing to you. No matter what.
• The feel of your hand in mine.
• Naps.  I know that you hate these right now.  One day, I promise, you will yearn for them.
• Camera phones that enable me to take endless photos and videos of you.
• Any night that involves more than a four hour stretch of sleep.
• Johnny Depp. Now and forever. One day we’ll watch Benny and Joon together.
• Bubble baths and wine.
• Long, aimless drives.
• Midgetville.
• Strong female country musicians.
• Karaoke.
• Dessert.  Sometimes its okay to eat before dinner.  Or as dinner.  But only if you learn to eat your vegetables sometimes too!
• Today. Right now.  This moment is what life is all about.  Tomorrow isn’t guaranteed.  Enjoy the right now.  Make the most of every moment.  Forgive those you care about, love those who deserve it, try new things, smell the roses.  Live life to it’s fullest.  Right now.
• 

  Silly time with my girl ❤

   

  

 

Fill Your Mommy Arsenal With Knowledge

They say that knowledge is power.  I’m not sure who “they” is but, just the same.  So why is it that, with certain things, like doctors, we just take what we’re told to be fact?  Most people I know research big purchases before they make them, like cars, computers, houses.  If someone told you that the foundation of the house they’re selling is sturdy, would you just take their word or would you have it checked out – research it a bit for yourself?  Why don’t we do the same when it comes to our doctors, to giving birth, to the most important decisions of our lives?

We all know there are certain “no-nos” during pregnancy: drinking, smoking, drugs (although these should perhaps be on the no-no list all of the time?).  I think most people would at least think twice before going sky-diving or skiing while carrying a giant bowling bowl in their abdomen.  But what about medications, pain interventions, birthing options?

When I got past the excitement of teeny-tiny shoes and onesies and I thought about the actual process of giving birth, my first thought was, I assume, similar to many women’s –epidural!  With scoliosis, I didn’t know if that would actually be a possibility (sometimes they don’t take or numb only one side of the body, etc.) and I began vigorously researching this and talking to my doctor about getting an anesthesia consult.  Then, I did some more research on epidurals only, this time, I wasn’t researching the likelihood of one working on me.  I was researching what’s actually in them and what effect they can have on my child.

I learned that epidurals make you feel so good because, well, they’re drugging you.  Now, that may seem like a pretty “duh” thing to say.  But I suppose I just never really looked at it that way before.  According to the Physicians Desk Reference, “Local Anesthetics rapidly cross the placenta and when used for epidural, paracervical, pudendal or caudal block anesthesia, can cause varying degrees of maternal, fetal and neonatal toxicity.”  What a minute!  My doctor never told me that!!!  And so began my research into many other interventions.

My doctor constantly tells me to stop watching the baby shows on TLC.  You know, Baby’s First Day, A Baby Story, etc.  Naturally, they show extreme situations otherwise, they wouldn’t be all that entertaining.  But, I have always been the kind of person who likes to prepare myself for all situations.  Prepared for the worst case scenario, I should be able to handle anything that comes along.  These shows mention Pitocin pretty frequently, in fact, I think on about every episode.  Pitocin is a drug that’s used to either induce labor or speed up labor in certain situations.  Seeing as induction is sometimes necessary (doctors don’t let you go past 42 weeks due to a decrease in the functioning of the placenta and an increase in the risk of meconium)  I thought to ask about this means of intervention at our last doctor’s visit.  My doctor’s response?  Pitocin is something your body produces naturally so it’s perfectly safe.  Sometimes your body just isn’t producing enough and so they provide additional Pitocin by means of IV.  Okay, sounds good, right?

The problem is that what pregnant women receive in their IV’s is actually a synthetic form of what our bodies produce naturally and there is nothing natural about it at all.  The bodies natural hormone is secreted in bursts, causing spaced-out contractions.  When given through an IV, Pitocin is received in a steady flow.  So, what’s the big deal?  The big deal is that this causes contractions to be stronger and closer together.  During contractions, there is a major decrease in uterine blood flow aka the amount of oxygen reaching the baby.  With normal contractions, there is enough time in between for the baby to recover.  However, with Pitocin induced contractions, they come on too strong and too fast most of the time, making it difficult for the baby to recover their oxygen between contractions.  This can and often does result in fetal distress, making an otherwise unnecessary c-section suddenly an emergency situation.  Pitocin can also cause premature separation of the placenta, rupture of the uterus, postbirth hemorrhage, fetal asphyxia, neonatal hypoxia, physical injury and prematurity (if the due date is not accurate).  There is also research showing that Pitocin is linked to disorders on the autism spectrum.  I guess my doctor, and many others, aren’t quite up on their reading?

It can be a vicious cycle, one that starts with an epidural, which often slows down and eases up contractions.  This can create the need for Pitocin which may result in the need for a c-section due to fetal distress.  Or, in situations where induction is necessary due to being past the due date or for other medical reasons, the cycle may start with Pitocin.  Which increases the pain from the contractions (they’re stronger, remember), resulting in an epidural when previously unwanted.

To be fair, there are absolutely times where medical interventions are absolutely necessary and I’m so thankful that these options exist for the safety and well-being of delivering women everywhere.  Let me say that I do not begrudge any woman’s right to the birthing plan of her choice, including epidurals or other medicinal pain management.  Every woman and every pregnancy is different and, for all I know, when I’m actually in that situation two months from now, I may be screaming for someone to just “give me the f’n drugs already!!!!”  I like to think I have a decent pain tolerance but, then again, I’ve never had a human being coming out of my body before.  Either way, I’m thankful that women have these options and the right to make these choices when it comes to their bodies.  I just think that those choices should come with the responsibility of fully researching the options and their possible impacts on both mothers and their children.

After my own research, I have made drastic changes to my own birthing plan which, let’s be honest, is really just a wish list.  When the time comes, BB will be the one calling the shots that day.  It’s the first time as mothers we are called on to let go and trust our children to know the right thing to do.  I trust BB, he/she has a smart mama.  All the same, having a plan is something that makes me feel more prepared for the big moment.  And boy, has my plan changed.  I went from freaking out that an epidural might not work on me to not wanting one at all.  My plan?  A natural birth.

I want to know that, not only is my baby drug free at birth but that I am too; that I’m not too loopy to hold my baby or to remember that very first contact.  There’s a lot of documentation about women who give birth naturally being able to breast feed more quickly, to actually walk to their room rather than being wheeled in, etc.  There is also research about babies being born with healthier coloring (no blue Smurf look at birth) and I find it all fascinating and worth reading up on at the very least.  I do not want to be held back by IV’s, especially if I’m not receiving any medications through them.  It always amazes me how, anytime you’re in an ER or hospital for any reason, they immediately hook you up to an IV.  Most often, if you ask, they will tell you that it’s a precautionary measure, so that if they do end up needing to medicate, they are one step ahead of the game.  This is something I routinely refuse.  If I wind up needing medication, then you can stick me with an IV.  Until then, please leave my skin and veins in tact, thank you very much.

During labor, IV’s are very restrictive and make the possibility of natural childbirth much less likely.  They can restrict a woman to the labor and delivery bed, with other monitors, etc. hooked up.  What’s amazing to me to learn is that there are indeed alternatives.  As in any other time, women have the right to refuse a precautionary IV during labor.  Which leaves them free to walk (one of the most recommended ways to speed up labor), use a balance ball, squat (also recommended for speeding up labor), bathe, eat, drink, etc.  The list goes on and on.  Our bodies were designed to birth babies after all.  We just need to know what we’re doing to help them along.

I will soon be starting my Bradley Classes although I have already been reading the books, practicing my exercises, ensuring proper sleeping position etc. etc.  I’m hopeful that, with proper breathing techniques, positioning, exercising and of course, CC’s support, that this whole natural birthing thing will be a reality.  Of course, I am prepared for the possibility that I may wind up needing every single intervention that I’m not interested in having.  But, at least I know the pros and cons, the risks and benefits and how to determine if the doctors and nurses are making a decision because it’s medically necessary or because they want to get home to watch their favorite show.  And I know that I have the option to say no and that, whatever spur of the moment decisions arise that day and need to be made right away, I will at least be making them intelligently, backed with the knowledge of all of my research.

Whether women choose Bradley, Lamaze, natural birth, c-sections, epidurals, etc, it is a personal choice every woman can and must make for herself, hopefully with the input and support of her partner.  Just remember that these choices are going to be with you much longer than that new car you’re thinking about buying.  A little research and arming your mommy arsenal with knowledge can be a powerful thing.

** To anyone considering natural childbirth or just looking to learn more, I highly recommend Husband-Coached Childbirth by Robert A. Bradley, M.D. **

 

No Pressure!

When you’re pregnant, it somehow becomes everyone’s business and, suddenly, even people you don’t know are coming up to you and giving you unsolicited (and often unwanted) advice.  And what’s up with the fact that it’s usually negative???  Looking tired?  Just wait until that little one comes!  You’ll never sleep again!  Great, thank you for that uplifting news.  It’s like Captain Obvious and Debbie Downer got together and hatched a million offspring.  Everyone who’s ever been a parent is part of this secret society and they just can’t wait to lure you into the other side of darkness.  This is supposed to be a positive, exciting experience, or so I’ve been told.  So how about we say exciting, positive things to one another instead?  Hello, this isn’t rocket science people! The one thing that I think everyone, and I mean EVERYONE, from your mother, your best friend, your doctor and every single book/magazine/article/mobile app you read (and I read A LOT!) seems to agree on is that pregnant women shouldn’t stress.  I’m sorry but…what???

From day one, we are bombarded with the statistics of miscarriage.  I don’t know about you but, twenty-six weeks later, I still check the toilet and the toilet paper after every time I go to the bathroom to make sure there’s no blood.  At the very first doctor’s visit, we are given what I’ve come to refer to as the “No Packet” – it’s the packet full of useful information the doctor gives out that basically says everything you can not eat, drink or do for the next nine months.  Eating out has seriously become like studying for the SAT’s.  Talk about turning a negative into a positive!  To be fair, it’s information we all need for the benefit of having a healthy baby.  But couldn’t it at least be given to us in a basket full of low-sugar cookies or something?

And then, something happens, and you switch caregivers.  Whether yours is part of a group practice and there’s at least one doctor there you definitely don’t want to be the one on call when you go into labor (partially my reason for switching OB’s), you relocate, insurance reasons or to deliver at a better hospital (my biggest reason for switching), you learn that most of these rules on what not to do aren’t exactly set in stone.  My original doctor, who I love and is the reason I’m even able to have a child right now, guaranteed me that using a semi-permanent hair dye once or twice in a well ventilated area was harmless.  And a cup of coffee a day wasn’t going to kill anyone, especially not my baby.  When I reluctantly switched my OB for the benefit of a far better hospital to deliver at, I fond that my new doctor wasn’t quite on the same page.  Apparently dying my hair and drinking even a teeny-tiny cup of coffee once or twice a week (not even a day!) meant that I might give birth to a cyclops with his or her leg where the arm should be.  So who’s right?  And if this is all scientific and based on research, why isn’t there any clear right or wrong answer???  I mean, I hate my grays but I could tolerate them for the benefit of my child being born with two, well-placed eyes.

If you’re a working mama, add in more things to stress about.  Maybe you’re fortunate enough to work somewhere that your boss and all of your coworkers are incredibly understanding.  If you are, please let me know where you work!  Anyone ever hear “You’re pregnant, not disabled!”?  Well, when you’re lugging around an extra 30+ pounds, you’ve been awake for three straight days, your stomach is burning a hole in your throat, you need to spend more time in the bathroom than at your desk, your heart is pumping out double the amount of blood (most of which appears to be coming out of your nose), you’re suffering from hemorrhoids and there’s a living being doing a full gymnastics floor routine inside of your body, it’s bound to take its toll on even the best employee.  But, there are goals and deadlines to meet, filing to be done, meetings to attend and no rest for the weary.  That recommended power nap during the day to recharge?  Yea, good luck with that one!  Work, work, work!

I’ve always been a very independent woman.  Asking for help isn’t quite my thing and, because of such, I’ve learned how to do a lot on my own.  But, suddenly, we’re not allowed to do ANYTHING without help.  I can’t take a bath without having to ask for help getting out of the tub.  Want to carry the heavy hamper into the laundry room?  Have to ask for help.  Need those cute shoes you forgot about off the top shelf of the closet?  It’s not as easy as grabbing a chair anymore.  Nope, no climbing for preggos.  Have to ask for help for that, too.  So if you’re home alone, then what?  STRESS! STRESS! STRESS!

Monitor what you’re eating.  Monitor your weight gain.  Monitor the baby’s kicks.  (Most pregnancy apps now have a “kick counter”.  I recommend What to Expect When You’re Expecting, Baby Center and Sprout.)  Another blood test?  You want me to drink what???  Don’t sleep on your back or your stomach (as if you could if you tried!)  Best to sleep on your left side so the baby gets optimum blood flow and nutrients.  Oh, that side of your body is starting to fall asleep?  Well, it’s okay to roll over onto your right side for a bit but be prepared for the extra weight of all that guilt that you’re robbing your child of necessary nutrients!  STRESS! STRESS! STRESS!

My biggest current stress?  Birthing classes and a birthing plan.  I’ve always been convinced that I wanted an epidural.  Until now.  At the end of the day, I don’t want ANY amount of drugs getting to my baby, however minimal the “experts” may say that amount is.  And I want to be clear-headed for the first time I hold my little BB.  It’s a personal choice that, fortunately, women have the right to make and I respect everyone’s own birthing plans.  It’s just not for me.  And so, I started looking into the difference between Lamaze and the Bradley Method.  Convinced the Bradley Method is right for me, and WOWED by the statistics that approximately 86% of Bradley graduates go on to have healthy, natural births, I started looking into classes.  Apparently they’re anywhere from eight to twelve weeks long???  But no one – not my doctor or my books or apps – told me that I was behind the ball on signing up for a class!  Why didn’t anyone warn me that I needed to do this months ago???  And the fees?  I was not at all prepared for the astronomical amount of money it would cost to have someone teach me the proper way to breathe, squat and for CC to learn how to be the best birthing coach he can be.  So, in addition to trying to pick between the class that runs right into my due date but is led by someone highly recommended and the class that starts in two weeks but is led by someone I really know nothing about, I am know feverishly on Amazon.com ordering books on the Bradley Method.  Yes, I realize I do it to myself but, hello, STRESS! STRESS! STRESS!

As for the birth plan?  I’m a planner, planning is good.  But so is accepting that, sometimes, even the best laid plans go right out the window.  Or the delivery room door.  When it comes to that time, I am completely aware that the baby will be the one calling the shots and that there is the possibility of all sorts of unforseen complications which I need to be prepared for.  What I’m afraid of, however, is that the nurses may not be on board and may pressure me away from the birth plan with fancy medical talk when, in reality, those changes may not actually be necessary.  I’ve read (see, too much reading is bad for you!) about numerous stories where women went in for natural births, things were slow in progressing and so they were given Pitocin to speed things up, only to be in severe pain (Pitocin in your IV will do that to you) and to wind up needing an epidural or emergency C-section, etc.  And, after the fact, these women find out that they still had time where it would have been safe to put off those interventions and continue working towards birthing naturally.  I like my shows as much as the next person but I’ll be damned if I’m going to be pressured into straying from my plan and doing something I’m not comfortable with just so my doctor or nurse can get home to see American Horror Story.  I DVR it.  They can too.

At the end of the day, the truth remains that women have been giving birth since, well, I guess since that bitch Eve made Adam eat the apple.  Or did Eve eat it?  I suppose it doesn’t really matter.  Women have been doing this FOREVER and, our bodies pretty much know what they’re doing.  I just wish sometimes that my head knew as much as my body does.  Stress free pregnancy?  It’s the funniest thing I think I’ve ever heard!

Pregnant in Heels: An Ode to Ankle Straps

My sister and I have very different fashion senses. Basically, she doesn’t have any. That being said, when I became pregnant, she graciously loaned me a giant tote bin of maternity clothes with the following disclaimer: “When you’re huge, you won’t care.” As I unpacked the scratchy t-shirts and pepto-bismal pink cable knit sweater, complete with green flowers across the chest, I was convinced I would never be huge enough to wear any of it. And, to that, CC replied “That’s why I love you.”

Don’t get me wrong, to each their own when it comes to fashion. Everyone has their own taste and far be it from me to judge an individuals sense of style (or lack there of, in some cases). Fashion isn’t a priority for everyone and that’s fine. But, with Liz Lange for Target, A Pea in the Pod (if you can afford it*) and even Motherhood Maternity, which now carries Jessica Simpson and Heidi Klum, there are tons of super-cute options out there and pregnant women are no longer destined to be clothed in giant, shapeless frocks. In fact, preggos can now rock skinny jeans and jeggings and, I adore all of my maternity clothes. Some of them are actually cuter than my regular clothes. I plan to wear them for as long as possible after B.B. is born, to be honest. Just because we’re pregnant doesn’t mean that we’re invisible or not entitled to look our best anymore.

At my cousin’s engagement party, someone commented about my “cute” dress and how was it possible that I was fitting into non-maternity clothes. The dress was indeed maternity. From Target. And it’s incredibly hot! (The rouching and the fabric make it easily adjustable to any length you desire. I wore mine shorter. I’m pregnant…there is nothing wrong with my legs!) This is a time in our lives when we’re supposedly “glowing” and should be enjoying the miracles that we’re experiencing. Why shouldn’t we be able to look and feel our best while doing it? The same is true when it comes to shoes.

I’m a shoe whore and proud of it. It’s not that I’m a brand brat, in fact, I don’t own a single pair of Jimmy Choos or Monolos. Some of my favorite shoes actually came from Payless. (Shhhh…that’s our secret!) Regardless of their store of origin, I can’t help but fall head over heels (literally!) in love with the colors, shapes and the way they can transform an outfit. And my mood. There is absolutely no amount of blahness that the right pair of peep toed shoes can’t overcome.

Being pregnant, I have absolutely traded my “hooker-heels” (anything four inches or higher) in for more sensible flats, kitten heels or even sneakers most of the time. But special occasions still call for special shoes and I don’t see anything wrong with that. A few hours in a pair of fabulous heels isn’t going to hurt me or my baby. And so, when I went out looking for those sensible flats to add to my fall wardrobe and I came across a pair of to-die-for Marc Fishers instead, I allowed myself to indulge. After all, they were beyond perfect for my dress. So, I got comfortable in my chair and sipped my hot cider while I waited for the sales girl to bring me my size. Little did I know that I was about to learn a horrible, terrifying truth.

Everyone warns pregnant women about reaching that sad milestone where you can no longer see your feet. We’ve all heard the stories about women who went to work in two different shoes. Hey, it happens. But no one ever warns you about the day you have to say goodbye to ankle straps.

While I may be a wee bit above the suggested weight gain for my build at this stage in my pregnancy, I can still see my feet. If I try. I can put on my own socks and shoes. As long as they don’t have ankle straps, it seems. As I slid my feet into the gorgeous, camel and black wonders, I soon realized that I can no longer bend around to the outside of the ankle strap to see the holes to buckle them. Much like the child I’m about to have, I needed help putting my shoes on. What gives??? I tried and I tried but, at the end of the day, the kind sales girl had to buckle my shoes for me. (So I gave her a pass when she made a comment about being pregnant and not being able to walk in those heels.) This, of course, did not stop me from buying what very well may be the most perfect shoes. Ever.

This entire experience has taught me so many things; about vitamins and eating healthy; about taking care of my body and my mind; about selflessness and the ability to still create romance among the ever-increasing bodily functions. And about relationships in general. I have learned that you are supposed to be married or at least in a very committed relationship before becoming pregnant. This is so there will always be someone there to buckle your super-cute new ankle strap heels for you when you’re just too darn big-in-the-belly to do it yourself! Thankfully, I had just the right person at home. (I let his comment about not needing another pair of shoes slide as well since, without him, I would never have gotten them on.)

I have said goodbye to many things over the past five months; alcohol, cold cuts, hot baths, my adorable belly button, sleep and much of my sex-life. But I’ll be damned if I give up my shoes.

* Destination Maternity carries A Pea in the Pod, among other brands, and often has a decent clearance section of the pricey Pea in the Pod line. Definitely worth checking out. The clothes absolutely fit better and are made better/more comfortable than the cheaper counterparts.

Baby Mine

“From your head down to your toes You’re not much, goodness knows But you’re so precious to me Sweet as can be Baby of mine” ~ Baby Mine, Bette Midler

It’s believed that, at this point, B.B. can hear me.  Something I read actually said that there’s a theory that if an expectant mother sings the same song repeatedly while pregnant, that the baby will recognize the song when it’s born.  And so, I tried to think of a song that’s soothing and appropriate for B.B.  When my niece was a baby, my mom would sing the Lonely Goatherd from The Sound of Music to soothe her.  Hey, whatever works, right?

The first thing that came to my mind was Baby Mine, sang by Bette Midler in Beaches.  It’s calming, it’s gentle and it’s about love.  What could be more appropriate.  I sing it in the shower, when I’m making breakfast and when I’m just feeling maternal.  And so, when I was in a car accident during work on Friday, I sang that song to B.B.

I had just gotten off the phone with my supervisor after leaving a client’s house and was on my way to type up some paperwork for court.  I stopped at a light and was hit from behind.  While the car that hit me had its bumper hanging off, my car barely had a scratch.  But I wasn’t concerned about my car.  Safety first says to wear your seat belt but, when in an accident, your seatbelt tightens and presses right into the baby (my belly isn’t quite big enough yet to get the lap part of the belt to stay under my belly.)  While I know that B.B. is surrounded by tons of protection, I was still terrified for my baby.  And I worried that my fear and emotions were making my heart pump blood to B.B. too quickly.  Which just made me more scared.  Of course, the guy who hit me and the three other guys in his car, as well as his sister, all got out of the car and were screaming in my face and making matters worse.  And then his sister threatened to punch me in the face.  Not usually one to back down from defending myself, I knew that I had someone else to protect and I let it go until the police came and I filed a report.  By this time, I was hysterical and having trouble breathing.  And cramping.

I called my doctor expecting her to tell me just to keep an eye for blood, etc.  But because I haven’t really felt any movement yet, the doctor told me to go to the hospital and be checked out just to be safe.  My world was spinning around me and I didn’t know how to make it stop.  I waited in the ER for two hours before anyone saw me.  Two hours.  What if something was wrong with my baby???  And I wasn’t allowed to eat or drink anything.  Um, hello, I’m pregnant!!!  Finally, I was wheeled in for an ultrasound and got to see B.B., moving around, as always.  That is a type of relief you can never put into words and can only understand if you’ve experienced it yourself.  At the end of the day, B.B. was fine.  My back is banged up, I can’t go back to work right away and I am in constant, sometimes debilitating, pain.  And I can’t take anything for it but I don’t care.  My baby is okay and that’s all mommy cares about.  It’s amazing how quickly we make that transition.

And, as I lay here on the heating pad  (only 15 minutes at a time for B.B.’s sake), preparing for a house full of guests for C.C.’s birthday, I keep singing to my baby.  Maybe it comforts me more than it comforts B.B.  I’ll never know, I suppose.  But does it really matter?  What makes me calmer and happier ultimately creates a healthier environment for B.B.’s growth.  And when B.B. is born and is crying his/her little head off, I’ll sing this song to him/her and test the theory:

That’s a Big Baby!!!

I have had a lot of complications, so to speak, in the reproductive department.  It started when I was in so much abdominal pain at work that I actually passed out.  Not one to go to the doctor unless I’m dying, my job told me I wasn’t allowed to come back until I  had written documentation that I was okay to work.  And so, I saw six different doctors, most of whom told me that there was absolutely nothing wrong with me and acted like I was just another overly dramatic, whiny woman.  Until I finally found the doctor who didn’t think I was crazy and actually listened.  And diagnosed me with endometriosis.  Since then, I have had two laparoscopic surgeries because of such.  A few years later, after going for a routine pap smear, my doctor discovered some abnormal cells.  I underwent five cervical cancer related surgeries.  In the first week of May, 2012, I went for my annual check up and the results came back as “high risk”.  Meaning?  Those abnormal cells were back, all up on my cervix, rearing their ugly heads.  But they weren’t yet enough of a threat that they needed to be acted on and may clear up on their own.  So, I was “high risk”, but remaining in one piece.  For now.

And so, when I christened the Stick of Fate with my urine just several weeks later and it came back positive, I was petrified.  And that’s putting it lightly.  How weakened was my cervix from all of these surgeries?  I just had a high risk cancer screening, how would this affect my pregnancy?  Shaking, I called the doctor and begged and pleaded for an appointment.  After all, I was going on vacation in two days.  I needed to be seen and NOW!  The next day, CC and I walked into the doctor’s office for our appointment like we were walking the plank.  There were no words, no exchanged glances.  Just quiet fear.  The doctor told us there was nothing to worry about.  But, being only about four or five weeks (the ultrasound tech’s estimate) it was too soon to see anything but the sac on the ultrasound.  So how could I be certain that everything was okay?  I didn’t feel any more comforted than I did before.

Four weeks later, we returned for our second appointment.  And we got baby’s first photo.  Like a little peanut, there it was.  Our baby.  This teeny tiny little bundle of cells, that was creating a human life right before our very eyes.  And we did this.  It was absolutely awe-inspiring.  The ultrasound tech added some humor to the incredibly emotional moment when she announced, “You’ve got a big baby in there!”  Just like that, B.B. had a nickname.  And there it is: B.B. stands for Big Baby.  And it certainly is.  I’m now 16 weeks and, my little star on the weight gain chart is, well, above the graph.  When strangers in the supermarket ask how far along I am, they always respond shocked at my response.  What can I say?  CC and I were both big babies ourselves!  So, B.B., CC and K. Lee make three.  (Plus the cat, Audrey, and dog, Haylee, who are still learning how to coexist.  It’s as if we have two children already!)  We’re going to be a busy little family with this Big Baby and I can hardly wait.  Although I am trying to rest as much as possible now while I still can 🙂

The Stick of Fate: And So it Begins

The date was June 27th, 2012.  I was seeing GBD (Gay Baby Daddy…for more on GBD, click here) in Pennsylvania in two days to be his wedding date and I could hardly stand the wait.  Anticipating a weekend full of getting-our-drink-on, I decided it couldn’t hurt to take a home pregnancy test just as insurance.  I wasn’t really late, a few days or so, especially since my cycle tends to have a mind of its own.  But C.C. and I had been careless and I had the tests already so there was really no harm.

I had a pregnancy “scare” a few months earlier and, never one to pass up a bargain, had indulged in the two-pack of First Response that came with a third test for free.  After all, if it turned out I was pregnant, being thrifty would be on my side!  Previously satisfied after one negative result (especially since my “visitor” came about thirty seconds later) there were two unused tests left in my bathroom vanity.  And so, to ease my mind for a weekend full of guilt-free partying with GBD, I set down to urinate on the Stick of Fate.  It was going to come back negative, I was positive.

Surprise!!! Two pink lines, one slightly fainter than the other, crept their way across the tiny little window.  I rubbed my eyes, expecting it to clear up.  There was just no way.  Faster than I knew was possible, I chugged a bottle of water, unwrapped the second Stick of Fate, and released.  There was no mistaking it, I was going to be a mommy!  Holy S-H-I— whoops, not around the baby!  So much for getting my drink on.  I would officially be the most boring wedding date ever.

Telling C.C. was one of the most terrifying moments of my life.  We had talked about kids before but as something we both wanted in the future.  A baby?  We just weren’t ready for this.  But, then again, no one ever really is I suppose.  And so, I packed up Stick of Fate 1 and Stick of Fate 2 in a Ziploc baggy  and took the drive to C.C.’s house, mostly on auto-pilot.  I had no idea how to approach this.  I was in shock myself and going back and forth between elation and terror.  The terror was mostly surrounding the uncertainty of how C.C. would react.  I had wondered if I could ring-and-run when I got there, leaving the Sticks of Fate at the door.  He was a smart guy, he would get the point.

The funny thing is, it was easier than I had ever imagined.  One look at me and C.C. knew exactly what I had to tell him.  And, while I cried, he held me and told me how much he loved me.  He came with me to our first doctor’s appointment, where our pregnancy was confirmed.  And then I had to leave for three days to Pennsylvania to be another man’s date to a wedding.  A gay man, but still.  Yup, that’s how we do things here, complicated.

GBD was beyond understanding and may have been more excited than I was about me becoming a mommy.  And, of course, I assured him that he would still be my GBD.  While he would not be the child’s biological daddy, every baby needs a gay!  I assured GBD that he could help the baby pick out clothes, choose the best self-tanner and learn how to not dance like a white guy (or girl).  Before you go attacking me for stereo-typing, rest assured that GBD is exactly that fabulous!  No other man could make a woman feel as gorgeous in her wedding outfit, despite the fact that the skirt would no longer zip all the way up!  And when the obnoxious wedding guest seated next to me at dinner inquired as to how my “husband” felt about me being at a wedding with another guy after I just found out we were pregnant?  I simply informed him that I had actually had an orgy with six guys and I wasn’t sure yet which one was the father.  End of questions right there and I was free to enjoy my meal.  Score!

Now, two months has gone by and every day has been an adventure.  Despite the hormones, nausea, back pain, insomnia, headaches, constant urination and over-heating, the adventure has been beautiful.  I am so incredibly excited to be a mother and to share the life lessons I have learned along the way with someone who I’m certain will teach me more than I could ever imagine; about life, patience, understanding, stopping to smell the roses and delight in the little things.  And the kind of unconditional love that enables one to wipe someone else’s poop…often from unexpected places.  True to form, C.C. wants a boy and I want a girl.  Although if she is anything like me when it comes to dating and the college years, I may have to lock her in her room until she’s thirty 😉

• Keep checking back for more on our journey, including baby’s first sonogram, where the nickname B.B. came from, registering and food, food and more food!
• For more on the journey from Single and 30 to My Journey to Mommyville, click here!