An Unfairish Life: The Bitter Diatribe of a Working Class Family

Just a warning, some of this may border on ranting but let’s just get it all out in the open.

Now I like to think of myself as traditionally untraditional, meaning we take a little bit of morality, ethics, and ideals, and mash them into what works for us. By nature, I’m a very cynical, sarcastic and outgoing being. My father forced me into optimism. Every time people screwed me over he kept reminding me that faith in the human race is worth it after all.

Now I don’t want to say certain things are “right” and others “wrong” but there is a societal and social order in which things are more easily accepted. I chose to follow that order and it came as such: Date some boys, play some games, find the one you can make it work with, move in together to test the last-ability, get engaged, graduate school, get married and have babies.

We live in a universe where families of all shapes, sizes, makes and molds exist, but in the secretly conservative world we coexist in, should we really expect the idea of first comes marriage, then comes the baby carriage to be out of style? Sure we’re more accepting of the out of tradition molds. Divorce is like a staple of the nation now, but can I just ask for some brownie points for doing things as society asked and really making it work?

Not only that but to come into a union out of choice instead of circumstance? Where’s the certificate of achievement for that!? There are so many walks of life, and we are forced to recognize, respect and celebrate all of them at one time or another, but what about those of us that worked at it? Yes, all relationships and facets of life itself are “work,” but some have it harder than others.

Personally I have overcome severe depression without medication, family addiction, personal losses such as death and grief, and the general betrayal by and of loved ones in the form of money, personal conflicts and judgments. And who hasn’t?! But there is a dignity with which to accept the lot in life you are given, and even with a fit of rage and many mistakes, the choices to guide yourself out of the darkness should be rewarded.

My husband and I CHOSE to be with each other because we knew we were a great match. I CHOSE to turn my outlook on life around without being medicated. I CHOSE to finish school and create an opportunity for myself. I CHOSE to take my family history into account when making lifestyle choices to better my situations. My husband and I CHOSE to live within our means, to move into new surroundings to enrich our lifestyle and adulthood and we CHOSE to have our amazing child.

Many aren’t so lucky. Although I may seem ungrateful at times, I know how lucky I am, but that doesn’t deter the periodic frustration with the general dealings of the world we live in.

So many American households have mountains of debt, student loans and consumer credit issues. My husband and I have never had more than 5,000$ in debt at one time. We have both sustained full time jobs and taken care of ourselves without too much dependence on the outside world with two exceptions, and one of those was a medical emergency.

Since medical debt is as trendy as divorce, it shocks me that this actually counts against you. Even when someone has great health insurance, you still end up paying medical bills, and the amounts of said bills are enough to put you right back in the hospital with a heart or panic attack!

We have no car loans or outstanding tickets. We’ve never had a car payment and have come into car ownership within the means of the money we have. When we needed extras, we turned to credit cards, like most. And by extras, I don’t mean flat screen TVs and fancy vacations. We paid for a vet visit for the dog that snuck up on us, a repair on the car that was overlooked, and new shoes for work, new glasses, or a walk in clinic visit for a minor medical emergency.

So after the birth of our amazing daughter and feeling triumphant that we’d done so well with money and hadn’t racked up too much in my absence from work, we thought we should really do some future discussion and enter the world of grown-ups: house ownership.

One of our closest friends had just purchased a house and we thought, well why not. Now all the hoops you have to jump through could practically be written in Greek. I don’t get it, but that word “pre-qualify” came up and we knew the numbers would have to be “run.” Now I knew my husband’s credit was trashed but mine was pretty good, but he made all the money.

After being optimistic out the ass as I always have to be, even when I really just want to run into a cave and hide from the unfair nature that is our lives, the nice lady over the phone with the results basically told us that our ideals and optimism were shot. No house this year, and we had a bit of a yellow brick road situation with some flying monkeys to deal with. Perhaps having a house actually fall on us would be the most viable option.

As she was winding me around all the jargon I don’t understand on the phone and I’m shaking my head to my husband all I could picture was the moving poster from Harry Potter reading “Undesirable #1.” And then I got a bit worked up.

Why is it that some of the most rotten people we know get things handed to them like inheritances, newer cars, and an endless supply of family hand outs, and we live paycheck to paycheck, pinch pennies and have no luxuries in our midst and can’t catch a break? And it’s not just us! Some of our most wonderful and hardworking friends ALSO have shit luck, and then we watch these thankless, selfish assholes make the grade!?!

For lack of a better word: Bullshit. So I wound myself into a mental cyclone and then look down at my daughter, who had a very challenging first month of life, and was reminded of something: things aren’t really THAT bad. And as bad as it is to say, they can always get worse!

It’s an unfairish life if you ask me, but in turn, I shouldn’t be looking for others to justify my life. Sure I may have played it “by the book” and made choices as close to the guidelines I’d been raised with as I could, but just because some of our “frenemies” lived outside of it, is no true reflection of what we have made for ourselves. We get enough judgment in the world without asking, so I shouldn’t be seeking approval from anyone. Why waste time longing for brownie points when we could just be making brownies?!

I think about the people I admire the most that have had to deal with some horrible things in life. I think about the people who work so hard and who have shared their worry and stories with us. I think about karma and how the truly wretched people will pay for their wrongdoings and mistakes. But mostly I realize that those people who seemingly have it “better” than you or us probably have a whole set of problems we couldn’t even fathom! The more money the more problems, right P. Diddy?

So I put myself back into check and realized no matter how bitter the diatribe, no matter how bad the moment, the day or the situation, we have more than we’ll ever need: each other. It’s corny and cliché for sure, but that doesn’t make it any less true.

We, as a society, live very closed and secretive lives. Somewhere along the timeline we lost our ability to sympathize and share heartfelt stories and now relate almost everything to a “status” change or “check in.” These updates currently allow us to call ourselves socialized. Well, my status change will read “On our way to the life we want, one day at a time.” And I guess we’ll check in as we end up in each stage of life, however bitter the diatribe that the unfairish life had brought us from.

The Birth Story: A Day Late, A 7lb-9oz, 20.5in Cutie

My daughter, Luna Raylee, was born on January 31, 2013 at 11:30am and this is our story.

I had an amazing pregnancy. The first three months I did have morning sickness and horrible nausea if I didn’t eat a small snack every couple of hours. I’d never been so tired in all my life. The second trimester brought typical hunger and energy spurts. By the third trimester I was tired again and my only real complaint was excessive swollen ankles and feet because I worked a desk job.

I worked the entire nine months of my pregnancy and only called in once, well I guess by the end of it, twice. I was pretty regular although I did gain a lot of weight, but not a dangerous amount. Creepily enough somehow I gained almost the exact amount my mother gained when she carried me.

Luna was due on January 30^th, 2013 and I only became truly uncomfortable during my 40^th week carrying her. We’d had a doctor’s appointment that week and they said if she didn’t come out by the time Groundhog’s day rolled around, they’d induce.

Tuesday January 29^th I had an induction massage to help start things complete with Reikki. My husband and I had planned to start the at home induction methods after my last day of work if she didn’t appear on her own.

After 7 months of constant heartburn and staying away from anything with too much spice or flavor, I finally caved on Wednesday, my due date and demanded Thai food. Shrimp spicy curry was my delicious dinner and I think between that and the massage we definitely encouraged her to come out.

I was technically scheduled to work on January 31^st, 2013, but Luna Raylee had other plans for mommy. I remember being uncomfortable that night; waking up every hour to change positions and get comfortable again.  I woke up around 7 the next morning and left a message at work saying I wasn’t in labor but wasn’t feeling up to coming in. I took a long hot shower because my lower back was sore from the massage and then got dressed.

I was trying to let my husband sleep in because he’d worked a lot previously but by 8am I was uncomfortable. My dad had been staying with us to help us get ready for her arrival, and I remember he asked if I wanted coffee, made me a cup and then when he gave it to me, I was too uncomfortable to grab it and finally woke my husband. We realized I was in labor and everything had begun.

I’d made plans with a bunch of friends to hit a local restaurant as a kind of last pregnant night out and started texting everyone that I wasn’t feeling well. I didn’t want to create a stir so I just told them I’d keep them posted.

We sent my dad to the store to stock up on reserves for the hospital: granola bars, hard candies, and snacks. I’d asked my husband for pancakes and within 5 minutes the thought of eating was too horrible to bear. My phone was blowing up with texts and I remember throwing it across the floor telling my husband to make it stop. It was a distraction I apparently didn’t need.

The contractions were nothing that I could have imagined. I was moving all over the living room, crawling around desperate to find comfort. At one point I was on the couch with the heating pad on my lower back. Our poor two-year-old pug was so concerned about me. He wanted to lie at my feet but that was adding to my discomfort. My husband was holding my hand and helping me breathe while staring at my focal point of a sonogram picture of our daughter.

At one point I was mostly comfortable but the pain was increasing, our pug crawled up on my back on top of the heating pad and applied just the perfect amount of pressure to alleviate some of the pain. It was an amazing moment between mommy and pup!

After that I was so uncomfortable and sick. Here’s something I never knew happened: I was vomiting during contractions. It was horrible. After a few trips to the bathroom my husband urged me to get into bed. I said no. I’d been standing and he’d been applying pressure to my hips with his hands to help ease the discomfort, a trick that made no sense to me in childbirth class but was a life-saver during my labor. I refused to get into bed.

I ended up on the living room floor with a mixing bowl for me to be sick in and he turned on my favorite show. I remember yelling, “Turn it off! TURN IT OFF!” The noise was too much for me to handle for some reason. My dad returned from the store and sat quietly reading while I was all over the place desperate for rest from the pain. For me, the contractions were the worse menstrual cramps and back pains I had ever experienced. I must have cried, “I can’t do it, I can’t do this,” a thousand times, and every time my husband responded, “Yes you can, because you’re doing it already!”

We’d chosen the natural birth route, no pain assistance whatsoever. Around 10am, about 3 hours into the growing discomfort my husband finally got me to retreat to our bed. I remember screaming so bad and literally passing out in between the contractions. Around 10:15, after some painful cries, my dad popped his head in the room and said, “Those last two were kind of close together, we may want to head towards the hospital.”

The hospital was a good 30 minute drive. We all scrambled to get ready and I was in and out of the bathroom with the sensation I needed to pee. I was concerned about not leaving the dog in a strange frenzy. Poor pug had no idea what was going on. My dad and husband got the bags, got me safely down the stairs and loaded us in the car. I wanted to stretch out in the car, a physical impossibility. Luckily for Florida, it was exceptionally cool. I remember when I first got in the car I got stuck because I rolled in a painful outcry. It was both funny, and horrible all in the same moment. We had a Tupperware for me to be sick in, just in case.

We got on the highway and I sat up, screaming. My husband was on the phone to my mom as I was yelling. I gave up breathing and just started wailing in pain. It was the only thing making me feel better. It was about 10 minutes from the hospital, at a stop light that I screamed profanity and apologized to my dad who just said, “Oh, that’s okay honey, you’re entitled to swear as much as you want.”

It was then I started screaming, “It hurts so bad, there’s sooooo much pressure.” My husband in a calm yet vaguely panicked voice asked, “Like what kind of pressure?” I responded, “I don’t know but I feel like she’s so low; like she’s close to being here.” My husband just reminded me we were almost there.

We left the house at about 10:30am and made it to the hospital by 10:55am, a record considering it was downtown. When we pulled into the hospital area, a mere moment away from being there, we stopped at the pedestrian crosswalk between buildings and an old, hunched over gentleman was literally walking at a snail’s pace across the road in front of us. My husband yelled, “YOU HAVE GOT TO BE KIDDING ME!”

He pulled into a drop off area and I cried, “THIS IS THE WRONG ONE! YOU HAVE TO GO UP THE RAMP!” Even during labor I was bossy and right! The valet and people in the emergency area were barely helpful and we had to ask for a wheelchair. When we arrived in the women’s center, I was still screaming a bit. Everyone kept calmly saying, “And this is your first baby?” To which we replied, “YES!” No one seemed to be in any hurry for me to do anywhere. I screamed again and a nurse said, “Oh honey, don’t scream, just breathe.” I shot her the dirtiest look, as if to say, “Are you fucking kidding me right now!?”

They took me into a room and asked me to undress. My husband had to help me. They said, “Ok we’ll do a quick check to see how far you are.” They laid me down, did a “quick check,” and then said, “Ok, we need to go STRAIGHT INTO DELIVERY!”

They wheeled me down the hall and then had me bed hop into one of the delivery beds. I remember telling one of the midwives that I was very dehydrated so I may need an IV. The midwives came in and introduced themselves and said we were all going to be delivering my daughter. I was still yelling and I had a nurse tugging at my arm for IV purposes. The midwife said, “Alison, don’t yell because that pushes out and it’s time for you to push down.” That, I could wrap my head around!

There were no stirrups and they wanted to me to hold both my own legs, which was so tough for me. It seemed like a million things were going on at once and everyone was telling me to do this that and the next thing but she was on her way out, and it was all happening quickly. One nurse was trying to get my IV ready and my midwife scolded, “Forget the IV, she needs to start pushing, NOW!” My husband was right next to me, my dad was sitting on the comfy couch area out of the way with our bags, and there was a male and female resident in the room to see it all happen. The male resident almost dropped during the event!

My husband grabbed my one leg, the midwives helped me with the other one, I pushed one, rest, pushed, two, rest, pushed three, rest, pushed four and there she was. “She has red hair,” my husband exclaimed. They immediately put her on my chest and I just held her tight and said, “wow.”

The midwives cleaned me up and my adrenaline was running so high. I’d done exactly what I wanted to. I delivered completely naturally, and from the time we arrived at the hospital, she was born about 35 minutes later! She was perfect.

My legs were shaking and suddenly I became cold. My midwives massaged my deflated stomach which felt so strange and slightly uncomfortable. Since I hadn’t technically been admitted yet, all the medical questions were asked afterwards. I was completely disoriented and exhausted. The only thing I could focus on was her. They took her over to a small area to clean her, measure her and weigh her after about a half hour. Then they gave her to daddy. My husband and dad had started calling everyone. Luna Raylee had taken the world by storm.

It was an incredibly fast moving, life-changing, truly epic event. We were so proud of me for doing everything naturally. It wasn’t until later that we’d realized my labor started at about 11pm on Wednesday evening. I’d had contractions every hour but I slept in between them. My water must have broken in the shower because when they asked when, we had no explanation because we hadn’t seen it. The funny thing is, if I hadn’t been screaming and pushing out instead of down, she may have been born in the car!

When she came out she had the cord around her neck once, but because the birth was so swift and my husband cut it so quickly, it didn’t constrict her airflow, but she does have a little birth mark on her neck from it. From other posts you know that after her birth we faced many challenges but her birth and her time growing in my womb were little perfect.

I look at her and I don’t understand those mothers who harm their children. She changes so much every day and we’re so lucky we get to watch it all happen. And all of those women that told me I couldn’t handle it without the epidural seriously underestimated me. And almost allowed me to underestimate myself!

The last day in January, a mere day after her due date, our wonderful daughter was born. And we love her like we never thought possible. Her birth story will be our family tale to tell for the rest of our lives!

Bad Mom...My Parenting Nightmare

In the midst of all the books and parental preparation that comes with growing a life inside you, I remember coming across a piece of literature that said “Parenting is not instinctive; it’s not an innate ability.” And that quote pissed me off. In my mind, parenting is completely based on instincts because you’ll just know what your baby needs; right? Apparently, wrong. Or at least, it’s no longer completely instinctive.

Although it makes complete sense to me that cavewomen were just built to know how to care for their newborns and breastfeed, we now live in a world with endless information, interference and advice. It’s both a blessing and a curse.

When my daughter was born, I was so overcome with relief and joy, my adrenaline running from a swift and all natural delivery that you can barely grasp much of a thought beyond a love so intense for the little being. We’d read the books and gone to the classes. I was so excited to breastfeed because I’d read how awesome it is in every way.

What I never read, or perhaps I just don’t remember reading it, is how much of a challenge breastfeeding can be. And no one, not any mother friend or relative, ever told me…until I finally asked around, and then the truth came out. Our first 48 hours together, spent in the hospital were filled with nurses coming in and out to bother us both. At one point, one nurse scolded me, telling me I needed to wake my baby to feed her.

Now all my life, all my years of nannying and childcare led me to believe you should never wake a sleeping baby. Apparently, this was another idea that’s more of a loose guideline than rule. First the nurses proclaimed I had flat nipples…guess I’d never really examined my own nipples because this came as a total surprise to me. Then they fidgeted with our hold having me move her all over. My daughter and I just looked at each other wondering what everyone was doing. She wasn’t very interested in eating and when we woke her she’d cry in anger and then want to eat less.

A very good lactation consultant came to help during a successful feeding and had very little input. Later when we had an issue, a nurse handed me a nipple shield, but  didn’t explain to me what it was for or why she gave it to me, just commented on my flat nipples again scolding me for not working harder to get her on there.

We were relieved to get home and then the real fun began. Our daughter was a great sleeper, which shocked the hell out of us. Once my milk came in my nipples became cracked, bloody and so sore that breastfeeding was almost more painful than my contractions. I cried every feeding and dreaded it for the first 10 days after my milk came in. Feeding her was such an ordeal. My husband had to get me fresh water and a hard candy because I was in such misery I needed distraction. I wasn’t enjoying the bond at all and wasn’t healing, everything was just getting worse. It hurt so bad that I would instinctively pull away because I anticipated the immense pain, which would make my daughter more irritable and she’d latch more feverishly to get what she needed.

Finally my amazing husband, after hours on the internet got me a nipple shield to help me heal. This saved breastfeeding for me. All the lanolin or non lanolin cream, everything just made my nipples stick to my nursing bras and pull off scabs. Going braless hurt my back and I’d leak all over everything. The nipple shields helped me heal and I checked to make sure there was milk in it so I knew she was getting what she needed.

I remember just around her two week birthday a close friend came over to take her newborn photos. He and his wife were pretty much our only parenting allies. I’d spoken with his wife and she helped me so much and convinced me to speak to a La Leche League Leader, and when he came over he told me that it’s not easy to breastfeed and everyone has to get used to it. That day I’d started weaning us both off of the shield because as soon as I told people I was using it, all the advice about why NOT to use it and scary stories about how it’s “bad” and problems it causes came out.

The day of the photo shoot we’d successfully breastfed with almost no pain. I cried from joy and our photographer got some great shots of us sharing that moment. I’d reached out to a mom’s group on Facebook and got the most amazing feedback. I felt much less lonely and started to feel good about breastfeeding again. I remember thinking I’d contact a La Leche League Leader the following day when I realized we had company arriving soon to stay with us. In anticipation, I’d been so stressed I thought, “Better wait until after the visit; I’ll just focus on my daughter this week.”

 In an effort to keep things simple, while company was in town I’d relied on the nipple shield again. I was very afraid to let on that breastfeeding was a very big challenge for us. All of the hurdles made me feel as though I was somehow being judged by others. I’d cried over and over again. I didn’t understand why it seemed so natural for others, and was so difficult for me. I’d rationalized that because my pregnancy and her delivery went so well, it was only fair that breastfeeding was something that would be harder.

I’ll admit something that I’ve only ever said out loud to my husband: I’ve always wanted children and we waited so that we could be better equipped to care for them. Because of my childhood and personal experiences with my own mother, my biggest fear is being a bad mother. I was a nanny for most of my life and I always gave “my kids” everything I could. I wanted to be for them, what I didn’t really have. Now that I had a precious girl of my own, the thought of letting her down was unbearable.

Her two week check up fell on the first official day our visitor was here. We drove downtown to our appointment and were told we didn’t have one. We were so frustrated. As someone who made appointments for a living, I thought about it rationally and asked when the appointment was made for and was shocked to find out that they made a same day appointment for the day my husband called to make the appointment, two weeks ago. However, no one called to inform us that we “no showed.” Also, when I’d called to let the front desk know we were running a few minutes late due to traffic, no one told us we didn’t have an appointment to be late to. They couldn’t get us in until 5 days, almost a week later, which made her almost 3 weeks old.

The next five days were horrible. My stress levels were off the charts, which must have projected onto her. Although I didn’t really feel like breastfeeding was particularly troublesome at this point, I was distracted to say the least.

It was on the actual day of her check up that feeling like a bad mother hit a whole new level. When we went to see our pediatrician, whom we love by the way, everything seemed normal, until she reviewed our daughter’s weight. Instead of gaining back to her birth weight, she’d lost weight. And our doctor then explained that this was the kind of weight loss that required hospitalization. It wasn’t anything to worry about yet, but we needed to make sure her little body was ok.

I immediately burst into tears. Our pediatrician calmly said, “You guys have done nothing wrong. We just need to make sure she’s getting what she needs ok?” No…not okay. We were a mess as we were admitted into the hospital. I was scared shitless. My husband was too, but always manages to hold it together far better than I.

When we were admitted into the Pediatrics ward it was all business. Our nurse was amazing, very sensitive and sweet. A cadre of caregivers showed up, including the lactation consultant. She had us try out a new hold and looked generally horrified at how badly my nipples were damaged. The first task was to see how much food my daughter was actually getting. This required her to be weighed before and after each feeding.

From the moment the doctors came in, everything had gotten crazy. My husband had run home to get us all clothing, as we were informed we’d be there for a few days to run some tests. While he was gone, everything seemingly happened at once. Our doctor, whom I liked, and her team of residents and nurses informed me that I just wasn’t producing enough and that our feedings were ineffective.

This just broke my heart. Everything had been such a challenge with breastfeeding and this was an utter failure. Failure was even in the title of the condition “Failure to Thrive.” And suddenly bad mom overload kicks in; I felt as though it was my fault. I just wasn’t a good enough mom.

I flashed back to every obstacle and was able to sit there and over analyze all the should-haves, could haves and would haves. How did I miss the signs? How did I not know? I WAS HER MOTHER, and somehow I missed giving her something she needed for life in this world. There are no sufficient words to describe what you feel the moment you feel you’ve failed your child.

Failure to Thrive is a term that covers a wide array of issues. I wasn’t producing enough to feed her because she wasn’t demanding enough from me. It was a collection of intertwining issues. Either way, these issues needed to be fixed. It wasn’t an easy process, mentally or physically.

Everyone said this was not my fault and that it happens often, but as in most situations in life you search for someone to blame. When the one to blame is you, it’s a pretty dark moment. The doctors and nurses were all in the business of getting us back on track. We had a ridiculous schedule to keep up. My daughter was to eat every 3 hours: 10 minutes on each breast, I’d pump for 15 minutes on each breast and then she’d supplement formula for the rest. If she didn’t take down the whole bottle of formula, they had to give her the rest via a feeding tube down her nose to help expand her tiny tummy so she could get the calories she needed.

Watching them put that feeding tube in was horrible. They’d asked if I was ok to watch and I said yes but nothing can prepare you for the mental anguish of watching your child in that kind of pain and hearing her screams, knowing you can’t just make it all better.

As for the whole formula thing, I’d fought it but when you’re told your body isn’t giving your child what he or she needs, you change your outlook a bit. In no way did they discourage me from breastfeeding. They wanted me to get that baby on the boob properly but I felt so…depleted, in every single way.

The first 48 hours in the hospital were the worst. Everyone kept harassing me about eating right and drinking plenty of water but I was so exhausted and so upset, food was the last thing I wanted and any water was immediately cried out of me. I remember sobbing and apologizing to my 3 week old for being a bad mother. My poor husband just kept reassuring me that it wasn’t my fault. At one point we both just let out all our crazy thoughts for what caused this. He said he was working too much and would have noticed if he was home more. I said I was stressed out and failed to pay close enough attention. We went back and forth for hours and got almost no sleep.

They started running the tests to make sure nothing scary was happening in our little one’s system. Unfortunately our daughter inherited her parents’ hard-to-find veins so when it came to drawing blood, it was horrible for her. I couldn’t watch. My husband had to do it. My poor baby was tortured. For 5 days my husband and I were in the hospital with her. I never left her. My husband ran errands for food and clothing but I never left my daughter.

Our visit totaled 10 miserable days. Within the first 72 hours she was eating well enough she didn’t need the feeding tube. Plus my little warrior tried to pull it out herself. She took to the bottle better than she ever took to the boob. It was our 8^th day that the lactation consultant came back. At this point I’d given up on having her on the breast and was just pumping. After the issues with cracked and bleeding nipples, having a plugged duct, issues with engorgement and ongoing discomfort, and then seeing her success with the bottle, I figured giving her any breast milk at all was better than none, and it was okay for it to be in bottle form. On the 8^th day however, the lactation consultant came back and had me put her on the boob. Miraculously, she latched effortlessly and perfectly. Somehow the bottle actually improved her latch! I felt like a real, live mother again!

All of her tests came back fine. She had no internal issues. The hospital stay was very uncomfortable. Of course I understood that I needed to get my daughter healthy, but being away from home that long was terrible in every way. She made daily progress but every day they’d say “tomorrow or the next day” we’d go home. They wouldn’t allow her to sleep with me and they had no swings or rockers so if she wasn’t in my arms she was stuck in a hospital bassinet. We liked most of the nurses we had, but a couple were horrible.

I felt like the hospital robbed me of my child. For those ten days I couldn’t enjoy her. I was completely disconnected out of sheer exhaustion. I’d opened up to everyone about our problems and it comes with a very wide array of responses. Most were supportive, some were slightly judgmental and some people decided to further scare me into thinking worse things would come.

We’re so grateful for the people who came to our aid but having visitors was difficult too. Being such a physical, emotional and mental mess, having guests was sometimes an intense experience, so I had to just let people see me falling apart. Falling apart was somewhat freeing; to embrace the pain and let go.

 We’ve been home a month. I started reviewing baby literature today and I had an overwhelming rash of emotions. I read a few paragraphs on breastfeeding and thought, “Well, that information would have been useful before!” It’s a shame the books don’t warn you about the obstacles. They make everything so benign and as a parent, concern is healthy. You can’t walk into parenthood blindly, or at least you shouldn’t. There are so many things I “should have” done, or “could have if I’d only known.”

Once I came out and discussed my challenges, I was met with open arms, but until then it was amazing to me how something that billions of women do every day was such a tough task, and amazing that I felt so lonely in my challenges with it.

I’m still saddened, disappointed in myself and angry, but I’ve had to pull the positive from the situation. I have a very healthy little girl now. We learned a lot about her and ourselves. We are stronger because of it all. She now sleeps effortlessly in her bassinet, which prior to her hospital stay she did not. I miss her sleeping with us, but we both sleep better with her right next to the bed in her bassinet. Now we share other snuggle time that I truly enjoy. I’ve revisited some old obstacles mentally and  emotionally but have de-stressed and taken care of us both more intensely.

Our daughter is so…wanted. We did not enter parenthood hastily and we do not take it for granted. I appreciate each moment with her now. I appreciate each minute of every day more than I ever thought I could. She is my reason for existence and I fully intend to live as such.

I still have momentary feelings of being a “bad mother,” but I know I’m doing the best I can and being there, wherever there is, for her is all that matters. We hit many speed bumps on the drive of new family life. We had to adjust our “plans” and expectations, but that’s what parenthood is! We are a better family because we overcame those obstacles and even though some “critics” may say otherwise, we know we have love and support from amazing people to carry us the distance, and boy are we ready to go the distance!

ODE to the ECHO

On Halloween 2012, I lost something very dear to me…my car. You can roll your eyes; you can brush it off but let me explain something to you: that car has been with me longer than my husband, and it’s taken me everywhere I’ve ever lived!

In 2000 my dad had to get a new car for us. After he and my mom split up he picked his own car out. He really wanted a Toyota Prius, but if you think those babies are expensive now, imagine 12 years ago! The Toyota Echo was a new model they’d released that boasted 35 miles per gallon. He chose a four door forest green version and this new car sported the first I’d ever seen in the “middle dashboard” style interior. No more odometer and gauges through the steering wheel; they slapped that sucker in the middle and tilted it to the left. It was almost like a little alien car!

My dad bought her in Lancaster, Pennsylvania at Lancaster Toyota. Let me explain something about my awesome dad, he hated most new technology with the exception of musical equipment. He wanted a CD player and a tape deck, but no power windows and no air conditioning. The air conditioning wasn’t a choice: he had to have it, but the windows you had to roll down. Nothing too fancy in the new car!

When he and my mom split up we left Lancaster.  I left for Delray Beach, Florida to try and live with mom my junior year of high school and my dad headed out to Oregon after purchasing 40-some acres of isolated woodland property. He took the Echo with him.

When my life with mom went to shit, my dad drove the Echo from Eugene, Oregon all the way to Delray Beach Florida to pick me and my possessions up and take me back to Oregon. That Toyota Echo towed a trailer with my bed, my furniture and all my other stuff I deemed important. Under complete protest he dragged me to the west coast in June. The car was so overworked the check-engine light came on before we even got out of Florida. We couldn’t tow my crap with the air conditioning on or she’d overheat. So we rolled down the windows, sweat profusely and had a lot of ice to munch on. We had to crawl up the mountain ranges. And eventually she got us to Eugene safely.

For my senior year I shared that car with my dad. Occasionally he’d allow me out on the town with that car, and so began the legend of Enid the Echo. By 2003 she was still relatively new. My dad kept her in pristine condition. I helped wear her in.

Much like the Queen classic, I’ll admit, “I’m in love with my car.” I snuck cigarettes in that car. I went on drives to nowhere and everywhere. It took me to concerts, to work, to school, to events, to new apartments, to visit friends and boyfriends, and to visit family. That car took me practically everywhere I’ve ever been.

Enid the Echo didn’t officially become mine until my dad bought his truck. After she was paid off, he needed an all terrain vehicle to help him get further into his rustic property and Enid just wasn’t that kind of car. She could hit the Oregon coast highways and curvy roads like no other, but she wasn’t a rough and tumble kind of car.

When she became mine I’d just started my punk rock princess phase, so I immediately outfitted her properly with bumper stickers, cartoon air fresheners, interior stickers and stuff. My car became local legend. Everyone knew the bumper sticker car.

Anyone who knows me, even remotely well, knows me with that car. That car took me to meet my old best friend for the first time, and without that trip I would have never met my husband. That car took me to and from the nannying job that changed my life. Enid drove me to and from Lane Community College so I could get my Associates Degree. My car took me to University of Oregon every day to get my Bachelor of Arts.

My horrible ex almost stole my Echo and when I drove three hours to retrieve her, I then drove home in her alone crying, listening to Modest Mouse and she rocked out with me. That car took me to so many concerts and then was festooned with souvenirs from those epic adventures.

Enid the Echo took my husband and I on our first date. He wanted to drive because his car was filthy and didn’t have a reliable heater. That car drove half of my husband’s band on their one and only multi-state tour. That car took my husband and I on our first anniversary when we were still dating. She took the little ones I babysat to feed the ducks and one day when I gave her stickers, she decorated the passenger, back sear window. Dora the Explorer was all over, and I never took it down.

I got my first and only two speeding tickets in that car. That car had more memories and stories than most and anyone who ever knew me, even just a little bit, probably rode in it. That car was a part of me, and she was tough to let go.

I’ll tell you one story about Enid the Echo. It sounds like something out of a movie, but I swear this is true: Back in High School I went through a classic music phase. My friend and I were obsessed with Led Zeppelin, Elton John, The Who, Cat Stevens, The Doors, The Grateful Dead, etc. My friend and I got the Echo and went on one of our afternoon drives. It was just after we graduated high school and we were rocking out some “Tiny Dancer.” We had the windows down and the music up. We were on a quiet but main road in Eugene at a stop light singing, and we look over and on the front lawn there are three hippies playing hackey sack and they join in with us and we’re all singing “Hold me closer, Tiny Dancer!” And we all knew all the words.

Enid the Echo was there for me in all other changes. When we moved, when I broke up with my exes, fought with friends, needed to run away, needed to get from job to job, she was there. She was my constant in a world of chaos and change. She was my first and only car up until recently.

She took my old best friend to say goodbye to his grandparents when they passed because he didn’t have a car. She took me to and from the airport to fly to see my grandparents for the last time and to say goodbye. She took me to and from the airport so I could see the world and study for three months in London. She took me to and from my in-laws houses. She was my wingman!

The night my husband and I got married, we packed her to move to Florida and left her in front of my Aunt’s house. Someone broke her window and stole a bunch of our stuff. We took that car, on a trailer across the country again on our honeymoon moving adventure, with a busted window. We duct taped a Forever 21 bag on her and it didn’t budge in the scariest storm we’d ever seen. There were still marks form the duct tape on her when we said goodbye. She took us around San Francisco and even down Lombard Street. She took us all over Memphis and New Orleans. She took us to Tampa. She’s always brought us home.

Enid the Echo had 253,000 miles on her! She still got 29 miles per gallon! She lived in Tampa for three years with no tinted windows and unreliable air conditioning. We had a scare with her last year but because she’s a rock star she cost us very minimal amounts to maintain and I swore I’d drive that car until she just didn’t drive anymore. But sometimes life has other plans.

When we found out I was pregnant in May, we’d already been discussing, getting a newer car. We’d decided on Toyota or Subaru because my husband and I had seen great longevity with both. Finally I won out on trading the Toyota in for another Toyota and I had my heart set on a Yaris or Matrix. Every time I wanted to test drive new ones, my husband came up with something else we needed to do.

Finally, about 5 months into my pregnancy we realized that with my not working for three months, having a new car payment and insurance wasn’t exactly a smart plan. We also realized we’d have no down payment. We thought we’d just keep Enid for one more year and then turn her in next summer.

In the midst of all this we had some other unexpected expenses come up, as they do in life. We were desperately trying to bounce back when my husband told me Enid really needed new brakes, which we’d put off long enough. We took her in and it cost twice what we’d estimated.

It was around this time and opportunity came up. Our best friends had just been given a brand new car and were getting rid of their old Pontiac Grand AM. They’d planned to just take it to Carmax but they offered it to us for a very fair price. Up until we took Enid in for the brakes, we’d toyed with the idea of having both cars. But when they came out to quote us on brakes they came out with a laundry list of other issues totaling over $2000. This was it. She was a goner.

We looked at her bluebook and even with a few dings and a LOT of bumper stickers she was worth about $1400. We took her to Carmax and they offered 500$. That was a slap in the face. I started to mentally let her go but to be honest, I just wanted it to be done. I couldn’t handle it.

Being pregnant and getting rid of my car was intense. I realized she was the first car our fuzzy pup, Brodie had ever been in. He loved to go on car rides and he knew which car was ours. I realized that someone else was going to take her away because we needed to put her on Craigslist to get a fair price.

Even though our amazing friends gave us the Pontiac, it took us a few days to sell Enid. It was very stressful for me because I wanted it to be over with. I’d told so many people I had to let her go but the whole letting go thing was not easy. I spent as much time with her as I could before we showed her to a buyer. I had this sneaking suspicion that she would just sell. That someone would see her and just say yes and that would be it.

My husband is a saint because he knew this whole thing would suck so much for me. I would never ever recommend selling a car you are attached to while pregnant. It’s unfair on every level. I’d already taken almost everything out of her and she looked barren and sad. But on Halloween my husband had a buyer. He took them on a test drive. He let me stay in the apartment and I just cleaned up a storm to distract myself.

He came to get me. He told me the offer and he said we should take it. I agreed. I asked if I could keep my key and he said no, we needed to give them both. I went to change and get the title and I started to well up. I felt the tears bubbling inside me. I went downstairs and met them. They had heavy accents. I have no idea where they were from. They gave my husband the money and I had to sign over the title.

As I was signing I had that moment. That moment out of “The Goonies” where you’re about to sign something and you hesitate and double check what it is you’re signing, while someone is leering over you to make sure it happens. I signed and we were going to have to give them the keys. The buyer said “Is that the only key?” My husband looked at me, and then him, and said, yes, just that one.”

We shook hands and they left. I saw them pull out and I lost it. I couldn’t watch her drive away from me. I bolted up to the apartment and just started to ball. My husband handed me my key, and said, “Here, she’ll always be yours.” I looked up at him red-faced and cried, “This really sucks!” He told me he knew and he’d miss her too.

It was the end of an era; the end of Enid. Everyone put the realistic and positive spin on it for me but I still needed a good cry. I know that the Pontiac was a better family car. It had more room, 150,000 less miles than Enid and was a better investment for the next year. It was definitely better to get rid of Enid while we could before she really broke down. And our friends saved us from having something seriously complicated happen and helped keep it simple and on our own terms.

BUT, it sucks saying goodbye. I miss her; a lot! And like I said, you can make fun of me as much as you want but when you have a car with that much history, that many memories and that many miles, it’s bound to stir up some emotions…especially when you’re nearly 7 months pregnant.

So goodbye Enid! I’m so sorry we had to let you go after taking such good care of all of us for 12 years but you’ll always be a rock star and I could never watch you really die. Thanks for being the best car ever! YOU WILL BE MISSED AND REMINISCED! ALWAYS!

The Ugly Truth about the Beauty of Pregnancy

Six months into pregnancy, I’m feeling pretty good. I have the big old baby bump and the hormones to boot!  But there’s so much that no book, no movie, and no Google search could ever tell you about the horrors of pregnancy. And the worst part is, it’s barely physical or mental, it’s all the outside sources converging into one big ball of disaster.

Part One: The Shower

My friends threw me an amazing baby shower. And I had my baby shower at the beginning of my 6^th month. Why? Everyone asked, “Why so early!?” Well, many reasons actually. The first one being, our due date is January 30^th, 2013. Who wants to wait until around the holidays when everyone’s broke and then try and get gifts out of them? The second one, I knew six months in I would still want to be around people in a celebratory capacity. When I’m 8-9 months, I’ll barely want my husband around me. Why push our luck? Thirdly, we live in Florida and October is a great month to have outdoor events and the free place we had the amazing event allowed us to take over the patio. It’s a win-win.

I work with most of my friends so the shower created quite a stir.  I work in a place with about 50 employees. I have a great relationship with about 30 of them. Everyone wanted to go. We’re open 7 days a week so my girls tried to make it on an early close evening and make it an easily accessible event. Two weeks before the shower the drama fairies dropped glitter bombs all over. People who RSVP’d were dropping like flies, and all of the sudden people we never thought would show up, were definitely coming. It was slightly overwhelming! On top of that co-workers were arguing about my shower and the schedule to accommodate everyone requesting to go.

The shower went off without a hitch. We have some amazing people in our lives who contributed A LOT. All of the sudden we had such an amazing collection of things, both necessary and fun. The girls who threw my shower are amazing and we will never be able to thank them enough!

Part Two: The Social Commentary

Everyone wants to know about your pregnancy, but what YOU don’t want to know, is their opinion on how you’re handling things. Doctors are one thing. Doctors are made to scare you. My doctor yelled at me for gaining too much weight because I started to be able to physically eat. My husband yelled back at her that he intended to feed his family and I looked beautiful. Then my doctor scared us into flu shots, which I’m still recovering from. She basically said that if we refused and the baby and I died, it’s not like she didn’t warn us; such a calming picture.

What’s worse is when people ask and you tell them and then they interject why they are right or why you are wrong. I’d been verbally accosted throughout my pregnancy, so I was used the form of mental abuse, but now there were other forces at bay. We’d made the executive decision to do cloth diapers. Why? My husband was allergic to regular diapers, and with a lot of help and advice from a co-worker and his wife I found out that I’d save an obscene amount of money with just a little bit of help. When someone asked about diapers and I told them cloth I got two adverse reactions. One saying, “Oh, that won’t last long,” and another saying, “Cloth? Ugh! What a pain!” I’d learned then that this “hippie” idea may not easily be reveled in.

Then there’s insurance. Everyone wants to know what kind of insurance you have if you have it. At this point I know so much better than to even reveal that part of our lives, but I’ll tell you this: it’s OUR BUSINESS. There are far worse off people in this universe than us, and what we do or do not have, whether coverage is great or crappy or nonexistent, we KNOW WHAT WE ARE DOING. This baby girl was NOT A SURPRISE. We entered into this amazing journey knowing that we could handle ANYTHING because that’s what we do and WHO WE ARE. No matter what, this baby girl will be LOVED and will NEVER go without the basic necessities in this world. EVER!

And of course, there’s the name. Up until last year my heart was set on naming any female of mine Lillian. But then when we were discussing boy and girl names and my husband threw out the name Luna. The middle name was easier. He came up with infusing both of our father’s middle names together into Raylee: unique and gorgeous. And so we had Luna Raylee Chriss. And that’s when the jokes came in. Look, every child will be teased but everyone just hopped on the point, “Wait, you’re naming your child, Luna Chriss?” Some of my favorite people didn’t get it right away. But then it sinks in, it sounds like ludicrous.  But what’s so ludicrous? Naming our baby girl something like Luna Raylee Chriss? Or naming our child something ordinary or trendy? She’s ours and she’ll wear that name with pride. So laugh all you want but our child will be amazing because she is OURS!

Part Three: The Gross Anatomy of Pregnancy: What the books don’t tell you!

Pregnancy is beautiful yes, but here’s what the books never admit: Your boobs grow to porn star proportions. It’s alarming and not charming. They itch and they’re sore so even though your husband wants a little boob time, if he comes near you, you’ll slap him away. Your ankles at one point, no longer exist and you do in fact get the ever dreaded “cankles.” It’s not a good day.

Bending down in any way becomes something out of a science fiction novel. Either you’re getting yelled at for not squatting or your knees bump the belly or the belly bumps other things. It’s so awkward. Your hormones are so out of hand you feel bipolar. You’ll be crying and then laughing and then crying.  Forgetfulness plays a large part too, so odds are you’ll forget if you were laughing, why you were. You’ll forget something that just happened 10 seconds ago.

The gas is out of this world. It’s not even the smell, it’s the activity. You’re a walking whoopee cushion. You’re just one big ball of bloat and gas. And I think I saw the hints of a double chin in some photos: scary!

 

The bottom line is that pregnancy is definitely an adventure in more ways than one. You’d be surprised who comes out of the woodwork to surprise you with love and support and sometimes gifts! Then again it can stir a dirty jealousy in people. Some people, people we’ve had into our home, fed and helped out, have treated me like a chubby leper! No “Congratulations,” no card, no gift, no acknowledgement! But a high school friend you haven’t even seen for four years will pleasantly surprise you and send you an expensive gift off of our registry.

Pregnancy is tough. It’s not easy in any way. But it is a gift. Some people enter into it hastily. Others enter into it accidentally. If you’re like us, you enter into it knowing it will change your lives for the better and take you into a realm you never thought possible. And everything they don’t tell you, you’ll come to easily. And everything people do tell you, you’ll learn to tune out. Just remember: it’s about you, your partner and the life you’re nourishing. Keep that in mind and all these other stressors just kind of…fade away!

Parental Control!

One of my all time favorite Keanu Reeves characters was his supporting role in the film “Parenthood,” which has an all star cast and definitely covers some of the craziness of parenting, but also contains my favorite quote: “ Ya know, they make you get a license to drive a car, to catch a fish, hell they’ll even make you get a license to buy a dog…but they’ll let any butt-reaming asshole be a father…”

Luckily, the man in my life is ANYTHING but a butt-reaming asshole, but we certainly don’t want to be complete fuck ups in our role as parents. As if the whole pregnancy thing isn’t strange and terrifying as it is, next you’ve got parents asking you all about your plans for bringing up baby.

I was just hoping to read some baby books, maybe get some DVDs, get through the actual labor and then step into mom-hood. But now I have people asking if I’ve started interviewing pediatricians!? I realize we have control here but seriously? Wow…

Perhaps I’ve underestimated the greatness of the whole baby thing, but what about who WE are as prospective parents? My husband and I are pretty laid back. We’re healthy people who love our food, wine and spirits. We love our relaxation, our work and our play. And we love that we’re having this baby.

Sure we’ll take the baby in for check-up, to get shots and all the normal baby stuff, but we’re not research and interview pediatrician people. We’re barely long term planners! How about referral? How about it depends on the level of healthcare we have for baby at that time. How about we need to set up the nursery? How about we can’t afford to freak about these things!?

Time is already flying, as it does, and as the hormones go wild I continue to have overwhelming moments of “this is a life changing thing,” realization, shouldn’t we just be allowed to be? One of my last blogs I wrote about enjoying the journey. Will society allow us to do that?

If I could tune out the clatter, I would. TRUST ME. I enjoy the excitement part, it’s just the questions, and then the “have you’s?,” implying that you haven’t done enough yet. It is my personal opinion that you can have too much information. I’m enough of a worrier. I’m trying to take the whole pregnancy and parenting thing one step at a time. I’m trying to keep calm and carry on.

As hormones and emotions run high, I have to wonder why people keep pressing me!? Am I overly sensitive or are people just insensitive assholes? I think it may be a combination of the two. Can’t I just try the instinctual motherly thing to get me by? I’ve always promised myself I would try with every fiber of my being to be a good mother. Here I am, facing the challenge, with an amazing man by my side, and I just want to live day by day. One day at a time.

Why obsess over the little things we can’t control when we’ll have the ultimate parental control? This amazing little being will come into our lives and change everything in the best way ever and you want us to obsess about laundry detergents, preschool, pediatricians, what brand of food, and formula? No thank you. I just want to be with my man, my baby and my dog. I just want us to be a family.

Sure, some families aren’t always perfect and some guys won’t be good fathers as some women will be wretched mothers but in this realm of parental control, I’m just glad I have a front row seat. We’ll learn as we go. We’ll all learn as we all grow. So why get all controlling and overly cautious when you can just enjoy the ride and the journey. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. This is us, and we’ve come a long way. Nothing will get in the way now. If you want to share a great family story, please do. If you want to tell me how to be a parent, please don’t. My hormonal side is growing less and less patient. And in these last few months, I tend to grasp every single amazing moment I can.

Pregnan-see?

Where have I been in the world of writing and composition? I’ve been pregnant. You may think that’s not an excuse, but believe me, it totally is. When you find out your pregnant you have way to many options for reactions. For me, it was all very cautionary.

I told maybe a few girl friends I was late, of course my husband already knew. Some women say “you know.” All I knew was I’ve never been late, and I’d been off of birth control for four years. I’d never had so much as a “scare” in my 27 years on this planet, so it was definitely an indicator.  I jumped the gun on excitement earlier this year and grabbed a pack of pregnancy tests. Those things are expensive so my husband insisted that I wait until we had a real cause to take one.

It happened on Memorial Day, well the eve of that Monday. I was exhausted but couldn’t sleep. I wasn’t sick but I wasn’t well. I had to work all day Monday of Memorial Day and then be hostess to dinner plans I’d conjured up. That Sunday night I was curled up in a ball in bed desperate for sleep and begged my husband to come straight home. I remember he knew I was late and I just wailed, “I don’t feel good.” He put his hand on my lower stomach and curled up with me so I could sleep.

Memorial Day we went by and I snagged a nap before dinner. My girls were buzzing wanting to know when I’d pee on the stick. I promised that Tuesday I’d do it and we’d see. My husband agreed. I woke up that Tuesday morning after over ten hours of sleep anxious and excited. I’d heard the morning was a good testing time so I read the directions and took it. I don’t think it took the full minute before the two pink lines radiated the signal for “Pregnant.” I crawled back in bed and woke my husband.

I put the test on his chest and let him see for himself. He smiled and said, “I knew it.” When I asked how he just said, “I just…knew.” We went to the doctor to get the definitive “Yes,” and then we told people only on a need to know basis, which was a total of three co-workers. No family, no old friends, just the girls that I needed to help me cover my ass at work in case I got sick or the rumors started.

At the time there was another woman at work pregnant. She told everyone right away and it was all anyone could talk about. That wasn’t going to be me. None was the word. My husband actually caved and told his coworkers first. Everyone thought it was adorable and wanted to keep me fed.

And so the journey began. Keeping it quiet was pretty easy. Believing I was pregnant was the hard part. And all the books say different things. I also quickly discovered that women don’t even tell you how crummy being pregnant is. It’s truly amazing to be forming human life but it’s also exhausting and very intense. I’ve had cousins and some of my best friends give birth to 2 or more babies and no one tells you the pitfalls. The constant nausea, never being able to find anything decent to eat, the headaches, vomiting, aches and pains and pure unadulterated exhaustion are never really detailed. The books just call it “fatigue.” I think it’s slightly more than that, readers!

The miracle of life is hard. I’ve caved many times and whimpered to my husband that this is all very hard, but what makes it even harder: the peanut gallery.

Once you start telling people that you’re harboring a baby, the reactions are hilarious and always very candid. My dad was delighted, my step-mom squealed, my eldest sister was ecstatic, my other sister seemingly complacent and my mom was pretty stoked as well. At work, some people were stunned. The general question was whether or not it was planned. The answer is: “Well, it wasn’t unplanned.”

We’re not the kind of couple who lets life take us for a ride anymore. We can go with the flow and just ride it out but we make the big decisions that make our life great. We refuse to be victims of circumstance.

I think my biggest pet peeve of telling the world we’re expecting, is everyone telling us, or at least me about my pregnancy. It’s like as soon as you say “Pregnant” it opens this can of worms starting with “See, when I was pregnant,” or “I heard if the baby,” “Have you thought about…,” “You should…,” and it just goes on and on.

And no one is right, and no one can really tell you what’s going on with your body, but everyone must chime in. Those you listen and genuinely care just want to hear about you, not tell you about you. The peanut gallery will always be there though.  So far I’ve been told that since I have constant heartburn, I’m having a boy. A week later another person said my heartburn means it’s a girl. Others say my belly is sitting high, which means it’s a girl. I then explain to them where exactly the child is within my body, and then they say, oh well maybe it’s a boy then.

I’ve been told what to eat and not to eat by people who live off of shitty Chinese food and McDonald’s. I take their advice with a grain of salt, or perhaps a pound of salt in some cases. I’ve been told by a complete stranger I need to avoid a hospital birth and get a midwife because it’s more cost effective and my baby will be happier and healthier if you keep it away from the scary hospitals. I’ve been told a lot about my pregnancy, but sometimes you just need to tune it out. Mostly I just listen to my baby and my body, and believe me, that baby tells me if it doesn’t like what I’m doing.

Everyone wants to know my cravings. Cravings? I’ve recently discovered meals and snacks from my childhood are the easiest to go down. I’ll tell you this though, if there are no mini-bagels with cream cheese, cheddar cheese, ice cream-related dessert items, or some kind of chip other than potato, like tortilla or corn chip, there will be hell to pay.

Oh and then there’s the activity factor. I had some extra weight on me before I conceived. At that time I was hitting the gym 5 days a week for at least an hour. I took up to four spin classes a week. I did weight training, yoga, and jogging. After I found out about the little minion inside of me I had to slow down. And my first trimester I had experienced a kind of tired feeling like I never thought possible. My second trimester is much better but working out is not easy. If I’m lucky I get some activity in once a week. But working 40 hours a week, and then keeping up with pup and home is a lot harder when creating life.

And I was always taught never to taunt the animals so I can’t for the life of me understand why the people in my everyday life insist on testing me. I’m pregnant people, let’s not go out of our way to annoy or piss me off. For the most part, the whole pregnancy journey has been just that; quite a trip.

Family has been a rock, although it is times like these when having a present and active mother sure would be nice, but I have an amazing husband to take great care of me. That kind of support isn’t something that comes with every marriage and every child. That’s something that through being pregnant, I see.

Mostly, being pregnant is a miracle and I wouldn’t change anything. Through all of the less desirable symptoms it’s still just so amazing to be a part of something so big. I’ve always been worried that I couldn’t become everything a mother should be but with this pregnancy, I feel this ever-growing sense of calm. Everything will be okay. We are a family and we’re growing more and more every day now. Times will be hard and things will be different in so many ways, but we’ll all be so much better for it. We’ve never felt so…lucky. We finally just fell into the place we’d been trying to get to, and the feeling is indescribable.

So that’s my pregnancy, see?