Gestation Proclamation

June 8, 2011 at 3:07 pm | Posted in Even more baby weight, Putting on Baby Weight (Pregnancy) | Leave a comment
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This here is my gestation proclamation.   Project Get Amber Knocked Up Again is in full swing.  And lemme tell you, it’s a project.  I don’t get a What Ever Happens Happens pregnancy.  No Oppsie for me.  To get me pregnant, I must slowly wean off of 4 medications plus birth control and the hardest part of all: get my husband on board. 

Project Get Amber Knocked Up Again began in September.  I wanted to give Evan a sibling badly.  He doesn’t have a ton of family and I wanted to make him some.  Wayne was vehemently against it.  I got pretty sick when Evan was gestating and he was having no more of that.*  Then in September, my beloved Grandmother passed away.  After the funeral, Wayne agreed that Evan needed a sibling. 

So we got right on that. 

Kidding.

Ha. 

My husband, AKA Procrastinator Extraordinaire, said yeah let’s get on that sometime soon yup OK sure we’ll talk about it at some point maybe.  We get all the way to May and on Mother’s Day (which I thought was appropriate); I told him I was making an executive decision: I was getting off my meds and we were makin’ a baby!  Now it’s a month later and I’m just about off all the meds.  Getting off all those pills is a little weird.  I continuously feel like there’s something wrong.  Like I’m coming down with something or I forgot to turn off the oven or someone is hitting me over the head with a large tree branch.  Sometimes I feel like my stoic is breaking but I do my IT’S FOR THE BABY chant and I can usually get past it. 

Next up is menstruating (you guys with penises are so fidgety).  I’ve done that once in the past 4 years and I’m not looking forward to it.  One of the treatments for Endometriosis is continuous birth control so no periods for me.  I will get getting one of my patented Super Periods so that’s fun. 

Then, THEN it will be baby making time.

 

* I had HELLP Syndrome.  Don’t you worry, I already saw a high risk doctor (MFM) and he gave me the go ahead.  I only have about a 20-25% chance of it reoccurring.

On Being an Advocate

August 3, 2010 at 3:16 pm | Posted in Baby Weight (Evan), I have unleashed the crazy, I's for reals, Putting on Baby Weight (Pregnancy) | Leave a comment
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It all starts in utero.  It’s not a conscious decision, but one you ponder endlessly anyway.  That glob of cells… is there a heartbeat?  I’m 16 weeks… why haven’t I felt the baby move?  Is that a Braxton-Hicks contraction or a baby-is-on-its way contraction?  I haven’t felt the baby move.  I can’t hold down water.  For me it was: I have a bad backache and something that feels like heartburn.  It all ends in the same question:

SHOULD I CALL A DOCTOR?

For me, pregnancy was easier.  There wasn’t a helpless child in front of me.  I wasn’t feeling well but I can feel the baby move.  The baby is good.  I didn’t want to be that woman who calls the doctor for every little thing.  I was sustaining life with MY MIND and damnit, that makes me hardcore and if that means dealing with a bit of pain then so fucking be it.  Well, we all know how that turned out.  I didn’t want to be a pest so I suffered in silence without making a phone call.  I figured I’d mention it at the next regularly scheduled OBGYN appointment, if it was still bothering me.  My pride/meekness/laissez-faireness could have killed myself and my baby.  Thank goodness concern rose above my obstinance and I called the doctor about the pain.  Evan was born 6 hours later. 

All bets were completely off when you have a sick baby in front of you.

That newborn with a fever?  Did that: December 1st (Our 1 year wedding anniversary), 2am, ER.  The book from the pediatrician said any baby under 3 months with a fever over 101 needs to be seen immediately.  I called after hours.  I was told to go to the ER.  The ER doctor tried to scare us with a spinal tap “if we really want to find out what’s wrong, but I’m sure it’s just a virus and you don’t want to put your baby through that dooooooooo? yooooooouuuuu??”  I was annoyed; he was making me feel awful for coming in and wanting to know what was wrong and I hadn’t even pressed the question.  It was drowned out by the relief I felt because Evan was OK.  But lemme tell you, if the euphoria high of relief were not coursing through my veins, I would have slapped the bastard.  I’m not a fucking doctor.  He would have been much more annoyed if I acted like I was.   Not only was I worried, but I was directed to go there.  I paid for the service with my cash and some good insurance.  I am Evan’s advocate.  Get irritated the with the parents who refuse to be an advocate for their children.  Treat me with some respect, please.

I am now in toddler illness hell.  For a child that is obsessed with washing his hands and a mother obsessed with Clorox, you’d think we’d have a fairly healthy kid.  But no.  Kids get sick.  And with every. little. cough. you get to feel like a bit more of a failure of a parent.  Woo!  A sniffle! Go me. 

I don’t, I swear I don’t, send my child with the doctor with every little cough he gets.  I don’t call the nurse’s line with each sniffle.  I don’t go to the ER for every fever.  When I feel it’s necessary, I do.  If I’m extra worried and I need reassurances, I do.  (They don’t call it a Mother’s Instinct for nothin’.)  But you know what?  Who cares if someone does go in for every little thing?  I mean, really?  They go to someone, pay for a service… who really cares if it’s not necessary?  Like getting your oil changed every 100 miles.  (Which reminds me…)  Change my oil and take my money… YOU’RE WELCOME

This is not to say you should go to the ER for a splinter because they have to treat you even if you can’t pay.  This isn’t saying you should insist to be seen first by a busy doctor with sicker patients.  But I should feel free to schedule an appointment.  For no reason other that I want a doctor to take a look-see at my child.  I have insurance.  I’m going to pay.  Please provide me service.

Parents don’t want to be that person.  The one always calling the doctor.  Worried about every hangnail.  I know I don’t.  And I know that sometimes I pause before I call the doctor because of it.  I look at my child with a 105 fever and worry that if I call they doctor they might scoff at me because their book SAYS that a 105 fever is nothing to be worried about.  I’ll lose sleep… not because of another $20 co-pay or the fact that I’m out of vacation hours… I’ll lose sleep because I don’t want the doctor to not take me seriously because I bring my child in too much.  I feel stupid typing that.  I am Evan’s advocate.  He can’t roll his eyes at me because I’m being silly and call the doctor himself.  He can’t even tell me what hurts.  I have to be the one that describes the slight change in Evan’s behaviour or sleeping habits.  I have to detail his appetite.  That’s my job.  Being that I’m not a medical expert, I tell the doctor the symptoms.  That’s their job.

My tirade comes from an odd batch of symptoms Evan has been producing lately… fevers, rash, peeling fingertips and toes.  Weird.  I called the nurses line and she tells me it’s no big deal and I’m OK with that answer and I go about my merry way.  The next day there’s more weirdness so I get uncomfortable and call again.  This time I want to see a doctor.  Hi, if you don’t think something is wrong I’d like to just come in… a doctor can take a look and put my mind at ease.  I got sighed at.  I heard the rolling of eyes over the phone.  As in, “I’d like to bring him in for an appointment” then, “*sigh* holdon.”  It infuriates me.  Rudeness.  To a customer.  To a worried mother.  Fuck that.

I’m on the look out for a new doctor.  STAT.

Save Little Lives

March 31, 2010 at 4:00 pm | Posted in Baby Weight (Evan), I's for reals, Love and all that other mushy stuff, Putting on Baby Weight (Pregnancy), The Others | 3 Comments
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“We don’t have time to induce you.  We have to take the baby now.”

Those are the words that I heard 10 minutes before my son was born.  It wasn’t like a hospital drama or my favorite show, House.  They didn’t tell me that “We don’t have time” meant that I didn’t have time and that I might have a seizure and die before the medication to induce labor kicked in.  They didn’t pull Wayne aside to tell him how dire the situation was or how sick and drugged I would be for the next few days.  They didn’t explain what HELLP Syndrome was and they didn’t tell me the risks to our son.  They didn’t talk about the risk of bleeding out during the c-section due to my non-existent platelets nor did they tell us what to expect from our preemie son and how he would be wisked away immediately. 

“We don’t have time to induce you.  We have to take the baby now.”

We nodded while trying to get the million questions we had bombarding our brains in single file.  Before that could happen, Wayne was handed scrubs and told to get them on and I was prepped for surgery. 

Then a little baby was born.  4 lbs, 14 oz.  First apgars were low, the second ones were better.  He got some oxygen, he got an IV, he got a heart monitor.  But he was fine.  He was almost fully cooked.  I got to hold my baby right away even if I couldn’t room with him for four days.  He was well enough to go home before I was.

We were lucky.

Sometimes, a TINY baby is born.  1 lbs, 6 oz. First apgars non-existent, second ones are low.  ventilators and feeding tubes and monitors.  Incubators and unpronounceable drugs.  These babies are not fine.  Not cooked.  They can’t be held.  They can’t come home.  Some don’t ever make it home.

That’s not fair. 

I walk for March of Dimes every year because that thought takes my breath away.  Take a couple weeks of gestation away from Evan and that could have been him.  It could be any of our babies.

What would I do without this in my life?

The March of Dimes looks for ways to make sure all pregnancies are full-term pregnancies.  They support these preemies and their parents.  They research treatments for vision, heart and lung defects.  They support NICUs.  The March of Dimes started back in the day to find a cure for Polio.  Guess what they found?  That’s right, a cure for Polio.  And when that happened they didn’t celebrate and go about their merry ways… they found a new mission.

I found one too.

My family and I walk on April 25th, in Grand Blanc, MI.  Come walk with us!  We have a new person or two (!) walking with us this year and I am so excited!  There are walks all over the nation, go here to find one.

Donate.  Click the button below or click here and sponsor my family and our cause.  Every dollar brings tears to my eyes because I’m so thankful to be surrounded by such wonderful people.  I’ve been tearing up a lot.  I try to act hardcore about it but it’s not working.

Get learnt.  Be a voice.  Mention HELLP Syndrome to your pregnant friends and family.  Know for your wife or for yourself.  We all know of at least 3 pregnant people at a time.  It’s not as uncommon as you might think.  I know of two dear woman personally that had HELLP as well.

H (Hemolytic anemia) EL (Elevated Liver enzymes) LP (Low Platelet count).  Basically means your red blood cells are being destroyed and not regenerating, your liver is failing and the goop in your blood that clots your wounds is low.  All of this eventually shuts down your liver and kidneys.  Seizure.  Coma.  Death.  It can be related to pre-eclampsia but there is some debate on that.  Personally, I didn’t present with pre-eclampsia symptoms (high blood pressure, protein in urine) but most women do.  I was also much sicker after Evan was born.  The fact that I didn’t “look” like a “normal” HELLP patient makes me appreciate my doctors even more.

My symptoms were a pain above my pregnant belly which I associated with heartburn and a backache.  (It was my liver and kidneys).  I felt nauseous and had a headache.  Some women also have blurred vision and tingling in their hands and feet.

Walking. Donating. Being a little HELLP expert.  You’re saving lives.  THANK YOU SO MUCH.

Steps

September 3, 2009 at 2:55 pm | Posted in Baby Weight (Evan), I's for reals, Love and all that other mushy stuff, Me myself I and me again, Putting on Baby Weight (Pregnancy), Rewind | Leave a comment
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Our home was built in the 1970s.  Due to this fact, we have a “mirror corner”.  It covers the corner of our living room from floor to ceiling.  You can kinda see it in this photo in the upper left corner:

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 You can watch yourself in this mirror as you go down the stairs from the bedrooms.

I remember walking (ok, waddling) down those stairs about a year ago with my big pregnant belly.  I’d catch myself in the mirror and unconsciously place a hand on my tummy. 

Then a short time later, Evan was born.  Wayne and I would so very carefully tip toe down the stairs.  We would clutch the hand rail in one hand and hold not-even 5 pound Evan in the other.  We would place ourselves in the exact middle of the staircase… careful not to accidentally bump his head into a wall on the way down.  We’d search the area for our little dogs, not wanting to trip on them and hurt the baby.  I remember pausing on the steps.  I remember seeing a small fold of blankets in my arms as a gingerly inched down the stairs after my c-section.  He was so tiny.  You could scarcely see his face poking out of the swaddling blanket.

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Soon after I was walking confidently down those stairs as I watched how natural it looked for me to be cradling an infant in my arms.  I didn’t need a handrail.  Even the dogs knew to run down the stairs if I shouted, “GO!” 

Months would pass I would see myself walking down those steps as I had Evan on my hip, tickling his side while we bounced down the stairs.

And again as I clutched a heavy sleepy Evan against my chest with his arms around my neck.

I pause on the steps and look into that mirror and realize that in a year Evan will be crawling up and down those steps on his own.  I can see myself waiting and watching at the top of the steps as he slowly makes his way down. 

I know in the future I will see Evan running up those steps to his room to go play.  I can see him running up those steps to slam himself into his room because he’s mad at me.  I can see him rubbing his eyes as he stumbles down the steps in the morning for breakfast.  I can see him missing a step one day and me kissing his boo-boo as he cries.

It’s not easy to swallow the fact that this baby is going to be a kid one day.  A kid that can walk and run and talk back to me.  It’s hard to imagine that one day I won’t have to carry him down those steps.  One day he won’t want me to carry him down those steps.

One day I won’t be able to carry him down those steps.

Birthday Watch 2009

August 24, 2009 at 2:41 pm | Posted in Baby Weight (Evan), I shouldn't have even posted this, Me myself I and me again, Putting on Baby Weight (Pregnancy), Rewind, The Others | 2 Comments
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TWO WEEKS.

There are just two of them left until my baby is a full grown man that goes to bars and college. 

OK.  Maybe not.  I have 2 weeks left that I didn’t have with him last year.  Two weeks until Evan starts to roll his eyes over stuff I show him because he’s BEEN THERE, DONE THAT before. 

“Looky at the pretty colors of autumn.  See how the leaves are changing color?” 

“Duh, Mom.  Saw it last year!”

And don’t say, “YAY!  Evan’s almost as year old.  w00T!”  Because if I was excited and happy about it I would be all LOLzies up in this bitch.  But I’m not.  No LOLs just some big, fat 😦 s.  😦s all around.  Because not only will Evan practically be living on his own in a couple weeks, but I won’t be a mother to a baby anymore.  The mother with the tinsy sleeping infant in Target will smuggly say her daughter is just 5 days old and she won’t even bother to ask me how old Evan is because HE’S OBVIOUSLY AN ADULT.  You loose smugginess after your baby turns one people and you all know how much I LOVE MY SMUGGIES!

So let’s turn back the clock shall we?  Let’s look back a year and she what I was arrogantly doing at the time when I thought I had a month and a half before the baby was born when I really had just 14 days.  LET US LOOK DENIAL IN THE FACE.

  • I sent an email to my coworkers with pictures of newborn Lilah who was born just days before.
  • I was on my weekly Tuesday/Friday doctor schedule and tearing up over my modest amount of vacation time remaining.
  • Wayne and I had our last birthing class.  We learned infant CPR.  The previous classes were deemed “the-other-word-for-homosexual” by my lovely husband who announced it in his “quiet voice” during pretend contractions.  THANK THE LORD GOODNESS that I didn’t have that labor stuff because Wayne was the only husband in class not to rub my back while we practiced relaxation techniques and then bitched about how much his knees hurt while in various labor positions… (are we getting the irony here?)
  • I was writing a mundane blog for MySpace telling the world that I was FREAKING THE FUCK OUT and worrying that:
    • I had less than 1,000 hours to go (in reality I only had 336 hours). 
    • the nursery was not done.  (SURPRISE FORMER SELF!  The nursery was JUST COMPLETED.  You’re welcome). 
    • the baby was going to go to daycare.  Wayne and I were seriously thinking about me staying home.  (Oh silly FOOLS!  SURPRISE FORMER SELF!  Wayne was laid off most of 2009!  Way to think about stopping your only income!)
    • I was having too many Braxton-Hicks contractions and my finger tips were getting all hurty from the blood-letting.
    • We were name-less.  Wayne was suggestion-less.  I was name-full.  Other family members were suggesting-other-names-and-not-liking-our-name-full.  Things were about to get bloody.  (SURPRISE YET AGAIN FORMER SELF!  You’re going to have to look at Wayne all confused while your insides are hanging out and the baby is taking his first breath when the doctor asks the baby’s name.  You’ll be like, OH YEAH! HE NEEDS A NAME!)

OK… enough of that.  I’ll continue to wig out on my own time and spare you yours.  Until my next freakout of course that I’ll have to share the with internets OF COURSE.  And when he turns that year number when he’s no longer a month number and you are unable to locate me, I will either be rocking in the corner of a closed, dark closet or replacing my birth control pills with sugar pills and practicing my surprise face.

And oppsies… almost forgot to give you a piece of the birthday baby. 

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Photo Phriday: Puweshus Momories, we haz it.

July 17, 2009 at 11:20 am | Posted in I shouldn't have even posted this, Me myself I and me again, Photo Phriday, Putting on Baby Weight (Pregnancy), Rewind, The Others | Leave a comment
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A year ago this week, I was an over-pregnant, sweaty, waddley pregnant woman.  I was riddled with fingerprint needle marks and had bumps where there shouldn’t have been bumps.  Aren’t preggo bellies supposed to be round and full and not have a weird flat spot up front that makes you look like you have 2 bellies?  Yeah, I thought so.  Pregnant bellies are supposed to look like this here:

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Carrie and I had a dual maternity photoshoot.  She shot me; I shot her.  Win/Win you see?  Except when in your mind you are a glorious, glow-y, ethereal life carrier and it turns out you look like this:

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I’ll leave you with the ACTUAL ethereal mommy-to-be (Carrie) so you can cleanse your WTF palate:

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And just how are we going to take a group shot… hem-haw… WE ARE GENIUS!

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OK. OK. One of me.  Combo of Carrie and Evan making me look good:

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I’m going going, back back, to A Z… a z…

June 3, 2009 at 11:30 am | Posted in Baby Weight (Evan), I have unleashed the crazy, Putting on Baby Weight (Pregnancy) | 1 Comment
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(If I gotta choose a coast I gotta choose the west and if you don’t listen to Biggie then you have no idea what I’m talking about.  You know, the usual.)

Once a year I fly out to Arizona where I used to make habitat and live and stuff.  My Grandmother lives out there and I must see her at least once a year.  No big whoop, right?  Fly out, free room and board, a car at my disposal and she pays for my ticket even… (shoot it’s my Grandma, sometimes I make money out there.  No really, even my FRIENDS make money out there.)  Easy.  Peasy.

Now.  I have a baby.  That has to go on a plane.  On my lap even.  You know, a child that I can’t bind up or duck tape or anything (in public).  A yelly, skwormy baby that needs to eat and poops and spits up.  A baby that will be confined to a 3×4 foot space on his mommy’s lap for four to five hours.  I don’t think I have built up a large enough store of goofy faces (that I can use in public) to keep him occupied and un-yelly for that long.

Certainly there are protocols for this shit, yes?  Because I never hear much ‘tips and tricks’ for flying with baby.  Is this one of those things that ‘Everybody does it, but nobody talk about it’?  Is this a taboo thing?  Am I going to get flame-y comments?

16-avocadoThe last time Evan was on a plane, he was in his 16th week of gestation.  He was about the size of an avocado… here’s a reference for all you people out there that have never seen an avocado outside of guacamole.  Evan was also encased in my womb which, I gotta tell ya, was very convenient.  He had just started kicking a tiny bit, so even if he was throwing a fit I would have never known it. 

  Oh, I’ll know it now.  Actually, not only will I know it, the people sitting in our row will know it.  Come to think of it… the entire plane will know it.  Including the pilots and those birds that fly next to the plane because they want to commit suicide in the airplane’s turbines.  Once they hear that crying baby in the plane, those little birdies are going to go straight into those things because everyone wants to shut up a crying baby.  Crying babies cause suicide and crash planes!  HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO FEEL GOOD ABOUT THIS??

Do you know what scares me the most?  (Besides the whole ‘screaming-bloody-murder-during-flight’ thing?)  Sitting in the airport waiting to board the plane.  The other passengers will be walking up to the gate all happy-like and then they will see a woman alone with a baby.  At their gate.  They will then slow their walk… and sit carefully and speculatively.  “Is that baby going to be on my plane?” They’ll wonder. “It’s a long flight, will he scream the entire time?”  They’ll sneak glances at me over their newspapers.  They will be praying so hard that we will not be sitting next to them that I will probably hear them.  Other mothers will look at my boy and smile but in their head they will be willing him to fall asleep.  The asleep that lasts four hours.  I’m sure I’ll have my best, “I’m so fucking sorry” look on my face which I wish I was kidding about.  I will take advantage of the ‘if you need assistance boarding or have a small child with you’ advanced boarding.  We’ll sit.  The other passengers will board and one will win the screamy baby lottery and they will be over bummed.  I’M SO FUCKING SORRY.

I’ve gotten some advice.  A new toy.  Bottles for the ascent and decent.  Children’s Benadryl *wink wink*.  But I think I have my plan.  And it goes a little something like this:

I will have one suitcase (Oh Emm Gee, I hope I can fit all of our stuff in one suitcase) and a backback carry-on and Evan in the Baby Bijorn.  For all of you concerned about my shoulders and back:  I know, right?  Evan will be sitting on my lap all nice and free (from paying and from carseat.)  I will have a little bottle of water for takeoff and landing. 

My husband has these little individually packed sets of earplugs.  I plan on having them with me.  You know, “WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!  AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII!!!!”  “I’M SO SORRY!”  “WHAT?  I CAN’T HEAR YOU OVER THE SCREAMING OF YOUR KID!” “I SAID I’M SO SORRY!  HAVE SOME EARPLUGS!!”  And then they will love me.  I was thinking about clipping them to little packages of cookies, but they might think I laced then with Exlax Adult’s Benedryl.  Which I totally wouldn’t do.  Because, no, I wouldn’t want you to shut up more than I would want my son to shut up.  Obviously.  *cough*

My Uncle has borrowed a car seat and will be taking it and the car to a fire station in AZ to get it installed properly.  My Grandma and I will be going out to purchase diapers and food and formula and such that he will need while there.  If we need a stroller, I will go out and buy a cheap-o umbrella stroller.  He will sleep in the bed with me (ACK!).  He normally sits in a baby bath for baths so he will be taking baths with me in the tub while there (sorry, son… I hope I’m not scarring you for life).  I’m not sure yet how I’m going to restrain him during feeding time.  Any ideas? 

So yeah, June 13th, Evan and I will be on our way to the desert.  If you live between there and Michigan, don’t you worry… you’ll hear us.

Unnecessary Promises

May 28, 2009 at 12:43 pm | Posted in Baby Weight (Evan), I's for reals, Love and all that other mushy stuff, Putting on Baby Weight (Pregnancy), Rewind, The Others | 1 Comment
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I remember back when you were just a little glob of cells forming in my womb.  I remember clasping a hand to my belly days after that faint pink line appeared and promising you that I would love you.  I would love you like no mother has loved her child before.  I would love you in a fierce way, a ravenous way, a way that would consume me.  I promised you that my life would be for you from that moment on.  I made a vow that I would be a rock for you, a never ending source of strength and love and support.  I wedded you into my life in such a way that divorce from you would be impossible and ridiculous.  A separation from you would null my existence.  Losing you would negate me.  I told you these things to convince you that I would be the perfect mother for you.  I told you these things to convince myself of that too. 

I pleaded to nothing and everything that I could live up to that promise.  I begged that your father and I could love you as much as we wanted to.  We built a wall to protect you even while you were still protected within me.  We threw out convictions left and right, solid principles, unmovable stances on subjects we knew nothing about.  We were clueless.  But it didn’t matter.  It was all or nothing.  We were in it together.  You were going to be loved and cared for to the fullest come hell or high water. 

As time ticked away and you grew I held my breath prayed that I was strong enough to be your mother.  I was hoping that I would slip into motherhood like an old sweater: so comfortable, so right… nothing you had to think about or stress over.  Because it was too late to back out now, I was going to have to fight to the death… if I wasn’t going to win at this, you were going to lose. 

I needn’t worry.

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You exploded into my life and then the dust settled and the shock wore off I didn’t have any choice.  There wasn’t an option to try to love you as best as I could: you demanded it and I couldn’t help it.  I was so caught up… I was overwhelmed and loving it.  I couldn’t have backed out on my promise if I tried.  I wanted to need you, but I didn’t know that you would be my air.  I didn’t know that you were going to consume me.  I didn’t know everything was so dark; I didn’t know everything could be so light.

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I never realised that it would be so easy… strike that… so natural and thoughtless to be your mother.  So weightless.  I never wanted you to feel like a burden, but it turns out that there is no effort to hide.  Sure… I’ve lost some sleep, you’ve cried for no reason what-so-ever, your kicks and pinches are getting so strong that it hurts mommy… but did I ever have to look and you and try to be everything for you?

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Never.

And then I look and see your father and know that there is someone else here that is as embarrassingly hopeless as I am.  I knew that, if there is ever a reason to, there is someone that I’m going to have to contend with if you ever need protecting.  Someone else that needs you as much as I do. 

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What’s the future going to hold for you, Sugar?  I don’t know.  All I know is that I’ll be there, in any way shape or form you need me, I’ll be there.  I don’t have a choice.  And you should know that you don’t either. 

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You will always have us… a Mother and a Father, watching over you, protecting you, helping you, raising you and loving you.  We will be your home base and your defender.  And one day when you break our hearts for whatever reason children do, we will be patiently steady… waiting for you to grow and learn.  You will never see our backs facing you.  And we will constantly worry, (as we already do), and you will proceed regardless (as you already do).  And I will know that my promise was kept, however unnecessary it was.

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Photo Phriday: Psst! They’re on to us!

May 1, 2009 at 7:00 am | Posted in I have unleashed the crazy, It's OK to be confused... I am, Me myself I and me again, Photo Phriday, Putting on Baby Weight (Pregnancy), Rewind | Leave a comment
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Totally Smug.

Totally Smug.

 

 

I was the smuggiest smugger when I was pregnant.  I can admit that.  I’m an even smuggier mom.  (As you can surely tell.)  This is Smuggy Pregnant Amber in Arizona at 16 weeks 6 days gestation.  It was taken by Stephanie exactly a year ago (5 days ago)!  Oddly enough my Mother tells me that “I” was in Arizona when I was in her belly at about the same time of my gestation.  (Gestation is such a smug word.  Love it.)

 

Smugginess during pregnancy is as unavoidable as talking about your child poop as a mother.  As soon as that fetus is in the womb, the smug chemicals leak out.  This is as adorable as baby drool.  Enjoy.

 

Pregnant Women are Smug by Garfunkel and Oates

(or get the full effect here

 

Pregnant women are smug

Everyone knows it, nobody says it,

Because they’re pregnant

 

F-ing son of a gun

You think you’re so deep now

You give me the creeps now

Now that you’re pregnant

 

I can’t count all the ways how

You speak in clichés now

 

I can’t wait to hear someone say

Don’t care if it’s brain dead

Don’t care if it’s limbless

If it has a penis

 

Pregnant women are smug

Everyone knows it, nobody says it,

Because they’re pregnant

 

This zen world you’re enjoying

Makes you really annoying

 

Bitch, I don’t really care

I was being polite now

Since you have no life now

That you’re pregnant

 

You say you’re walking on air

You think that you’re glowing

But you had been ho-ing

And now you’re pregnant

 

You’re just giving birth now

You’re not mother earth now

 

Pregnant women are smug

Everyone knows it, nobody says it,

because they’re pregnant

 

F-ing son of a gun

You think you’re so deep now

You give me the creeps now

Now that you’re pregnant

Love-lay.

Photo Phriday: A year ago I thought I was pretty damn special.*

April 10, 2009 at 11:08 am | Posted in Baby Weight (Evan), I shouldn't have even posted this, Me myself I and me again, Photo Phriday, Putting on Baby Weight (Pregnancy), Rewind | Leave a comment

…turns out I was just pregnant.  Like everyone else. 

15w3d

I was about 15 weeks along here.  I blossomed pretty early.  This is what I looked like throughout my entire pregnancy.  Hands on my belly and a smug little grin on my face*.  “Looky… I created life.  I’m sustaining it with my mind.  What have you done today?”*  Turns out there was about eleventy thousands of other woman who were blah blah blah… whatever.  Because I created this and they didn’t*:

all smiles

How does that taste?  Bitter?  Hard to swallow?  Yeah, I thought so.*  (Umm, Stephanie and I were just discussing this Scrubs quote and I choose to jack it.)

*It’s not that I think my kid’s better than yours… it’s just that he’s MY kid and sooo much better than yours I wuv him to pieces.  Your kid’s cute too.  Srsly, that kid of yours is adorable.  I love me some children.  I wanna see photos!  Can I have them when they are all little and new?  I like them the best.  I’ll take good care of them!  Nommmmmm… newborns.

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