I need a girl's night out...
I don't know how, when, or what but I need to go out and be silly with my beautiful girlfriends. It's always so difficult to get us all together, but once we do, the reward is immediate.
Don't get me wrong, I love my husband- I can even dare to say I have a blast with him- but there is just something about getting together with my three best friends since high school that is SO MUCH DAMN FUN! We speak in our own little special language almost and laugh constantly. Even when the serious stuff needs to be paraded out and looked at, we still enjoy the time with each other.
These girls (yes, I do think it's appropriate to call us 36 year old moms girls...) have seen me when I have nothing left to give, and in those moments, they give to me. These are girls that I have seen in hopeless times, and I have been honored to stand by their sides and be a shoulder to cry on. These are AMAZING girls.
I have been shown over and over how lucky I am to have friends like this in my life. They are the truest expressions of friendship I have seen.
But, enough of the serious crap... I just want to go out dancing with these girls!!!
Saturday, February 20, 2010
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
Rylie Rain
Today marks the 11th birthday of the baby I never got to raise.
I was 31 weeks pregnant with my 1st baby, a girl, when I noticed I hadn't felt her move for awhile, maybe 1/2 the day. Being as it was my first pregnancy, I wasn't really alarmed. I just thought that I must not have felt it, or she simply wasn't very active that day. A few hours later I casually mentioned to a friend that I hadn't felt the baby move in almost 24 hours. She told me to call my doctor. I didn't want to be a "pain" so I hesitated. When I finally did call, I still wasn't too concerned. The doctor asked me to come directly into the labor & delivery unit of the hospital. Walking in with my husband and my dad around 6pm, I was laughing and joking having no idea of what reality was awaiting me.
The doctor had me lay down on the bed and tried to find the heartbeat, that was my 1st indication that something could be really wrong. I heard a faint pounding and felt relieved and said, laughing, "Oh there it is, I was worried." The doctor just said, "No, that's yours." I was so confused. They brought in an ultra-sound machine and as they moved the monitor over my belly I saw my baby for only the 2nd time. Then, the doctor pointed out the heart, that was not beating. She just said to me, "I'm so sorry." Amazingly, I still didn't understand what they meant by that. It didn't make any sense. Were they really telling me that my baby was dead? I remember screaming, "No!" and the nurses rushing to shut the door to my room so I did not disturb any of the new moms to be. As I was screaming, crying trying to comprehend what this all meant, the stupid fucking nurse says to the doctor, "O.K., I have to go to room 12 to deliver those twins now." I looked right at her and yelled, "Are you fucking kidding me right now?" To this day, I'm rather proud of that outburst because I usually would just let it pass because I wouldn't have wanted to make her feel "bad".
The doctor on call from my doctor's practice came in to the room about 8pm and asked if we'd rather go home and wait for my labor to start naturally or did I want to be induced. (I had been under the impression that they were going to knock me out and perform a C-section to take out the baby.) He informed me that the safest way to go about it was to deliver the baby vaginally. After discussing it with my husband we decided that we would just have me induced right then, rather than wait. During the time waiting for labor to begin my husband and I just laid together in one of those super comfortable hospital beds taking turns crying. We wanted to just run away and never have to explain what happened to the baby we were supposed to bring home with us. God, we were so young, I was 25 and he was 27, we just couldn't comprehend something so horrible happening to us. Why, why, why??? We must have asked that a million times.
While early in labor, one of the nurses asked us if we wanted to hold the baby after she was born. We very hesitantly said yes. When they asked us if we wanted pictures of the baby we were absolutely horrified and told her in no uncertain terms "NO!", we thought that it was the most morbid thing imaginable. (Thankfully, we had very sweet, convincing nurses who were able to change our minds.) The nurse asked about pain medication. I was so worried, that anything I took could affect the baby. I knew they had told me she was dead, but I just kept thinking, what if they're wrong and she's really alive? It could happen, right??? The nurse was so sweet not to call me a fucking loon and set me up with an IV of anti-psychotics right then and there. To this day, I am so thankful that our doctor (whom I'd never met until this very day, mind you), was very informative and let us know what to expect. He told us that she would look like a full-term baby just smaller. He warned us that often times the skin would be peeling and mottled because the blood was not circulating throughout her body. Also, that it would be very quiet when she came out. Harsh, but good to know so we weren't shocked.
There were so many people around us throughout the day, and I just remember trying to make them all feel better about the situation. It was odd, but that was my only concern is to not make anyone else upset. (What a dumbass!)
The time came that I felt the urge to push about 7pm the next day. Damn, long labor for NO BABY! (P.S. That sucked.) She was breach, I didn't have to dilate all the way because she was so small. When the doctor pulled her out, I hoped against all hope that there would be a cry, that they were wrong. But, of course, there was no cry. Except for mine. To this day, that is the saddest I have ever felt. At that moment, hearing the silence and the feeling my husband's head on my chest as he sobbed. He did not cut the umbilical cord, there was no proud moment of taking pictures of a baby covered in goo.
They bathed her, wrapped her in a receiving blanket and handed her to us. I laid her down on the bed and unwrapped her. Stared at her tiny 2 pound 1 ounce body that was absolutely lifeless. Her skin was torn, but there was no blood. She didn't need a diaper, (duh) so I looked at her little girl parts and her itsy bitsy bum. I stared at her feet and toes. She was so pretty. At that moment I was so thankful the nurse had offered us the opportunity for them to take pictures. We had our families come in to see her as well. I remember so vividly my mom holding her and not supporting her head enough so her mouth was opening and I yelled at my mom to hold her head better. (11 years and that's a detail I choose to remember.) I sang songs to her and then asked the nurse to take her away. I can't believe I was able to do that, but she was dead and it was undeniable any more.
I had to stay in the hospital a bit longer due to complications with my blood pressure. That was fine with me. I felt too vulnerable to leave the confines of my little room, where everyone knew what had happened and I didn't have to explain it to anybody.
Phew, I don't think I can re-hash any other details at this point, I'm already typing through tears. When this day comes along, January 26th, I look back at that young woman that had been so innocently trusting in the world that what I expected to happen would happen and I feel so sorry for her. This day marks the anniversary not only of my 1st baby's birth and death, but also the death of my innocence. Never again have I blindly walked through life thinking that all will be ok, just because I want it to be. That doesn't mean I think life's shitty or anything. I just think I'm realistic. I'm not in charge, I don't know why things happen and I can only control so much.
I have had many times in my life since Rylie was born that I have felt grateful for this experience. She has taught me so many things, but the most outstanding lesson I learned from losing her is that I can make it through just about anything. She gave me courage. Thank you, Rylie for being my 1st baby, you are always a part of our family and the best big sister/angel Aiden and Finley could ever hope for.
I was 31 weeks pregnant with my 1st baby, a girl, when I noticed I hadn't felt her move for awhile, maybe 1/2 the day. Being as it was my first pregnancy, I wasn't really alarmed. I just thought that I must not have felt it, or she simply wasn't very active that day. A few hours later I casually mentioned to a friend that I hadn't felt the baby move in almost 24 hours. She told me to call my doctor. I didn't want to be a "pain" so I hesitated. When I finally did call, I still wasn't too concerned. The doctor asked me to come directly into the labor & delivery unit of the hospital. Walking in with my husband and my dad around 6pm, I was laughing and joking having no idea of what reality was awaiting me.
The doctor had me lay down on the bed and tried to find the heartbeat, that was my 1st indication that something could be really wrong. I heard a faint pounding and felt relieved and said, laughing, "Oh there it is, I was worried." The doctor just said, "No, that's yours." I was so confused. They brought in an ultra-sound machine and as they moved the monitor over my belly I saw my baby for only the 2nd time. Then, the doctor pointed out the heart, that was not beating. She just said to me, "I'm so sorry." Amazingly, I still didn't understand what they meant by that. It didn't make any sense. Were they really telling me that my baby was dead? I remember screaming, "No!" and the nurses rushing to shut the door to my room so I did not disturb any of the new moms to be. As I was screaming, crying trying to comprehend what this all meant, the stupid fucking nurse says to the doctor, "O.K., I have to go to room 12 to deliver those twins now." I looked right at her and yelled, "Are you fucking kidding me right now?" To this day, I'm rather proud of that outburst because I usually would just let it pass because I wouldn't have wanted to make her feel "bad".
The doctor on call from my doctor's practice came in to the room about 8pm and asked if we'd rather go home and wait for my labor to start naturally or did I want to be induced. (I had been under the impression that they were going to knock me out and perform a C-section to take out the baby.) He informed me that the safest way to go about it was to deliver the baby vaginally. After discussing it with my husband we decided that we would just have me induced right then, rather than wait. During the time waiting for labor to begin my husband and I just laid together in one of those super comfortable hospital beds taking turns crying. We wanted to just run away and never have to explain what happened to the baby we were supposed to bring home with us. God, we were so young, I was 25 and he was 27, we just couldn't comprehend something so horrible happening to us. Why, why, why??? We must have asked that a million times.
While early in labor, one of the nurses asked us if we wanted to hold the baby after she was born. We very hesitantly said yes. When they asked us if we wanted pictures of the baby we were absolutely horrified and told her in no uncertain terms "NO!", we thought that it was the most morbid thing imaginable. (Thankfully, we had very sweet, convincing nurses who were able to change our minds.) The nurse asked about pain medication. I was so worried, that anything I took could affect the baby. I knew they had told me she was dead, but I just kept thinking, what if they're wrong and she's really alive? It could happen, right??? The nurse was so sweet not to call me a fucking loon and set me up with an IV of anti-psychotics right then and there. To this day, I am so thankful that our doctor (whom I'd never met until this very day, mind you), was very informative and let us know what to expect. He told us that she would look like a full-term baby just smaller. He warned us that often times the skin would be peeling and mottled because the blood was not circulating throughout her body. Also, that it would be very quiet when she came out. Harsh, but good to know so we weren't shocked.
There were so many people around us throughout the day, and I just remember trying to make them all feel better about the situation. It was odd, but that was my only concern is to not make anyone else upset. (What a dumbass!)
The time came that I felt the urge to push about 7pm the next day. Damn, long labor for NO BABY! (P.S. That sucked.) She was breach, I didn't have to dilate all the way because she was so small. When the doctor pulled her out, I hoped against all hope that there would be a cry, that they were wrong. But, of course, there was no cry. Except for mine. To this day, that is the saddest I have ever felt. At that moment, hearing the silence and the feeling my husband's head on my chest as he sobbed. He did not cut the umbilical cord, there was no proud moment of taking pictures of a baby covered in goo.
They bathed her, wrapped her in a receiving blanket and handed her to us. I laid her down on the bed and unwrapped her. Stared at her tiny 2 pound 1 ounce body that was absolutely lifeless. Her skin was torn, but there was no blood. She didn't need a diaper, (duh) so I looked at her little girl parts and her itsy bitsy bum. I stared at her feet and toes. She was so pretty. At that moment I was so thankful the nurse had offered us the opportunity for them to take pictures. We had our families come in to see her as well. I remember so vividly my mom holding her and not supporting her head enough so her mouth was opening and I yelled at my mom to hold her head better. (11 years and that's a detail I choose to remember.) I sang songs to her and then asked the nurse to take her away. I can't believe I was able to do that, but she was dead and it was undeniable any more.
I had to stay in the hospital a bit longer due to complications with my blood pressure. That was fine with me. I felt too vulnerable to leave the confines of my little room, where everyone knew what had happened and I didn't have to explain it to anybody.
Phew, I don't think I can re-hash any other details at this point, I'm already typing through tears. When this day comes along, January 26th, I look back at that young woman that had been so innocently trusting in the world that what I expected to happen would happen and I feel so sorry for her. This day marks the anniversary not only of my 1st baby's birth and death, but also the death of my innocence. Never again have I blindly walked through life thinking that all will be ok, just because I want it to be. That doesn't mean I think life's shitty or anything. I just think I'm realistic. I'm not in charge, I don't know why things happen and I can only control so much.
I have had many times in my life since Rylie was born that I have felt grateful for this experience. She has taught me so many things, but the most outstanding lesson I learned from losing her is that I can make it through just about anything. She gave me courage. Thank you, Rylie for being my 1st baby, you are always a part of our family and the best big sister/angel Aiden and Finley could ever hope for.
Thursday, January 7, 2010
So, it's been awhile...
Wow, it's kind of embarrassing that I haven't posted in over 6 weeks. Who I might be embarrassed by is sketchy considering I don't think anyone reads this sucka, but whatever.
Anyhoo... I've been inspired lately by the usual hilarity offered up by my blog addictions so I thought I'd give it another go.
I hate to start off the year by going with the standard "girl-issue" but man, I have GOT to lose some of this weight I got hangin' on. It's sad that that's been what has consumed my thoughts as of late, but truly it's all I can think about. After my injury (stress fracture/tendonitis in my ankle) I've gained 15 lbs & lost my work-out groove, not to mention that I'm limited since the injury is still, well, injured for lack of a better word. In the last 3 years I had become a gym-rat, never lost any major poundage, but I LOVED working out- only for the immediate anti-depressant feeling I got after doing some heavy cardio. I actually enjoyed the feeling of knowing I could push myself and get to a physical goal. So, on top of my injury not allowing me to stay in that regime, I have health issues that SHOULD be enough to push me to lose the extra 35 pounds I'm holding on to. I am on high blood pressure medication and have found out I'm pre-diabetic. For FUCK'S SAKE!!! These are issues for fat, middle-aged women. Oh, I guess that would be me.
Turns out, not only is it UGLY to gain your weight in your stomach, it also sets you up for some AMAZING perks like the predisposition to the aforementioned health problems. I don't feel like a "fat person" but I sure am starting to look and feel like one.
I just finished reading a book called Thin is the New Happy by Valerie Frankel which is a memoir based on her life-long struggle with bad body image. It was good, earth shattering- NO, but good. She has adopted a Non-dieting strategy that has kept her within a healthy target zone where she fits into her "skinny" clothes and has stopped mentally kicking her own ASS every time she eats something just for the enjoyment of it. I would like, or LOVE, to get to that place. I've let fear rule my eating for too long and I think that's where she was going with her book is to let people know that you don't get anywhere living this way.
I believe that there are reason's I can't lose weight that have VERY LITTLE to do with my actual eating habits. Well, I know that my eating habits have very little to do with actual hunger.
Phew
I guess I said I would be treating this blog as a journal, so I went with it. Maybe if I can get some insight I'll share that too. I don't want this to be my place of whining about my lack of self-control with eating and how I've become a person I don't recognize physically anymore so hopefully that's the end of that.
Peace out
Anyhoo... I've been inspired lately by the usual hilarity offered up by my blog addictions so I thought I'd give it another go.
I hate to start off the year by going with the standard "girl-issue" but man, I have GOT to lose some of this weight I got hangin' on. It's sad that that's been what has consumed my thoughts as of late, but truly it's all I can think about. After my injury (stress fracture/tendonitis in my ankle) I've gained 15 lbs & lost my work-out groove, not to mention that I'm limited since the injury is still, well, injured for lack of a better word. In the last 3 years I had become a gym-rat, never lost any major poundage, but I LOVED working out- only for the immediate anti-depressant feeling I got after doing some heavy cardio. I actually enjoyed the feeling of knowing I could push myself and get to a physical goal. So, on top of my injury not allowing me to stay in that regime, I have health issues that SHOULD be enough to push me to lose the extra 35 pounds I'm holding on to. I am on high blood pressure medication and have found out I'm pre-diabetic. For FUCK'S SAKE!!! These are issues for fat, middle-aged women. Oh, I guess that would be me.
Turns out, not only is it UGLY to gain your weight in your stomach, it also sets you up for some AMAZING perks like the predisposition to the aforementioned health problems. I don't feel like a "fat person" but I sure am starting to look and feel like one.
I just finished reading a book called Thin is the New Happy by Valerie Frankel which is a memoir based on her life-long struggle with bad body image. It was good, earth shattering- NO, but good. She has adopted a Non-dieting strategy that has kept her within a healthy target zone where she fits into her "skinny" clothes and has stopped mentally kicking her own ASS every time she eats something just for the enjoyment of it. I would like, or LOVE, to get to that place. I've let fear rule my eating for too long and I think that's where she was going with her book is to let people know that you don't get anywhere living this way.
I believe that there are reason's I can't lose weight that have VERY LITTLE to do with my actual eating habits. Well, I know that my eating habits have very little to do with actual hunger.
Phew
I guess I said I would be treating this blog as a journal, so I went with it. Maybe if I can get some insight I'll share that too. I don't want this to be my place of whining about my lack of self-control with eating and how I've become a person I don't recognize physically anymore so hopefully that's the end of that.
Peace out
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)