Eyes and Feet

They say that you will forget the pain of delivering your baby, otherwise you would never have another one. I remember almost every detail about my pregnancy and delivery. I cherished every part of it...even those not-so-dignified moments.

After having Kenny, I braced myself for those "baby blues" but they never showed up. I do remember being sad now and again but mostly out of sheer exhaustion. I remember the smiles, the giggles, the rolling over, the worries that I wasn't good enough, the hope, the milestones big and small. I remember not wanting to share Kenny with anyone even if it would help me out for hubby to hold him while I cooked dinner. I am a little crazy, but I have embraced that part of me and sometimes it makes me happy. At least I am a little unique, right?

You know how when you hear a song and "boom" you have triggered some memory of dancing with the cute guy in school. You can feel the music, smell the smells, remember the colors. You feel 16 again. When I look into Kenny's big blue eyes today I am thrown back to the days when he was so young all he did was eat, sleep, poop and stare at my face. When I see his little chubby (yep, still chubby) "Flinstone" feet, I am thrown back to the times when he would kick the heck out of me because he was excited or mad. When I hold his hand I get thrown back to the time when he first grasped that little singing star rattle that was his favorite toy for the first 6 months of his life! When I watch him sleep I am thrown back to all the times I sang to him while I held him warm and soft.

Sitting here at the computer, I can recall some of the big moments. Watching my grandmother sing to him and watching him simply melt in her arms. Watching Jason's grandfather, Kenny's great-grandfather hold him for the first, and unfortunately only time. Sadly we lost his great-grandfather just a week later. I hold on to that sweet image of an ill yet strong and honorable man looking proudly at his infant great-grandson. His first Halloween and the costume I made that took me 6 weeks. His first Thanksgiving and watching him marvel at the taste of a little gravy from my spoon. His first Christmas and how we spent 80 bucks on that damn Christmas tree because his first Christmas tree had to be "perfect" and tall. His first New Years Eve where I sat next to his sleeping sweet face at midnight and told him all the great things that happens in your life in a year's time. Still, the best memories of my little miracle are triggered a hundred times a day while I watch him, feed him, teach him, hold him and yes, even reprimand him. If I try too hard to think about his first year of life it becomes a blur, but if I simply run my hand through his beautiful blond hair or hold his hand, every moment from the first time I saw those eyes and those feet comes flooding into my head. I tear up a lot during the course of a day. Even during a bad day when Kenny is trying really hard to get me assigned to the nearest loony bin.

Here are the nine months of my sweet miracle come to life.

3 mos 5 mos 6 mos 7 mos




9 mos

I have come a far distance from that depressed hunk of flesh waiting, maybe hoping to take my last breath. My son was the first step...a big step in a journey to find myself, to find my sense of purpose, to find who I should have been from the start. Sure, I kept up "appearances" for family and friends, but in the end I pushed away anyone to arm's length who could hurt me. I made lame jokes to cover.

No one could ever push away this face. I couldn't. The spirit and soul of this innocent child is pure love. He infected me with it.

Now, step two. Felicia. Ha! Wait to hear this one.

Next you will learn all about Felicia.

Baby Bliss

In preparation for the baby, we had purchased and set up a co-sleeper. If you haven't seen one of these the idea is simple. It is basically a bassinet that is the same level (can be adjusted) as your bed. You place the co-sleeper next to your side of the bed and you can sleep with your baby without worrying about rolling over on him. I loved it!

After we got home, I rested on the chair with Kenny, snacked, slept and fed him. When it was time for me to actually get some good sound sleep (two days without sleep was killing me) I lay Kenny down in the co-sleeper, climbed into bed and simply stared at my rare little jewel. I started to drift off to sleep. I was awaken by Jason about an hour later. He told me that I was just hurting myself. I didn't understand what he was talking about. He said," You have a death grip on the co-sleeper rail, if you don't let go your hand is going to cramp up." I looked at my hand. I did have a white-knuckled grip on the co-sleeper. I told him I would be fine. Then lay my head back down, hand still gripping the rail and fell asleep. I suppose I was still a little worried that someone will come to try and take him away. Every time Kenny squeaked, hiccuped, wiggled, moaned or took a deep breath, I flew out of bed like a rocket ready to grab him. After checking to make sure that every inch of him was warm, soft and free from peril, I would lay back down again. I can't tell you how many times I jumped up. I don't think I can count that high.

At one point, Kenny awoke, hungry. I fed him and sang to him. Jason was still asleep and this was the first time I had Kenny all to myself with no one watching, no nurses, no hubby, just me and baby in the warm summer night. When he was full, he decided it was time to explore mommy's face. While we stared at each other in the soft light of a low watt lamp, I whispered love and praises to him. I told him how special he was. How wonderful I felt knowing that I get the honor of loving him and raising him. I told him that one year ago, he was only a dream I never thought I would attain, but today he was a miracle of love and light. I told him I loved him a million times and vowed to tell him that at least twice a day for the rest of his life. (yep, three and a half years later I still keep to that vow) I told him how perfect and beautiful he was. I told him how strong he was. I told him I wanted to live forever as long as I could look into those wonderful eyes. That was the most beautiful hour of my life. When I watch him sleep now, I remember that first night and sometimes I whisper to him still.

The very next day, while taking a shower, my milk "came in." Holy Cows In A Field Field of Thorns!!! I have heard and read that there could be discomfort, but I never thought I would dream of cutting these swollen and throbbing things off! I was actually crying out in pain. Jason came into the bathroom begging to know what was wrong. I told him my boobs were killing me. He pushed the curtain back and I shrunk away from him screaming," Don't you touch them, get away!" He went out and called my mom. I stood in the bathroom, dripping, shivering, snuffling with "fire hose" pressured milk squirting in every direction. He handed me the phone. Mom tried to tell me that this is normal, everyone goes through it, yadda yadda yadda. I really got tired of hearing that from everyone.

I heard Kenny starting to fuss and I threw on a robe, ran out to feed him. OH, YES! He ate and what a relief. This must be nature's way of making sure we feed our children. The more he ate, the less pressure I felt. The throbbing stopped. The swelling didn't, but at least the hurt was going away. Eat baby eat!!!

A couple of days later and it was time to take Kenny to the doctor for his checkup. Kenny's first trip out of the house. I took everything with me. I mean everything that I could fit into the truck. It was very ridiculous and yet funny. We were only gone from the house for about an hour.

Kenny's appointment was scary for me. I was worried that he wasn't getting enough breast milk because he still had trouble latching on. The nurse had me strip him and take him to the scale. He weighed in at 6lbs, 14 oz. I started to cry. He wasn't getting enough food. I knew it! Everything else was fine. The doctor explained that a little weight loss wasn't uncommon and told be to keep up and bring him back in about 10 days for another check up.

Those ten days just about drove me insane. I attempted to feed Kenny every time he opened his eyes! Sometimes he would latch well, other times he wouldn't. As his appointment day came closer I started to relax a little. He started to stay on the breast longer and longer. When I tried to give him the breast when he wasn't ready, he would simply spit it out and look up at me like I was nuts.

Those last two days before his appointment he was feeding about 20 minutes each breast. That is almost an hour of eating...every three hours!! It was like he wasn't getting enough. He would get pissed if I tried to switch breasts. My God, I was expecting my boob to cave in!! His cute little belly would swell up like a beach ball. I could almost gauge his next feeding just by looking at the size of his little tummy.

This time, I only took about half of everything to Kenny's check-up. The nurse had me strip him, take him to the scale. He weighed in at 8lbs 1 oz!! Way to go, my boy!! Everything was fine and the doc sent us home with a clean bill of health.

Next appointment would be in three weeks. Guess what....10lbs!! Basically, one month from his birth date he had gained 4 lbs and 3 inches!! It seemed that he was hungry all the time. I started to worry that I wouldn't have enough milk to satisfy him.

Kenny at One Month Old!!

**note**
I did send in the formal complaint against the nurses at the hospital. Later I found out from one of the girls at the OBGYN's office that there had been a ton of complaints just in the first 6 months of the year with some of the same crap that I experienced. I also learned that all but three of the nurses where either transferred to a "non maternity" area or outright canned!!! A lesson, instead of just going to a new physician or nurse when they treat you bad, BITCH LIKE NO ELSE and save someone else from getting treated horribly too.

The Breastfeeding Brawl

Our new son Kenny fell asleep while trying his first breastfeeding. I called the nurse in and asked her to check my IV arm. It was hurting and tingling and just annoying the crap out of me. She came in, changed the bag and noticed there was a clot of blood stuck in the vial attached to the needle. I expected her to remove the vial and change it for a new one. Nope, she told me to hold on, "this may feel a little uncomfortable" as she forced fluid into the vial to push the clot back into my body. WHAT!! I do read the papers, I do keep up on medical news as best I can. It is my understanding that blood clots in your blood stream can KILL you. I pushed her away and told her to take the IV out or I will. She gave me this snotty look and said, "What, are you still mad at me because I had trouble getting the needle in earlier today?" Then it hit me, no wonder I felt my hackles rise up when she came in the room. This is the same moronic, idiotic bimbo who couldn't figure out how to get the needle in my arm earlier! I ripped the tape off my hand and pulled the needle out myself. I pressed the back of my hand into the sheet until the bleeding stopped. She stormed out of the room.

The older nurse came in and tried to calmly explain to me that I needed the medications in the IV to help with the pain. I told her to give it to me orally. She told me that my body needed the fluid to prevent dehydration. I told her to give me a glass of water. She sighed and said she would call my doctor. Dr Chacon must have backed me up because she returned about half an hour later with a glass of water and a couple of pain pills. Ha, I win again. I know that working in the medical fields isn't the easiest job, it is sad, stressful and hard, but I was having no complications. Everything about my delivery (except my refusal to sleep and my attitude) was textbook. I simply don't understand what the hell was wrong with these people.

We survived the first night with few problems. Kenny and I got poked and prodded and were told things were fine. Early the next morning Kenny started to cry. I mean really cry. I freaked out. I called the nurse. A nurse I have never seen came in. She poked him some more and told me that I can try to feed him again, but he was still probably not "truly" hungry. I propped him up on a pillow and got bit again. Not hungry my butt. Kenny was so hungry he was chewing! He was having trouble sucking. I asked the nurse to help me get him latched on correctly. She tried. He latched on, but not very well. At least it was good enough to keep him happy for the moment. After about 10 minutes, he again fell asleep.

Dr Toth. The pediatrician I researched and chose, came in to check on Kenny. Kenny was fine and now it was time for the circumcition. Ok. He took Kenny and Jason into another room for the procedure. I could not, did not want to be there for that one! When Jason came back he was as pale as a ghost. Kenny was screaming and beet red. I calmed him down by singing to him and after he fell asleep, I tried to calm down my husband. He wasn't ranting and raving, but he looked a little green around the gills.

I requested to speak with the breastfeeding "specialist" because I wanted to make sure things were going right. I must feed this baby. She came in and showed me positions, I freaked, afraid that I would suffocate him. My boobs where huge! I had to purchase a 40 H nursing bra!! Over the next four hours I tried repeatedly to get Kenny to latch on. He was still having trouble. The "specialist" told me it was normal for some babies not to get it right away. Ok. I can handle that.

Chacon came in to check me out. He asked me to be nicer to the nurses. I told him I would if I meet a nurse who was competent. I told him I was starving. He said I couldn't eat anything solid but could have broth and water. Gee, thanks. After he left I sent Jason to the cafeteria for a muffin and a cup of coffee.

Later, I was allowed to stand up. OH MY GOD!! That really really really really really hurt!! Ok, I have my feet under me. Now they want me to go and shower then take a little walk. Ok, I can do this. It wasn't easy, but I pushed through.

They brought me a rocking chair so that I could be more comfortable breastfeeding. Kenny was again really hungry so I sat down and went to work. The nurses left the room as I got started. Again, I couldn't get Kenny to latch on. Neither boob was working. I know he was getting something because when the suction failed there was some fluid there. I started to cry. No, I started to bawwl. What the hell was I doing wrong? Why can't I feed my baby? I felt like I was surrounded by people who didn't give a crap about me or my baby. My husband was still in awe at seeing my breast out in public. I felt really alone.

I called in the breast feeding specialist again and she helped me get Kenny on right. She did notice that he was a lazy eater and told me that I will have trouble for the next week or so until he learns what this is all about. Ok, I can deal with that. At least I have an answer.

Here is the best part.

Later that night, it must have been close to 11 p.m., Kenny was again awake and hungry. I got in position to breastfeed. Again, he wouldn't latch on. I called the nurse. The specialist had left but I figure any nurse on the maternity floor would be able to help right? NO. This nurse (much older) walks in, all smiles. I told her what was going on. I explained what the "specialist" had said. She looked at me like I was an idiot. She took Kenny's head in one hand, my breast in the other hand and tried to force the nipple in his mouth. I pushed her away. What the hell? She then verbally told me to do this, that, switch, hang upside, do cartwheels....whatever. I asked her politely (yep I was polite) to leave and that I would be able to get it eventually with my husbands help. The look she gave me was horrible. Her face screwed into this "devil's mask" and she spat out something I will never forget, " If YOU can't be a good mom and feed your baby, then I will take him when you are asleep and give him a bottle in the nursery!" Who the hell hired Satan's mother!!

Jason told her to leave and I asked him to please lock the door. He said there was no lock. I asked him to help me back into bed. I lay there all night long, no sleep for me. I was so afraid this woman was going to come and take my baby. I called Chacon's service at about 5a.m. the next morning with an urgent message that he call me right away. He called about 7. I told him I wanted to go home...NOW! He asked me what happened. I told him. I handed the phone to Jason. He told him. Chacon said he would be in ASAP.

Chacon showed up around 9 am. He checked me out and told me that I could go home as soon as the pediatrician checked out Kenny. He signed my discharge papers and apologized for the staff. He told Jason to call to make a check-up appointment in a week, or to come in if there were any problems, real or imagined. We said ok. About 40 minutes later Dr Toth came in. He poked, prodded and weighed Kenny. Perfect. He told me I made a beautiful baby, signed the papers and told me to bring Kenny in five days for a check up. Ok. Ready to go. A day early. Get me the Hell out of here!!

A totally NEW nurse (to us) came in with a wheel chair. I cuddled Kenny, sat down in the chair. Jason grabbed the bags and the car seat. The nurse waited until this moment to tell me that she can't let us go. WHAT? Apparently we are not allowed to leave the maternity wing until the baby is secured into the carseat. No I am not making that up!! We locked poor Kenny into the carseat. Jason piled the bags and such on my lap and craddled the carseat in his arms. Out the doors, into the elevator.

First floor. I asked to stop by the information desk. We did. I asked the desk attendant for a form to file an official complaint against some of the staff. She looked at me like I was insane. Oh well. I got the form. We headed to the parking lot. Jason left Kenny with me and ran to get the truck. I expected the nurse to turn and go when I stood up. Nope, she insisted that she watch as we latch Kenny, in his seat, into the truck. AM I FIVE! I don't need a babysitter. Ok, fine. Just get me the HELL away from these people. All buckled in, I in the passenger seat, Jason driving. We got about three blocks away. I told Jason to pull over.

Now, I know that you have formed an opinion of me over the last month. This story is all true to the best of my memory and I hope that it has touched you too. So, when I tell you this next part, please understand that I am not a totally bad person. Just a little...um....a bit of a control freak.

Jason pulled over. I told him to help me out. He did. Then I asked that he help me into the driver's seat. He balked. I gave him my "look" and he eventually gave in. I asked him to ride in the back with Kenny. Somewhere in my strange psychotic little mind I could not imagine letting anyone ANYONE no matter how much I loved, trusted or respected them drive MY baby around in a vehicle.

A break in my story...

Ok, Missy has a great idea! When you are making your Christmas or "Holiday"(if that suits you) card list please send a card to the address below. Let 'em know we how grateful we are. Face it, we may not have a chance to celebrate the season if it wasn't for their dedication, honor and sacrifice!
A RECOVERING AMERICAN SOLDIER
c/o Walter Reed Army Medical Center
6900 Georgia Ave. N.W.
Washington D.C. 20307-5001

Best Day Ever, continued

I finally got my way. I was back in my room with my baby, oh, and my husband was there too. I suppose it is kinda funny and kinda sad. Instantly my husband went from being in the forefront of my day to becoming this blur in the background. That actually sounds mean doesn't it? I didn't stop loving him, I didn't stop counting on him or believing in him. Somewhere in my body there was a "click" the moment I heard that baby cry and I switched into "mommy" and all of my heart, love, soul and energy went into the baby. Jason wasn't forgotten, simply put aside for a moment.

Jason handed me the baby after I got settled in. I couldn't believe it. It wasn't a dream. I really have a beautiful baby boy in my arms. He is a perfect little being and I am so blessed to be his mommy. I asked about his little exam. Jason said he was with him the whole time. Everything checked out. He scored 9 out of 10 on the Apgar test. He weighed 6lbs 15oz and was 19 inches long. I was so relieved. I was scared about them taking him early. What if his lungs weren't ready? Thankfully he turned out perfect and healthy.

I snuggled him close and finally let myself sleep. I doubt I slept deep enough to please the doctors, but I rested and that was all I needed.

I awoke to a strange nurse attempting to take the baby from my sleeping arms at about 10pm, I had been sleeping for about 4 hours or so. Apparently my "mommy" mouth hadn't developed because I screamed at her, " What the fuck do you think you are doing, get the hell away from me!" She took a step back in shock. A frown grew on her face, an angry frown and she tried to explain that she needed to check out the baby again for his chart. I understand that they want to keep tabs on the baby, but who can believe these people are dumb enough to attempt to take a baby out of the arms of his mother without waking her first. I guess I was still combative, you think?

I told her to examine the baby in the room in that little crib/table thingie they brought him in on. She told me it is easier to take him to the nursery. I told her no. She left. This whole exchange woke Jason and he was trying to calm me down. He offered to accompany the baby to the nursery while they did what needed to be done. I told him no. Eventually, a different, older, seasoned nurse came in, spoke with me calmly and did the exam in the room. Everything was fine. She then asked if I had attempted to breast feed. I told her no. We had all been asleep pretty much since we all got back together in the room.

She suggested I try. The baby was pissed about being poked again and he was crying but I was able to get him wrestled into position. Breastfeeding is a lot harder than it looks. He BIT ME! Ow! Then he kinda latched on and calmed down. The nurse asked me if we had decided on a name. I looked at Jason. He asked, "Does he look like a Kenneth to you?" I looked down and teared up instantly. It was perfect. A strong name, a peaceful name, a strong baby, a beautiful baby. I said, "Yes, Kenneth Henry. But let's call him Kenny."

Best Day Ever!

July 6, 2005. The best day ever.
Please understand, I am just going to blabber on as I remember it. Basically, it may be a little hard to read or understand, but I will try to make it coherent.

My very wonderful friend Carol showed up at the house around 8 am. I had just gotten out of the shower and was sitting on the couch dreading the trip to the hospital. Angry because I was starving to death. The doctor told me not to eat as of midnight the night before and I really wanted a baked potato! I contimplated beating my husband to a pulp when I heard him pouring himself a bowl of cereal. I think the baby heard it too because he started doing back flips again.

As much as I had been looking forward to this day, I still wasn't prepared to share my little baby with anyone else yet. I didn't want to become un-pregnant. For the last nine months this baby was all mine. Only I could feel the sweet thump of his kicks. Only I could feel the subtle way he wiggled when I listened to my Riding with the King CD at full blast while driving down the road. Only I had the physical connection with this sweet, innocent spirit, and I really didn't want to share. Selfish? YEP. Scared of the C-Section? Not really. I had prepared myself for it, although I still couldn't shake the image of my baby being "cut out" as if I was a fresh turkey being prepared for dinner. Morbid, I know, but I have a vivid imagination and it really wasn't helping my state of mind.

We went through our hospital bag, made sure we had the camera etc., and headed out the door. The drive to the hospital takes about 30 minutes. It was the shortest 30 minutes I ever experienced. We drove into the parking lot, parked the truck and got out. Carol and Jason carried the bags and the baby seat. I didn't move. They probably got about 15 feet from me before they realized I wasn't walking. Carol rushed back. "What's wrong! Do you hurt?" She knew I was nervous, but apparently I looked a little pale too. "No, I just don't want to go in now. Maybe we should just cancel and wait until the baby comes on his own accord." Jason took a deep breath and again went through the speach we had been giving ourselves about how this would be the best option for delivery. Fine. I started for the doors.

When we reached the doors, again I balked. Nope, Not going, Can't Make ME!! Carol grabbed one arm and Jason the other and they nudged me not so gently through the door. We checked in, got all the paperwork signed and headed up to the fourth floor. As we approached the obstetrics wing, we were supposed to pick up the phone, announce ourselves and then they would let us through the locked doors. I couldn't pick up the phone. Jason gave me a look. Carol gave me an even worse look, so I picked up the phone, announced myself and my "party" and we walked into the corridor.

They assigned me to a plain white room with two beds, a tv and a really really old dresser/shelf thingie. This didn't look as welcoming as the birthing rooms I saw during the tour. The nurse explained that C-Section patients got "regular" rooms. I asked her, "So having a C-Section makes me less of a person? I can't have a pretty room with a radio and curtains and warm colors because I am not perfect enough to have a baby the natural way?" She didn't know how to respond. Instead, she simply told me to put on the gown and someone would be in shortly to check me out and prep me for surgery.

Great! Now I am nervous, hungry, angry and in a very combative mood. This should be fun.

I got my gown on while Jason and Carol tried to talk me down. I relaxed a little. Two nurses walked into the room. They explained some more paperwork, how the procedure works, that the baby will be within sight of either Jason or I the whole time, the wrist bands, etc etc. I was feeling a little better. I knew what to expect and I told myself I was ready. Then one of the nurses made a mistake. She pissed me off. I suppose a first time mommy must be the best option to train a new girl. The new girl attempted to put the IV in my arm. She failed not once, not twice, but SIX times. When she was done I had given her and her nurse teacher a good tongue lashing. I think I made her cry. I didn't care. Are you kidding! I called the nurses station and asked to talk to my doctor. They told me he would be in just prior to the procedure. Great. I can't even yell at him.

After about an hour or so, the anesthisiologist came in and asked me questions, explained his part in the process etc. A very nice man, friendly and understanding. I liked him, and for me to say that about a doctor of any kind means a lot. Soon after he left Dr Chacon came in grinning and excited. I glared at him. He got a spooked look on his face and asked what was wrong. I told him about the nurse and I wanted him to make sure I only get seasoned nurses from this point on! He smiled and agreed to talk to the head nurse about it.

Dr Chacon brought in the "suit" that Jason was to wear for the procedure and as Jason dressed he explained the process again. Ok, I am ready. They wheeled me into the operating room. A surgical nurse helped me sit up so that the anesthisialolgist could give me the epideral. She asked me to lean on her so that he could get the best view of my back and be sure to hit the right spot. Ha! I must have outweighed her by like 900 lbs!! She assured me that it wasn't a problem so I leaned into her fully expecting to send us both toppling onto the floor. No falling. We all survived.

They lay me back on the table. Head lower than feet (ooh fun) and started to get everything ready. I was shaved. I was poked, prodded, adjusted, measured and finally ready to go. The anesthisiologist (Boy was he great) talked to me the whole time. I didn't even notice Dr Chacon and Jason walk in. He explained that he would be at my head the whole time, that Jason would be on the other shoulder and what the readings meant on the little machine he hooked me up to. Ok, cool. I am ready.

I felt like I was being crucified upside down with my arms out and the blood rushing to my head, but strangely I was comfortable. Dr Chacon's head popped up over the sheet wall and asked if we were ready. I said, "Yep, but you better make sure that baby cries first thing or I will come off this table like tidal wave." He said, "I believe it, don't worry everything will be fine." I took a deep breath as I felt the pressure from the first incision. No pain, just pressure.

I heard the surgery chatter, listened to my nervous husband blab and watched the monitors to make sure I was still breathing. (I couldn't tell I was breathing. It was weird. ) Suddenly I felt like someone was trying to climb up into my chest cavity! I started to panic. The anesthisiologist calmed me down. (did I mention he was great?) Explained that they have to push my stomach and other organs out of the way so that they could get to the baby. I started to laugh. Great, like my boobs weren't big enough. I took a deep breath and relaxed.

Chacon called out, "Jason, do you want to see?" Jason stood up and was allowed to watch as they pulled my son the rest of the way out, cut the cord and cleaned his mouth. I felt his hand tense. Then I heard it. The most wonderful, beautiful, screeching, cry that you could ever imagine. Then there was a gulp, and boom, he was off again. They held him up so that I could see him. The most beautiful little face. I reached out to touch him and realized that my arm was strapped down. I almost lost it!! The anesthisiologist tapped my left shoulder and told me it was free. I reached up and touched his little hand just before they took him to the table for his check up.

I laid there and listened to him scream. My God was he pissed. I kept asking if he was ok. Over and over. Jason was with him at the exam table and called back that he was fine. He counted his fingers and toes. He had ten of each. Every time the doctor checked off something from his exam list, Jason called to me the results. I felt like I was dying!! I need to touch him. I want him, He is mine!! The exam only took a few moments, but it felt like forever.

Eventually, Jason brought over to me this little screaming bundle and the nurse helped him lay the baby on my chest as I was getting stitched back together. I said, "Hi there beautiful baby boy." He instantly stopped crying. He opened his eyes and just looked at me. I could have stayed in that moment forever. I studied every inch of his little face. Watched his nostrils move, his lips, his eyes, felt his warmth. I felt his love and my love simply combine fully. He is perfect. He is beautiful. I wouldn't have been suprised to see the heavens open up with a holy beam of light gently illuminating our faces. In that moment we were the only to beings on earth! This is my reason for being. This is my angel.

They took my baby and my husband away for a more detailed exam. The anesthisiologist and Dr Chacon congratulated me then went back and forth explaining what was to happen next. They were putting the bandage on my incision as Chacon excused himself letting me know he would be back in a few hours to check in with me. Ok. The anesthisiologist injected something into my IV and told me that I was to sleep in recovery for a couple hours then they would take me to my room to be with the baby.

EXCUSE ME! You expect me to sleep while my baby is in another room without me? No WAY! He insisted that this is best then helped them wheel me into a room where a nurse was to keep watch over me. I told him there was no way I was going to sleep. He smiled and said I didn't have much of a choice. The medication he gave me will relax me and I would be out like a light. He didn't know me.

I lay on that bed in the recovery room for all of maybe 20 minutes before the nurse was ready to strangle me. I wouldn't shut up! No way was I going to allow myself to sleep. My baby needed me. They didn't let me go just for asking, so I figured I would talk them into it. It worked. The nurse called the anisthisiologist back in the room. He tried to talk me into relaxing. NOPE. Finally, I got permission to be wheeled into my room so that I could be with my baby.

Kenneth Henry

The Shower, The Name

On May 21st, my friend Carol threw me the best of the best baby shower I could ever imagine. My online pregnant friends came, my aunt, grandma, neighbors I hardly knew, cousins....just a bunch of wonderful people. My mother and Jason's mother couldn't make the trip but we survived. We received so many wonderful gifts! Carol bought me a beautiful corsage and made me feel like a true princess! Jason hung out and took pictures, but unfortunately we didn't get our digital camera until after the baby was born so I can't post any here. We had the nursery all set up and everyone got to come see. I received things I thought I would never use. Heck, I figured I had enough to raise 20 kids! Boy was I wrong.

In early June Jason's Papa died. It was horrible. Here we were, so excited that we were about a month away from meeting our little boy face to face, and we had to deal with yet another death in the family. Jason's parents traveled from Alaska to Napa for the funeral and wanted us to come. Jason was so concerned that I would have problems. I told him to go alone. Then he freaked because he didn't want me to be alone. So he called Carol. Carol and her daughter came to stay with me for the night. I couldn't help but feel guilty that I wasn't there to support my husband, but everyone felt it best that I stay put. I have a little problem with being treated like glass, but I tried not to make a big deal about it. Jason drove over the morning of the service and was back in the early afternoon of the next day. He was so divided. He wanted so desperately to say goodbye but didn't want me to go into labor while he was gone. Jason came home glad that he made the trip. I was too. Everyone needs to be able to say goodbye.

Four weeks from my due date I woke up to our baby boy doing summersaults and handstands. He was just all over the place. I lay there in bed and just smiled ear to ear as I enjoyed the feeling. It was awesome. When it came time for me to get to the bathroom before I made a mess, I attempted to stand. My right leg wouldn't work. No strength. Almost like it was totally numb, asleep. Jason was just getting out of the shower to get ready for work. I explained to him what was wrong. He called the doctor who asked that we come right in.

An ultrasound proved that this adorable baby decided to come to rest on my sciatic nerve. I could hardly walk! This also showed us how large this baby was going to be. The doctor estimated that if he goes full term I was looking at a 10 lb boy with a large head and broad shoulders. WHAT?! I didn't even think about how he was going to fit until now. Chacon sent me to the physical therapist to see if we could get my leg and hip working again. I went everyday for the next two weeks. About 12 days before the baby was due, July 2nd, with no results from the physical therapist Doctor Chacon suggested a C-Section. NO! NO NO NO NO! I so wanted to feel the natural feeling. I want the pain. I want the stress. NO NO NO NO NO! I want to have this baby the way nature intended! Damn it NO! Chacon explained that the baby was getting bigger and bigger and without the use of my hip, I would have a lot of trouble "helping" with the delivery. I fought tooth and nail. I wanted to feel my water break. I wanted to scream in pain. I wanted to say, " Honey, it's time!" I don't want this baby cut out of me!! Chacon offered us the option of inducing. He told us to think about it and call him in the morning.

At home we poured over the internet health sites. We begged advice from friends and family. Slowly we learned that inducing was not a good idea. The labor could take longer and it isn't very good for the baby or the mommy. My sister's experience delivering her daughter finally convinced me to go ahead with the C-Section. She went into natural labor and the baby never positioned right. They had to knock my sister complelety out then take the baby C-Section. If I opted for C-Section from the begining, I could stay awake through the whole thing. That is what my choice came down to. I decided to play the odds. We knew I could stay awake during a scheduled C-section. If I went into natural labor and my hips and muscles werent' up to the task, I would be knocked out. I wouldn't be able to see him come into the world. It is a crappy choice to have to make after nine months of dreaming. I told myself that either way I still get to be this baby's mommy so it really doesn't matter the manner in which he enters the world.

That night after making the decision to go ahead with the C-Section, we tried to turn our moods lighter and again tried to think about a name for the baby. We have been going over every book on the planet. We had it narrowed down to Aiden, Marshalll, Dalton, Devlin or Patrick. We knew we wanted his middle name to be Henry after his great grandpa. No name at all seemed to reach out and grab us. I was getting a little down.

I remember this well. We put down the books, charts and lists of names. We watched something on the History Channel. While Jason was making us a little snack (hungry baby) I picked up a baby name book and just flipped it open. One name popped out at me. It was unbelievable. Kenneth. I counted the letters in Kenneth Henry...12. I counted the letters in my name Paula Suzanne...12. I counted the letters in Jason William...12. Don't ask me what possesed me to count this out. It was just a spur of the moment thing. I showed this to Jason. He laughed. Then he started to mull it over. Kenneth Henry. Somehow this was the baby's name. That is that. Nothing else seemed to feel so right! Our decision was made.

The next morning we called the doctor. Yes, we will do the C-section. He scheduled the date. I was to report to the hospital on July 6th, at 10 am.

Ha! I Was Right!

I want to quote to you a small passage from the baby's journal that Jason wrote.

"4-7-05, Dear Baby. Looks like mommy beat me to it, but I am still going to write about feeling you kick in mommy's tummy last night. It was really exciting!! For a father, it is the closest way I can get to experience you before you are born. It sure was something. It makes me even more excited about becoming a father!"

Yep, the baby let daddy in on the fun. The kicks were so hard you could actually just sit back and watch my belly roll around. Jason said it looks like the scene in alien where the monster comes shooting out of the guys chest. Well gee, that is a pretty thought huh? Men. :)

The doctor ordered another sonogram on April 12th. The technician got me all situated on that wonderfully uncomfortable half table thing and proceeded to get to work. The first picture she got was a doozy. She pushed on the lower part of my belly and in retaliation the baby kicked my bladder! We actually have a still picture of the foot hitting my bladder!! I already emptied it, but I shot of the table and headed for the bathroom with my pants down around my hips and my shirt tucked into my bra to pee yet again. Ok, let's not do that anymore. She moved the wand up higher and pushed in trying to get a shot at the gender. The baby pushed back. OOh, a fiesty little critter. She made the baby so mad that it rolled over and we got the perfect shot of HIS little Christmas tree. A BOY. I knew it! I was right! A BOY!!! And OH BOY was he in a rather excited mood. I asked the tech why it looked so large. She said that it isn't uncommon for baby boys to have erections while in the womb. WHAT! He has an erection? No way. Oh my God, I gave my son an erection because I can't stop thinking about sex! This is so wrong! I am going to be an awful mother. They are going to take my baby away because I am a freak!! Why is it so big? It is bigger than his foot!!

After my husband and the technician got done laughing...they tried to calm me down and reassure me that this is really a normal thing. She moved the wand some more and our little boy looked right into the camera. We got to see that handsome face! Beautiful!

I took my picture printouts and added them to my collection. I showed anyone and everyone that he was a boy. I guess I got over the erection thing. Well, I guess that is a lie. While changing his diaper, if I find a "boiinngg" looking back at me, I move a little faster than usual. Now that we are potty training, he makes a tent and it still unnerves me a little, but I am getting better about it.

The first person I called was my best bud Carol. I know that I wouldn't have gotten this far with my sanity still kinda intact if it wasn't for her. My mom lived in Oregon, Jason's parents live in Alaska, so Carol took over the roll of taking care of me. Carol really kept me inline. She was so happy that we were having a boy. I was starting to believe that my first intuition was wrong since most everyone in my family always have a firstborn girl. But, HA I was right!

When I say Carol took care of me, I truly mean it. She is a busy woman with a pre-teen, a home business, two horses, a BLM adopted jackass who was still adolescent and fiesty, two dogs, rabbits, cats and oh yeah, John, her husband. Regardless, she always took my calls, came to visit and when I would visit her she always fed my potato need with fantastic, crispy tator tots. I can't believe that a bag of frozen spud chunks could taste so damn good! Carol lived across the street from me when we bought the house in May of 04 but moved to an adjacent valley in early Oct 04. We went from a simply stroll across the street to a 40 minute drive! Still, I believe that she was instrumental in helping me get pregnant. She told me to confront the docs, she told me to stop backing down to them, she was there with all the support I needed. Even with the distance she still felt like she was still across the street.

News about the BOY spread fast through the family and I was back in the limelight again. I had started to get a little lonely. I was in my seventh month and the attention I got at first had started to waver. Not that I expected to become the most important person on the planet just because I was pregnant. I must say though that I did feel pretty special since I was chosen to bring this soul into the world.

May 11th. I had the scare of my life! We were, yet again, laying around listening to the baby's heart beat when the beats got a little too fast. I took my blood pressure and it was 180/102!! Holy Crap! I called the OBGYN and he told me to come in right away. I freaked all the way to the doctor! I just knew that my body was finally going to get it's way and totally ruin my life for good.

The doc rushed me into a room, hooked me up to a monitor for the baby and I was told to lay there and let them take readings for the next hour. The baby wasn't moving. They brought me some sugary juice to see if we could entice the baby to move. No go. Finally, after about two hours he woke up and kicked the crap out of me. I think he was hungry. My pressure went down almost instantly and the doctor sent me to the sonogram room to see what we could see. The tech pushed in, the baby pushed back. Everything looked fine. We took the results ourselves back to the doctor. He asked me if I was eating. I said," like a horse." He was concerned because I lost another 8 lbs since my last appointment. We waited a few more tense minutes while he looked through the file. He couldn't figure out what had happened. He asked if I had been exercising, stressing, eating, jumping, thinking too hard...basically anything he could think of that would cause me or the baby stress. Nope. I was told to go home, rest, record my blood pressure reading every two hours for the next two days, record baby's movements and call him if anything seems a miss.

I did as asked. Nothing strange came up. My pressure was fine. The baby was fine. I brought him the results and he simply scratched his head and chalked it up to just one of those things. He still wanted me to monitor everything and call if there was any spike at all.

My Theory/Your Thoughts

I have a theory.

They say that kids are getting smarter and smarter as the generations are born. I know why. At the moment of conception there is a chemical that starts to slowly drain the IQ of the mother and transfers it to the baby. I am the poster child of this process.

Sometimes my brain gets a bit foggy and I forget simple things, or I lose my educated skill of being a coherent communicator and I simply don't get my point across.

This being said I encourage you, as a reader of this true but strange story of my life, to please make a comment, ask a question to clarify something I wrote, follow up, scream at me, tell me what you think, call me bad, call me good, tell me I am crazy...I don't care. I love feed back. I have learned that learning makes me a better mom. Period.

I will respond back to your comments in the comment section of these posts so you can check back and others can follow along. For my current readers, I will reply to you as well in the comment section starting now. If you prefer to email me, do so. This blog is not only a great release for me or a walk down memory lane, my purpose is to let others feel the affect of my little angels. I look forward to hearing from you all.

Playing Hide & Seek

My heart beat monitor arrived just before Valentine's day. We desperately tried to find the right spot to hear that beautiful "boom boom boom," but we were simply not in luck. Valentine's day was great. My husband (I suppose I should give his name), Jason brought me flowers, a card and took me out to dinner. When we got home he handed me a little bag. In the bag was a card for the baby wishing a happy Valentine's Day and two little wrist rattles. Baby's first real toy! I was so excited that Jason thought of the baby. I was so excited that next Valentine's Day I would be holding that baby. Ok, I was just excited!

Our first appointment with the new OBGYN, Dr. Chacon was scheduled for Feb 28th. As usual I walked into the office with a huge chip on my shoulder. Ready and willing to lash him with my new found, protective mommy-viper tongue at the first sign of trouble. Kolbalter must have tipped him off because Chacon was very nice, sweet and understanding. The only reference he made to my weight was to tell me it would be difficult to see me "showing baby belly" as I got further along. DUH! (Fat people aren't all in denial) and in complete wonder told me that I had lost another 5 lbs. What can I say, the baby is hungry.

We got to listen again to the beautiful sound of the heart and talked about any concerns I had, he had, we had about possible complications. I was concerned about passing on Psoriasis. He wasn't. He was concerned about gestational diabeties. I wasn't. He asked me to take one of those tolerance tests anyway. Ok, fine. He gave me a lab slip and after all the "getting to know you" stuff was done he sent us to another room for a checkup sonogram.

I was expecting to see the sex of the baby. Look for that "christmas tree" or "taco" right? NO. Our sweet little soon to be bundle was hidng. Not only hiding, but turning away from the pressure the technician applied when she pushed and pulled the wand accross my belly. The legs were pulled up so tight. The hands were actually covering the privates!! AAGGHH! I said," What a little stinker!" My husband (smartass) said," Just like Mommy!" We recieved our picture printouts, were told that the baby was right on schedule and headed home.

Three new pictures of BABY! I carried them all over the place with me, showing them to anyone who was willing to put up with me. I am sure I drove people crazy. Hmm. I guess I don't care. I was so happy and proud.

The next morning, after fasting as directed, I headed for the lab for the tolerance test. The lady handed me this little bottle of sparkling water, told me to drink it then I was to sit for an hour before I got my blood drawn. Ok. I drank it. Ick, Icky Ickiest! The same guy who thought up the mamogram must have invented this potion from hell. I sat in the lab and started to get dizzy. The lab lady said, don't worry. You'll be fine. I didn't feel fine. I thought I was going to fall over! This is nuts. The dizziness started to subside. She drew the blood and sent me on my way. I remember leaving the lab thinking " Thank God I only have to do this once!" We got a call from the doctor's nurse a couple days later. Blood sugar level was 89. She sounded surprised. Not all fat people are diabetic! Good lord, when will doctors learn.

A week passed. Then it happened. THE KICK. No flutter, no butterfly (still had bad potato cravings though). This was a real, honest to goodness kick! I danced all over the room, singing and screaming and gushing with joy. I called Jason at work. I called my mom, my friends, my grandma, my aunt....I even told the telemarketer that called a few hours later! THE BABY WAS KICKING! Woo Hoo. That night Jason and I sat on the bed and listened to the heartbeat at home. We called his parents and made them listen over the phone. We called my parents and did the same. I took the monitor to my grandmother's house the next day and made her listen to it too. All this time the baby was kicking and dancing in my belly. JOY. Unfortunately, the baby wasn't kicking for Jason. This really started to get to him. He was trying to hide it, but I could tell that he really wanted to be a part of my joy. It was another month before Jason could feel the kicks.

Papa. Jason's grandfather. A sweet old Italian with a love for the ladies and a sweet disposition. In fact, after our wedding I recieved grinning, but chagrinned reports of him "hugging" the ladies a little tight. Even my grandma!! It always makes me smile, and none of them really minded either. I knew about his special hugs, I have received several. Anyway, Papa wasn't doing well so we drove to Napa to visit him.

I started to feel a pain. A pain I never really had before. The drive lasted about 5 hours or so. The worst part was driving down I80 between Sacramento and Napa. That part of the highway needs some serious care. Bumpy, rough and uncomfortable, but pain didn't come from my belly. Nope, I had my very first hemmorroid. Not a little discomfort. Nope. I am talking about can't-sit-down, burning, swelling, crying, pleading with God to make it go away kind of discomfort. I didn't realize that my butt was so vindictive!! I was just trying to support my husband. Visit a relative, show my love. So why the hell was my butt attacking me?!? Walking hurt, sitting hurt, THINKING HURT. I called the doctor as soon as we got to Napa. Begging him to give me a magical cure. Nope. Just wash it, don't strain in the bathroom and put some witch hazel on it. Ok, witch hazel. That has gotta fix it right? The cure. A homeopathic cure, safe for the baby. I can do this.

OH MY GOD!! The burning, stinging, screaming. We were staying at a relatives house and while I lay on the bed in the spare room and Jason following doctors orders tortured me with this witch hazel (properly named) I screamed so loud that people came running. This wasn't normal. No way! Jason's mom came in and told us to put a warm cloth over the hemmorroid to ease the pain. It worked, a little. She wanted to look at it. Jeez, why the hell not. Sure, I have no shame. Take pictures and we can send them in the Christmas card!! She said it was a really bad one. Bigger than she has ever seen. She told me to relax, take it easy and lay on my side. I did. I took a three hour nap. When I woke up, it was better. A little better, but it still hurt like hell.

The rest of the visit went well. Papa seemed ok, but having just lost my grandfather made the visit difficult for me. Pregnancy emotions are like riding an out of control roller coaster. I hugged a lot of people, smiled a lot and tried my best to keep things "on the bright side." There was a lot of talk about the pregnancy, naming the baby and so on. It was pleasant and comforting to be among family, and that the family was excited about the baby too.


To my surprise( after posting a begging plea for friendship on one of the parenting sites) I found a couple of girls in my area who were also expecting first timers. Granted, they lived the next town over, but it was only a 20 minute drive. We started our relationships just chatting and emailing back and forth about concerns and worries. These girls were all a few years younger than I but we bonded well enough to rely on each other. Crystal, due in September. Jen, due in late July.

Win and Lose

I figured it was time to stop dropping money on pregnancy tests. After all, I not only had a picture of my miracle, I heard it with my own ears. I went to WalMart in search of a gift for my husband's upcoming birthday. I remember the day very clear. Jan 15th. Taking a deep breath and holding my hand to my stomach, I braved the threshold of the baby section. The heavens didn't fall, the ground didn't shake and the store remained intact. Ok, so maybe this sounds dramatic, but even though I am not one to jump into a frenzy when I see a black cat, I truly convinced myself that if I fully acknowledged this baby in the open then I would jinx fate.

Still, I survived. In fact, I bought two cute onsies. One covered in little frogs and the other covered in little lizards. At the time I didn't even think about the fact we didn't know the sex of the baby yet. They caught my eye and attracted me. I soon realized that I had been wading through the baby section for almost an hour, so I paid for my purchases and left the store. I didn't pick up a gift for my husband. Was I looking for an excuse to go shopping again? Probably. See, now that I had opened the Pandora's box of the Baby Section, I couldn't stay out of it. Even while grocery shopping I had to walk down the baby food aisle! So what if I am a little bonkers, everyone gets nuts sometime, right? I was a good girl though. I didn't buy something everytime. Just most of the time.

You may be wondering how I keep all this stuff so clear in my head. Well, I don't. Some of these memories stand firm as if they happened yesterday, but I am cheating a little. I started a journal for my baby. I found an old notebook shaped like a frog that I bought years before but never used and simply decided to sit down and tell the baby about what was going on. The first entry was on January 26th and was very very long as I caught up on the first three months of my pregnancy. I always made sure to write and entry for each and every milestone or "profound" thought that I experienced. I am referring to that journal to make sure my dates are correct for this blog.

As I have said before, I was a little worried about my lack of pregnancy symptoms. Well on the morning of Jan 27th, one of those symptoms smacked me right out of a sound sleep. In fact, I didn't worry much about symptoms after this. It was about 5:30 in the morning, about 15 minutes before my husband's alarm clock is due to go off. I sat bolt upright in bed! Of course I scared the crap out of my husband. He sat up and grabbed my shoulder asking over and over "what's wrong, what's wrong?" It took me a moment to figure it out myself. It was a flutter!! A butterfly flutter!! Oh my God! I can feel the baby move now! I blubbered to my husband this sentence, (no joke), "It is alive, it is moving, it is growing.....and oh my God I really want some hashbrowns!" For what seemed like forever, he looked at me as if I had completely lost my mind. Then he finally found the words to say, " What the hell are you talking about?" At that I poured out word after word about feeling the baby move, about how awesome it felt about how much I really needed some hashbrowns and about how happy I was. I begged him to go find me some hashbrowns. He went to the kitchen and returned telling me there were no potato items in the house. No chips in the cupboard, not even an old spud sprouting in the pantry. I asked him please to go to the store and get me some, but the ten minutes I spent blabbering about the baby moving had made him late already and he couldn't go to the store, bring back food and get to work on time for the meeting he had scheduled this morning. I was saddened only long enough to realize that I really NEEDED hashbrowns and I had to go get them NOW!! I pulled on my robe, slippers and grabbed my purse. In the truck I checked for cash in my wallet. Ten dollars. I drove to Burger King. At the drive up window I asked for 9 orders of hashbrowns and a cup of coffee. The person in the speaker said, " Are you kidding? Nine orders of hashbrowns?" I confirmed and drove around. She took my money, looked at me like I had a second head growing out of my shoulder and said she would be right back. She handed me the coffee, the bag and asked if I wanted ketsup, cream, sugar. I took all three and headed home. I live about four minutes from Burger King. I ate about 5 hashbrowns on the way home. It wasn't until about half an hour later that I remembered the baby had moved earlier this morning. So, I got on the phone and told the world. Then I sat down and wrote in the journal.

Still riding the wave of utter joy from hearing the heartbeat of my miracle and feeling the baby flutter, I failed to firmly acknowledge that my grandfather's illness was worse than what I was originally told. Maybe I did see it, but again, maybe I simply held on to that childhood fantasy that big, strong, wise men can't die. We did commit to assist my grandparents when we moved to Nevada. I feel like I failed in some way. I was pushed away when things got bad. My aunt and my grandmother saw me as a great help, but I apparently was still a "kid" that didn't need to see the worst. So, I was shocked when I was told grandpa was in the hospital, but was assured that things should be alright. Then suddenly, things weren't going to be alright. Then I got the call, grandpa died that morning, Feb 3, 2005 of a heart attack. I know there was more wrong with him than his heart, but I never pressed. I wrote all about my grandfather in the baby's journal that night saddened that my grandfather will never get to meet my child, teach my child, or even entertain my child with his stories.

Now I needed some serious hope again. I was grasping for hope anywhere I could find it. I started to surf the net looking for some other pregnant people to attach myself to. I only had a few friends aside from my aunt and my grandmother who lived in town and they all had older children or no children. I came accross a wonderful website. Babybeat.com. They rent out dopplar machines so that you can listen to your baby's heartbeat at home. AWESOME! I get to have some piece of mind at home!! I can let everyone hear it!! I can record it!! You don't have to guess, I ordered it right away.

My New Chair

It took about two weeks for the news to travel the family grapevine. Family members that I haven't seen or spoken to since I was a kid came out of the blue and sent me cards of congratulations. I went from being a hermit, hiding out in my house trying to avoid contact with people to this happy person that had been hiding inside me since I was a pre-teen!

Can you believe I still held on to some of my denial? I did. I refused to even walk through the baby section of the store. I even (secretly) took more pregnancy tests just to make sure that I wasn't dreaming.

I believe it was around the 3rd of January when my husband and I were driving home from the store and I had the first real scare of my life. I was behind the wheel. It was around 6pm. I was coming over the rise of a hill back down into the lower part of the valley when I suddenly felt a serious sense of vertigo. I didn't know what it was at the time. In fact, I screamed to my husband that I was having a stroke and pulled the car over the best I could. My eyes wouldn't focus, my hands were shaking, my speech was slurred and the dizziness literally made my head flop to the side uncontrollably. My husband helped me into the passenger seat and took me to the ER. I freaked. The entire 15 minutes it took to get there, I screamed over and over again that my body was killing my baby. I was near hysterics. My poor husband didn't know what to do. He parked the car in front of the ambulance entrance and rushed in screaming for help. I was left in the car with my head lolled to the side just crying and crying.

A nurse rushed to the car and opened my door. I almost fell into her lap! She calmly asked me what was wrong, was I in pain, if I was allergic to this or that etc etc. I stopped crying and calmed myself down. I really believed that my baby was already lost. I quietly told her that I was dizzy and couldn't focus my eyes because my body just killed my baby.

My husband helped her get me into a wheelchair, then helped get me onto a gurney once we were inside. I remember her asking my husband if I was pregnant and how far along I was as they took my vital signs. I was calm now. I figured the baby was dead and honestly hoped that I wouldn't finish this day either. He told them I was about 12 weeks along. Someone asked about any medications. I said no. One nurse pulled up my shirt and gasped. She had never seen psoriasis so bad before. All this time I was still calm. My husband, well, he was taken out of the room for a moment because he was in a full state of panic. They took some blood, hooked my belly up to some wires and monitors, checked my eyes, ears, throat etc.

The doctor came in with my newly put together file. He put his hands on both sides of my head so I would look at him. With a grin he told me the baby was fine. I called him a liar. He said, "Have you ever had Vertigo before?" I told him that was just a movie title. He giggled as he held up a strip of paper. He pointed out the jagged line that shows my heartbeat rhythm and the line underneath it that shows the baby's heartbeat rhythm. I started to cry. I was so relieved. Then, I freaked. Why was the baby's line so much more jagged than mine? It was my husband who reminded me that according to the book we were reading on pregnancy, the baby's heartbeat is almost twice as fast as the mom's.

I started to grasp reality again. The dizzy, eye spinning was almost gone. They left us alone for about half an hour and then returned to tell me I simply had a severe inner ear infection. That is what caused my vertigo. It was not a stroke, nor was the baby ever in harms way. Everyone was fine but since I was pregnant, I couldn't take any antibiotics and they suggested I talk to my OBGYN about it at my next appointment. The doctor suggested that I don't drive until it cleared up. When I apologized for being such a moronic fool, he simply told me that my self defecation was worse for the baby than my panic. I hold that thought even today. I am not always nice to myself, but I never EVER let my kids see those times when I feel the need to put myself down.

Just five days later my husband and I walked into the OBGYN's office ready for an update. Dr Kolbalter smiled when we told him of my vertigo and explained it wasn't uncommon. Your body goes through more changes than you feel when you are pregnant. We took my weight and other vitals. Guess what. I had LOST four pounds!! Kolbalter asked me if I had morning sickness. No. Was I eating? Oh yeah, but for some reason, I couldn't eat meat. He laughed and told me to make sure I get my protein.

I laid down on the examination bed and let him poke and prod my belly for a few minutes. He then pulled out a bottle of COLD goo. I just about shot off the table when he started to squirt it on me! He told me not to get my hopes up completely, but we should hear the baby's heartbeat. Apparently sometimes the baby likes to hide curled up and you can't always find it. I told him the readout I saw at the ER showed that the baby was healthy. He grinned and slid the wand of the dopplar thingie over my belly. We were all so quiet. I held my breath. He slid the wand high and we listened to my heart. He taught us how to count for 15 seconds, the beats, then multiply it by four for the the actual beats per minute. Then he slid the wand down again, just below my belly button. It brings tears to my eyes right now. That sound. That most beautiful sound!! I can't explain it well, but I will try. My eyes flew wide at the fast beat "boom boom boom"...I grasped my husbands hand and felt like I was a drift on the wings of a million butterflies. No song, no water fall, no chirp of any bird could have made a more beautiful sound. No angel could sing a more sweet note! My GOD! I have never in my life felt such pure, unaltered, perfect joy! My husband counted out the beats, did the math. 152 beats per minute. Perfect. Right in range. My baby is happy, healthy.

I felt so special. I felt blessed, honored. There, inside my is a spirit of pure innocence. A perfect product of nature, and I am the one who has the honor of taking care of it. Nurturing it. Loving it.

We left the doctor with one sad note. Dr. Kolbalter was only affiliated with the hospital in Tahoe. The California side of Tahoe. We truly wanted to have our child born in Nevada. It would be safer for me. Higher altitude affects my asthma in scary ways. As it was, living at 3500 ft was a bit risky. So, Kolbalter handed me over to Dr. Chacon. I grilled him with questions and concerns. We finally made the decision to see Chacon. Do I regret it, no. Still, I do believe that Dr. Kolbalter deserved to be there with me through such a beautiful process.

As we got into the car, my husband insisted that we celebrate the baby. The heartbeat. The moment. We went to lunch and then headed to the furniture store where we bought the most perfect little green reclining rocker chair. I will come to raise both of my children in that chair.
We set it up in the living room next to a little table and the heater. Winter is cold in the high desert.

NOTE* I am honored that you are reading these posts. I sure hope your eyes aren't tired, for they are long ones. Thanks.

Fear and Relief

The first thing I did the next day was call Dr. Kolbalter. I had this fantasy that I would rush to the doctor and he would draw blood and proudly pronounce I was pregnant. Instead, the receptionist told me that their policy was to wait until I was about eight weeks pregnant before my first appointment. No Fair! I couldn't even talk to the doctor! My first impulse was to insist that I get the very next appointment, but I still had some fears regarding the whole medical profession. So I decided to hold on to my new hope. I made an appointment for December 6th.

During the next four weeks I was so afraid. I didn't want to tell anyone! I didn't want to jinx my luck and the life of this baby. I told my mom, but made her swear secrecy. I told my aunt who lived down the street from me at the time and she too kept it to herself. With all the reading I had done about pregnancy, I knew that the first three months are the scariest. You could have a miscarriage without much cause.

Thanksgiving came and I was so concerned because I didn't have morning sickness. I wasn't super tired nor did I have any of the symptoms that are textbook to most women. I couldn't wait to get to the doctor and get an official confirmation! The day after Thanksgiving eased my mind a little. For some reason, while taking the first bite of what should have been the most delicious leftover turkey sandwhich ever made, I swooned with nasuea and almost threw up.

I called my mother. She lives in Oregon. She told me that not all women have those typical symptoms. She asked if there was anything at all that I felt different about. I told her there was one thing but I hesitated to tell her what it was. Mom pressed and I finally gave in. I told her that there were actually two things. First, all I have dreamed about while sleeping was sex. I mean some serious, "blushing-just-thinking-about-it" kind of sex. After she got done laughing, she asked what the other "difference" was. I shyly told her that awake, all I wanted was sex. In fact, calling my husband home from work three times in the last two weeks to quelch my need. My mother laughed so hard she had to put the phone down. I didn't think this was very funny. I was never one to be whacked out over sex, especially considering my history with rape. My husband was happy but I kinda felt a little slutty. Here I sat pregnant but can't stop thinking about the "wild thing!" What kind of mom was I going to be??!??

Needless to say, I finally made it to my doctor's appointment. Dr Kolbalter was all smiles as he explained that it was probably too early to hear the baby's heart beat. This concerned me. He then insisted on an in office internal ultrasound. I didn't know what "internal" meant, and boy was I surprised when I found out! The technician kept telling me to relax. Ha!

Regardless, after her "wand" was in position, she turned the computer monitor so that I could see it. I saw then, the small peanut shaped baby growing inside me. I cried and cried and cried and begged for a picture printout. She obliged. The most beautiful picture in the world! I carried it around with me, I looked at it while at stop lights, waiting in the waiting rooms, sitting at home I set it next to me while I cooked dinner, wrapped Christmas gifts or slept. My baby.

Dr Kobalter said that all results looked great. My due date was set for July 14th, 2005. The baby was perfectly attached, looked healthy and everything was on the right track. I asked if it was safe to tell the world. He grinned and told me yes. I asked him when I could find out what the sex of the baby was. He told me sometime in late Feb would be a safe bet. I remember this part vividly. After I got my shoes on and stood up ready to leave, I simply turned to the doctor, looked him straight in the eye and calmly told him that it is a boy.

Christmas morning was the morning that I decided to anounce to the world that I was finally going to be a mommy. I felt that this baby is such a gift, that there would be no better time. I called my mom's house. My sister, brother, father and other friends and family were there. I asked to put on speaker. After everyone hushed and got past the "why aren't you in Oregon" jokes, I pronounced, " I am pregnant!" My sister screamed as if she just won the lottery, my brother congratulated my husband, and then the noise got too loud to descern what was said. They were happy for me. Then they yelled at me and my mom for keeping it a secret for so long.

I spend the rest of the morning on the phone with various friends and family letting everyone know when the baby was due, how I finally found a doctor who was willing to listen and act on my complaints. Everyone was so excited. I was asked what colors I was decorating the baby's room, what clothes I wanted them to send etc etc. I stopped everyone mid-sentence. My policy...no gifts for the baby until I am at least 5 months along. I got mixed reaction. I tried to explain that I didn't want to jinx this baby. I was totally relieved that I had made it to the three month mark, but I couldn't let go of my fear. My body has failed me in so many ways for so long, I just didn't want to test the will of fate.

My next checkup with the doctor was scheduled for January 8th.

Unbelievable

I awoke on the morning of October 23rd in a good mood. I don't mean, "Hey I feel like smiling today" good mood. I mean a total, no holds barred, " I won the lottery, I got a new sports car, I was voted Ms. America, employee of the month and I won the Nobel Prize!!" kind of good mood. If you could have seen me you would have had to pick your jaw off the floor.

I went to visit my friend Carol. On a whim. Her hubby, John and I have always had this "I'm the bigger smartass" kind of relationship. Sharing jabs but with affection. I couldn't rise to the challenge that day. The smile would not unscrew from my face! He kept after me for about an hour or so, then finally asked this question, "You are boring when you are so damn happy, what the hell is wrong with you?" He then stormed from the room to go deal with something out in the garage.

Carol, on the other hand kept staring at me like I was on drugs. She didn't say anything at first, but she finally made her observance known that I was different than usual. I told her I didn't know what was going on. No matter how hard I tried I simply couldn't come up with a depressing thought. My psoriasis didn't bother me, my pains were gone, so I accredited my new found joy to just a good day. The rest of the visit was a haze of giggles and laughs, jokes and smiles with a ton of optimism pouring from my every sentence. As I was about to leave when Carol asked me this," Could you be pregnant?" I told her no, with the first frown of the day and headed home.

That question haunted me for the next week. On the 10th of November during a phone conversation with Carol, I told her I was late. She almost flew through the phone in excitement. I explained that a missed or late period was normal for me. She asked," Then why did you bring it up?" I didn't know. Carol made me promise that I would go get a prego test and take it then call her back. I was good to my word. I bought one, but didn't have the guts to take it for another two days. She hounded me daily!

On November 12th at about 6 am, Carol called me and without even a good morning she rattled off with, "Today you will take that test and you will do it now. Morning pee is the best detectable so go, leave me on hold and go!" I thought she was nuts!! Brushing her off for yet another day because I didn't have the guts to pee on a stick alone. I waited till my husband got home from work.

It was around 8pm that evening when I did it. I peed on the stick. I left it in the bathroom, went out and tried to focus on anything else. When the little timer I set beeped, I sent my husband to check the results. He walked in the bathroom, made a little squeek sound and called me in. I looked at the stick in disbelief. It must be a mistake. No way. I grabbed the second test left in the box and peed on it. It almost instantly turned into a positive result.

Crying, I held onto my husband chanting," I am a mommy, I am a mommy."

I called Carol. She screamed so loud I almost dropped the phone! See, Carol had trouble getting pregnant too, still she was meant to be a mommy. Apparently I was too.

Those Doctors

By no means will I ever be considered a perfectly "fit" person. I am overweight and have been since puberty. The doctors I have seen over the years write me off automatically as a lazy person who must become an anorexic vegetarian in order to become truly healthy. Truthfully, it was my doctors that made me feel like less of a person rather than those kids who teased me in school. I am not talking about one doctor, I am talking about the 23 different doctors I have seen for help since I was 13 years old. For 18 years of my life I went to every specialist I could for help with not only my weight, but for the strange pains I was experiencing all the time. On top of this pain I started to develop psoriasis at the age of 13. Even dermatologists wrote this ailment off as a condition of my weight.

By spring of 2004 I had sought help by three different specialists for testing about fertility. They all told me it I was fine and not getting pregnant because of my weight. We had been trying for 7 years to have a baby. I gave up. No one was going to give me a straight answer or proof that my weight was the cause of all my problems. There are people out there heavier than I who have kids, clear skin and I can factually tell you they eat a lot more junk then I ever did. As a teenager I started a diet that I still hold onto today. Light meals, little meat, lots of salad. I was never a sweet junkie. I don't sit down and devour a bag of chips while watching the news.

Everything came to a head in the summer of 2004. We moved to Nevada to help take care of my ailing grandparents. The emotional stress was building and I did my best but the pain got too much to handle and my skin made me feel like some strange sideshow freak. People I would meet at the grocery store actually pulled away appalled that I had the audacity to have flaky skin. By this time my psoriasis had taken over about 73% of my body. I started to think about suicide. Regardless of a wonderful loving husband, I saw no reason to live. I was determined only to be around to help my beautiful grandmother in the last years of her life.

One night in August I blacked out from the pain. I awoke writhing on the bed with tears rolling out of my eyes and screams erupting from my throat. My husband ran across the street to get our neighbor to help. Carol. Carol is an angel to me. Carol insisted that I get the next appointment with the gynecologist and insist on have a laparascopy done. Two days later I saw Dr Kolbalter. He brought up the possiblity of doing a laparascopy before I did! He tried an ultrasound and got strange results that he worried could be cancerous cysts on my ovaries. He then scheduled the laparascopy.

September 15th 2004. My husband drove me to the hospital, trying to calm me and himself along the way. I must tell you, I didn't care one way or another if I came out of the surgery dead or alive. I was out of hope and in so much pain that any sense of relief was a pipe dream. The technicians explained the procedure, I signed some papers, then I was wheeled away. I awoke groggy and in a bad mood. I was sore and kinda angry that I woke up at all. An appointment was scheduled with Dr Kobalter the next day. They released me that evening and my husband took me home. The next day while checking the small incisions made during the surgery, Dr Kobalter explained what they had found.

At the age of 12 I suffered an erupted appendix. It was bad. I almost died from the contamination this useless organ spread through my body. At the age of 16, I was gang raped by three large men who were very brutal. Punching me and damaging me inside and out. When Dr Kobalter got a look at the cause of my pain, he found over a pound of scar tissue had developed over my ovaries, fallopian tubes and attached to my uterus. This scar tissue was blocking the natural process of the female system. My menstrual cycles were always chaotic. For three years straight in my twenties I only had one period a year! Dr Kobalter removed most of the scar tissue, gave me a D&C and checked the small cysts on my ovaries. He found none to be cancerous. During this after surgery check-up he was upbeat and happy. He explained he was surprised at his findings and how minor they turned out to be. I was surprised that NO DOCTOR I had been to before ever thought to give me this same exploratory surgery. NONE! NOT ONE MORONIC SELF-CENTERED, I-AM-GOD! DOCTOR!!!

At the end of the check-up, Dr Kobalter told me two things. First, I should experience no more of the strange pains after I fully heal from the surgery. Second, He guaranteed that I would be pregnant before Christmas of that year. I thought he was a moron. I thought he was crazy. I held on to my concrete "no hope" thought processes.

My husband still held hope. Checking the ovulation calandar I used to keep, he insisted we try again. It was October 22, 2004. Just over a month after the surgery.