Posted on by Wise Sass · 2 Comments

Baseball Mom

It’s starting. I’ve resisted for a long time – he’s too young, he’s not ready, let’s just do martial arts instead – but now it’s time. To push it off any further would be doing him a disservice.
My oldest has joined an organized sports team. Baseball, to be specific. 
3 weeks ago when I reminded my son that he was signed up for baseball and it would be starting soon he had a gigantic fit. He didn’t want to do it, how could I make him and why didn’t I warn him before I signed him up? Well, he knew I was signing him up, he chose baseball over soccer, and I even double-checked with him. So what was the problem? Nerves. He was scared to meet new people and do something he wasn’t used to doing.
2 weeks ago when my mom & stepdad were here they bought him a bat, a couple baseballs, and a mitt. We went out to a baseball diamond at a school nearby and practiced a bit. After that I didn’t hear a word of complaint.
Last night we went to the first practice. I signed all the forms, got his uniform and signed up to bring the snacks for one of the games. In true sports mom form.
I was so proud of him last night. No nerves last night. He jumped right in. And when the coach was asking for a volunteer to demonstrate where center field was he raised his arm the highest.  
In the next 5 weeks we have 4 practices and 10 games. Here we go.
He’s an Angel. And a handsome devil.
His brother giving him words of encouragement just before his first time up to bat.
Because I love themed collages.
Posted on by Wise Sass · 7 Comments

Bitchfest & IG LW review

I’m annoyed. For several reasons:
  1. I’m at work and it’s Monday. 
  2. I’m getting a cystic/nodule type acne bump on the side of my chin. I could ignore it but it freaking hurts. Like I-can’t-forget-it’s-there kind of hurt. So that sucks.
  3. What started out as a nice Mother’s Day yesterday went south in the middle of the day when my kids completely forgot that they ever had manners to begin with and proceeded to act like whiny, annoying, born-in-a-barn, selfish 2 year olds. They are 9 & 7. I was taking THEM shopping for stuff for THEM. On Mother’s Day. Ungrateful little wretches. People used to compliment me about their manners. What the hell happened??
  4. My oldest decided to continue this trend through this morning when he laid on the floor for 30 minutes because we were making him wear jeans to school that make his butt look big. For reals? I mean, really? He’s 9. He’s small. 51 inches tall and maybe 52 pounds. Nevertheless, kicking, screaming, pounding the floor tantrum this morning. He is grounded from the TV & the computer now.
  5. We decided to try an ADHD med for my little one this weekend. He has never taken ANY meds, and there’s some concern with treating the ADHD because the medicine can cause Autism characteristics to become “worse” or just more defined. Well, we tried one on Saturday and, OMFG, the child turned into a holy terror. We were in survival mode with him until it wore off. I held him until he calmed down and then quietly handed over the the Wii remote and slowly backed away. So, yeah, we won’t be trying that again. I would rather deal with his concentration issues than that mad, angry and aggressive little spawn of satan.
  6. My insurance guy keeps calling (when I’m not home so I just get these annoying messages) to sign up for a service or I’m about to lose a discount for the next 6 months. This is my thing: I obviously was signed up for it the last 6 months – why the hell are you bugging me about it again? When I sign up once I expect it to stay in effect. Do you really think I have time to deal with ONE MORE THING? And I have to carve out the time to do this during the day while I’m at work. 
Which brings me back to WORK. I try not to talk about work too much here – but I just have to say something. I’ve been doing this job for over 5 years. Which is a long time, in this field, to stay with one company and in the same position. I’m getting a little freakin’ burned out. I’m tired of the same problems and the same non-solutions. Home annoyances on top of the typical work stuff makes days like today really hard.
I would love to be Susie Sunshine and see the bright side of every thing, every day – but that’s just not me. Sometimes I can do that. Other times I want to wallow in my annoyance with the world or just go back to bed already. 
I know I’ll get over it soon. Except for this stupid cystic pimple. That’s going to take several days and a lot of oil massaging.
So enough bitching. Here’s a look at how last week (LW) went, in Instagram (IG):

Sunday: We shot off the rocket my 9 year old got for his birthday. It was SO COOL.
Monday: I took my little guy to his developmental pediatrician. This was in the waiting room. 
Tuesday: I got new specs.
Wednesday: We went to see Wicked. This is the stage before it started. It.Was.Awesome.
Thursday: There was a duck in the road. I persuaded her to move for her safety.
Friday: Read Night at my oldest’s school. Every year we put on a puppet show for the event. We = my husband as the puppeteer with help from a nephew and friend. It’s a real crowd-pleaser. 
Saturday: The hubby got all handy and installed our new water heater.
Saturday: During the medication snafu: angry eyes and a thunderous brow.
Saturday evening: Hot water. Bubbly toes. Fantastic.
Sunday: Mother’s Day breakfast in bed. Crepe with Nutella & whipped cream. There was bacon too but somehow it disappeared before the picture was taken.
Sunday: some of my Mother’s Day loot. Chocolate (of course), funky socks, and homemade books. Plus a card with a tropical island and tropical music in it (no drink with an umbrella in it though). I also got a color bowl (flower pot) for the front porch AND, drumroll please, I did not have to wash a dish all freakin’ day. Hallelujah!
Posted on by Wise Sass · 4 Comments

Flashback Friday – my old house

This is the house I grew up in and it’s currently for sale. The house looks different than when I lived in it. We didn’t have so many flowers. Holy cow. But it still looks like my house. My old bedroom is behind the arch closest to the garage. There were Spanish style shutters inside the bedroom windows – which was a really interesting concept for a 7 or 8 year old. We eventually took them down. 
I lived there during the majority of my growing up years. My “formative years,” I guess. My best friend lived across the street and then moved next door (and gained a pool. bonus). I had several other friends that lived in the neighborhood. The street used to dead end and we always played in that field as kids. My best friend’s stinky older brother and his friend used to pick on us and throw things at us in that field. There was one tree that had a tire swing on it that we loved (and was the best tree to use as our “fort”). Oh, and one time I found a porno mag in that field. Was that ever elucidating! Eeek. (My mom found me with it and I’m sure she must have completely freaked out).
Then, in my early teens, my friends and I would sneak out of my bedroom window during sleep-overs to go tee-pee friends’ houses. Or just go meet with boys. It was innocent stuff though, thank goodness, because I got caught every time. (The darn screens on the windows were SCREWED IN and do you know how hard it is to screw them back in in the dark?) (When I got older I didn’t have to sneak out AND I learned how to not get caught when I was being ornery. But that’s a different story.)
So many memories at this house. My dad mowing the lawn every Saturday morning. Our big half Golden/half Bernard dog Shawna who we got when I was two and died when we lived there. My first ten-speed bike. My best friend and I sitting out there on the grass under the stars in 1987ish listening to our radio and crying because our parents wouldn’t let us go to the Bon Jovi concert (we were about 12 or 13). Watching the neighborhood teenagers with envy and wondering when I would be that old. Then, when I was that old, my first formal date coming to pick me up here in his ’73 Mustang fastback. I loved that car and I loved the dress I wore that night.

My old house is for sale. Somebody with kids should buy it and love it. Then their kids can have precious memories of living there like I do.

Posted on by Wise Sass · 3 Comments

Oil Cleansing Method (OCM) – a limited review

Okay, I’ve been using the Oil Cleansing Method for a while now. Off and on. When I’m not too tired.

Anyway, let me back up. I thought I had posted about the OCM previously but I think I did and deleted it accidentally on purpose. Because I’m an idiot and didn’t think ahead or something. (Or maybe I just had a mind-numbing headache when I did that, as I do now. If so, all is forgiven). So, instead of linking you to my initial post I’ll link you to Joni’s – because she’s smart, my inspiration and blogging guru, and she’s the reason I tried this whole OCM thing to begin with: OCM – a review by Joni at Mommabare.com.

If you don’t wan to read that then here’s a short recap: instead of washing with cleanser you simply “cleanse” your face with a combination of oils. Castor Oil and some other carrier oil like Olive Oil or Sunflower Oil. Rub it in, steam it with a hot washcloth for a few minutes and wipe it off. The oil cleans away make-up and the oil-dissolves-oil method is supposed to be a superior way of getting rid of blemishes.

I started this a while back. Probably in February. I use a mix of Castor Oil, Sunflower Oil, Tea Tree Oil and Peppermint Oil.

Pros:

1. Hands down, the best thing about this method is the quickness with which it dissolves blemishes. If I feel a pimple coming on then I just make sure I use the OCM that evening before bed. After I wipe it all off I’ll take just a fingertip of oil and rub it into the blemish. In the morning the spot is gone. Poof. For reals. Even the hubby is using the oil for blemishes now.
2. The smell. I love the peppermint and tea tree oil eucalyptus smell. When I put the hot washcloth on my face I kind of “cup” it around my jawline to get it off my nose and then I breathe deeply. I like to think it helps my sinuses to breathe in the eucalyptus oil but that’s pure speculation.
3. It’s relaxing. It’s a nice before bed ritual. Rubbing that oil into my face with my eyes closed I find my mind drifting and it’s nice. Sometimes I’ll turn some soothing music on first. Then I go to bed all peaced-out with a clean face and smelling good. I like smiling as I’m falling asleep. I can just imagine it makes my dreams better (again, pure speculation on my part).

Cons:

1. My face has a tendency to get dry in my “t-zone” and, wow, when I tried using the OCM several days in a row my face got all flaky. So I backed off to every other night. And I tried altering the combination of oils – less castor oil, specifically. I found that I still got too dry. So now I only cleanse using OCM every 2-3 days, or when needed for pending blemishes. I also started putting a night cream moisturizer on after the OCM. In the morning when I shower I use a light cleanser only on the mornings when I DIDN’T use the OCM the night before. I also use moisturizer after my shower.
2. I have a tendency to push myself at night to stay up as late as possible until I’m so sleepy I can hardly put myself to bed. The nights I do that I can’t/don’t use the OCM because I’m not really functioning at that point. Too close to collapsing in my bed. So the consistency thing is hard for me.
3. I can’t think of a third con. Really.

So, overall, I like it. I think I could still mess with the formula to make a combination that is less drying for me and would allow me to use it more often – but then again, unless I change my bedtime habits I don’t know if I could/would use it more often. I currently have no blemishes (when I probably should right now, if YKWIM) and I’m happy with it.

I have a sinus headache right now. I’m going to go use the neti pot (which I love) and clean my face using the OCM and see if the combination of the two (and the eucalyptus and massage from the OCM) can help my headache dissipate.

Good night, peeps.

Posted on by Wise Sass · 1 Comment

9

At 1:47 AM this morning, 9 years ago, this happened:
(Read the story of how that birth happened here). 
And, just like that, we were a family: 

Then we took him home and started the arduous task of raising him. It was tough, at first, with amazing highs and lows. The boy was dubbed “failure to thrive” after losing some weight and then he started refusing to nurse. We found out that I wasn’t producing enough milk for him. I started pumping and pumping and pumping. And then I pumped some more. I was a dismal failure at it. The max I ever pumped in ONE DAY was 2.5 ounces. So, as if that challenge wasn’t enough, the kid wouldn’t sleep at night. I spent all day pumping and trying to feed him in-between his naps and then when the hubby got home from work I would try to sleep for a few hours and then, like clockwork, the boy was wide awake from midnight until 8 am. It took a month for us to start paring that down and, hour by hour, I was able to get him to go to sleep earlier. But, man, for awhile I felt like the walking dead.
Once we got over these speed bumps we were able to really just enjoy him. He was so sweet and we enjoyed him so much. He loved being swaddled very tightly. We called him our burrito baby. He was happy and snuggly and he looked like a little man. 
Here’s a pictorial from his younger years:
8 weeks old. He can thank me for this later.
My little man
Look what’s growing!
First trip to Disneyland
Kickin’ it baby-style
And then, before we knew it (or had even considered it) he was a big brother:
He seemed to grow up so fast after that point. He just became a big boy in the flash of an instant:
Halloween when he was 4
5th birthday
Going to school!
And now, so handsome, so smart and clever. He’s become so independent. He gets up in the morning and starts getting ready for school. He runs to the bus stop by himself. He gets his own band-aids. He does his chores and yells at his brother and brushes his teeth and combs his hair and reads. He started reading the first Harry Potter book this year. Oh my.

Look what I made. I am one proud mama today. (And most days, to be honest).

Posted on by Wise Sass · 4 Comments

Cleaning out my closet (it’s a metaphor, people)

Cleaning out my closet. Metaphorically and literally.

But first the literal: As previously mentioned here, my bedroom was a freakin’ disaster. We don’t have enough closet or dresser space to hold all my clothes so, before the bedroom re-do, they would be folded (usually) and piled. In places. Like on any level surface.

I didn’t accumulate all this on purpose. I didn’t go out of my way to have all these clothes with no home.

It’s my weight, you see. I have gained and lost the same 30-40(ish) lbs twice in the last 5 years. That’s a deviation of about 3 clothing sizes.

Also, I shop when I’m depressed. When I’m at the higher end of my weight circuit (like right now, dammit) then shopping is depressing too, but at least I think new clothes will look better/camouflage me better than my old clothes. It’s a vicious cycle.

So when we decided to do this bedroom makeover I knew I would have to do something with all my clothes. They needed to be seriously evaluated and a good chunk discarded. I’m mostly done with that. I have a huge black heavy-duty contractor bag full of clothes I’m going to donate. Some of them are very nice clothes and I was loathe to part with them but I need to be realistic, you know?

I also have a storage box for stuff I absolutely want to keep. For when I’m thinner. (Because, YES, that will totally happen. Someday.) But I just kept the stuff I liked the most and couldn’t part with.

The only thing still pending is a pile of dress pants & jeans. Pants really are the absolute worst for me. I can fit my mammoth boobages into most tops because, contrary to my weight, my frame is small. (Judging by my frame, I should be really cute, petite and tiny. The last time I was cute, petite and tiny was in 1997 when I was stupid, making bad decisions and incredibly unhealthy. But, hey, I looked FABULOUS!)

Back to pants. I hate them. I have short, fat legs. Always have had. Even when I was cute, petite and tiny. And I have a booty. Like for reals. I’m not talking about the “Baby Got Back” kind of booty (by the way, I have to tell all the big girls out there, like me, that Sir Mix-A-Lot is not talking about us. He’s talking about J-Lo. He’s talking about that Kardashian chick. Not the big mamas. Got it? I mean, I like the song too but it’s not OUR theme song. Anyway I would prefer a theme song not relevant to my weight and personal appearance – like “I Will Survive” or “R.E.S.P.E.C.T.” Just my opinion. Moving on.) Back to my booty. I’ve got one, it’s not small and I hate pants.

So how many sizes of pants do you keep? I mean, when you really find a pair that fits and then grow out of them with the full intention of getting back in them then you should keep them right? But for how long??

Well, I’ve kept a ton. I told the hubby last night if I could just lose 30 lbs again I would have so many more clothing options. I just need to have the will to lose that weight. I keep waiting for divine intervention on this one but I think I’m going to have to find the motivation on my own. I’m working on it.

The thing is – I need to lose weight for my health, but I don’t want to be depressed about it. That’s not healthy either, you know? And having all those clothes in smaller sizes is just taunting me. It’s not really motivating me – just making me sad.

So I am metaphorically cleaning out my closet as well. I’m pushing those memories of the slimmer me out of my mind in order to accept who I am today. I’m not going to lie and say that I love the way I look. I don’t. I hate it. But I need to accept that this is who I am right now. I will work on losing weight in my way and in my time and I can’t be pushed on it.

I can’t have my weight struggle holding my happiness hostage. I do not want my weight consuming every minute of my life.

So, certain pants are being kept and tucked away for later days. I’ll get back into them in the fullness of time. The other stuff I’m donating. Let someone else who is either on a weight upswing or downswing get the benefit of them.

Attitude adjustment complete. This is who I am. Love me or don’t.

Note: I have some pics to add but they aren’t with me. I’ll try to add them to this blog later. No guarantees though because I’m picking up my momma in 4 hours and I have a little boy turning 9 tomorrow.

Posted on by Wise Sass · 2 Comments

Last week in Instagram & this week in sheer panic

Okay, before we get to an Instagram review of the week and a recap of our wild ride on Easter, let me just tell you about this coming week. 
My momma is coming on Thursday evening. Momma & stepdad, actually. So I have guests coming in 3 1/2 days.
Something you may or may not know about me – I’m a 90%er. I like to do jobs/projects until they are mostly done and then I lose steam and it takes me FOREVER to finish them. This is a problem for me this week because over the last two weekends we have been working on our bedroom re-do. The room itself is done. (Well, mostly. I need to pick up a bench, some storage options like a bookcase, and a couple of small, tall side tables – but it’s mostly done. The furniture will wait a bit.) 
The problem is we put all that junk that was cluttering up our bedroom into my office. My office that also doubles as our guest room. Do you see where I am going with this?
I have 3 1/2 days to now make the guest room presentable. But I don’t wanna. Because I’m a 90%er and I’m done with my bedroom project. Whine.
So – that’s my week. Clean, clean, organize, organize. Then my parents are coming and it will be my son’s birthday on Friday. I’m feeling the PRESSURE. I’m feeling a little panicky about it. Maybe that adrenaline will help me get it done. Fingers-crossed.
Okay, now that I’ve got THAT out of the way we’ve got some loverly pictures:
The beginning of the week was rough at work. Drastic measures were necessary:
Sangria
Then we did homework. This is my Autistic guy. When I see him doing so-called “normal” things really well I can’t tell you how much my heart expands. The hubby’s too. See his face? Proud dad.
Speaking of the Autism thing – my little guy has been afraid of dogs for about 3 1/2 years. That’s about 1 1/2 years after we got our Labradoodle, Murphy. Murphy was a very active pup. And big. With gigantic paws. Bubba got scared and from then on Murphy had a weird half-life – all day outside and all night inside in his crate. Lately as my little bubba has gotten older we’ve been seeing improvements. He’s not as scared as he was. It probably helps that he’s taller than Murphy now. 
We started “Project: Integrate Murphy” last week. Starting with a bath and a haircut:

It’s going pretty well. Murphy does have a tendency to eat paper though. He gnawed on the hubby’s hard-bound Hitchhiker’s Guide though and that was a big, fat no-no. He needs to work on his manners a bit before he’s given carte blanche access to the whole house.
Friday the boys went to Hobby Lobby with me. I have started a love affair with that place. Largely because of the bedroom re-do. And partially because all the wall decor was 50% off. Yikes. 
Anyway, to reward them, and me, for their good behavior at the store I took them to U-Swirl for yogurt where I snapped one of the cutest pictures ever of these two boys together:
Brothers
I just died. 
Look how sweet they are? So, so misleading.
Saturday I busted ass to try to get my bedroom done. It’s done-ish. Here’s a preview of a later, date TBD, blog post about the room re-do:
Hobby Lobby purchase. Yep. Infatuation all the way.
We also dyed eggs on Saturday. I’m not artsy-fartsy with them. More of a traditionalist, I think. They are what they are:
Which brings us to Easter. We went to the in-law’s house. They have 4 acres on which sits the old farmhouse, a guest house (currently inhabited by a visiting aunt & uncle), a big barn-like structure (for holding the RV, junk and cars. and more junk), old outhouses, an old pump house, old chicken coops, a playhouse, a wood pile, about 8 old undriveable cars, an olive grove, picnic tables, and, finally, a beaten earth track that will eventually have actual train tracks on it for my father in law’s ride-on train. 
It’s a fun place for 13 grandkids (11 of them boys) to play.
But before the playing we had the egg hunting:
And egg-inspecting at the playhouse:

And Papa took some of the littlest kids for a ride on the track in the golf cart:

Those are the 2 girlies. Twinsies too.

Then we had some boy cousin playing on the wood pile:

Old fallen trees are really the best places to play.
The hubby and I borrowed the keys to the golf cart and drove out to the back olive grove. We may have smooched a little. I can neither confirm nor deny, but this guy certainly thinks he’s pretty clever:

Note: I cannot tell you how fun this was. I just can’t. I don’t have the words. It was like a ride at Disneyland except without all the safety restraints and perfectly imagined scenery. The hubby drove with swagger. Then he let let me drive and I was a tad more cautious. I want to do it again. 
On our way back we saw this band of pirates getting ready to attack:
That’s my baby in the middle. With his stick sword.
And then we were caught:
My baby lost interest at some point during the charge and went the other way.
And during all this crazy driving and pirate attacks what were the little girls doing? 
Contemplating the crazy boys, of course. Just like women have been doing for centuries:
“Hmm, why would they get on the roof just to fall on their heads? Doesn’t seem logical.”
Happy Easter, Peeps.
Posted on by Wise Sass · 1 Comment

A first birth story

Next Friday, April 29, will be 9 years since I gave birth for the first time. Most people would say that’s the moment I became a mom, but I felt like a mom from the instant I knew he was in my body. Even when the early tests came back negative I *knew* he was there. And I was right – he was. And he was precious and he changed my life. 

When I think back to my pregnancy, birth and the first few months of his life I’m filled with a mix of pride & happiness and shame, guilt & regret. 

Shame, guilt & regret? Yep. I could have done it better. I’m ashamed of myself for not knowing more or being more pro-active about knowing more. I hope I didn’t screw him up too much. I would do things differently now than I did then. I should be clear – I didn’t actually do anything to hurt him (at least I hope not). But we struggled. Before, during, and after his birth there were difficulties. I didn’t know how to do it better. 

Before his birth I had borderline preeclampsia. I retained so much water those last few weeks I could probably float. I gained 40 lbs and the last 15 were all water weight in the last 2 weeks. I was on bed rest for 3 weeks.

During his birth I was unaware of the process; I was scared and exhausted. I didn’t know or understand what to ask for, or even that I could ask for more than what was being provided to me.

After his birth I was sleep deprived and emotionally drained and scared and inhibited and I didn’t know how to make it better.

I just need to remember this: When I knew better I did better.

When I knew better I did better. When I knew better I did better.

When he was born I was 26. I knew what a typical 26 year old knows about birth & babies. I took the birthing classes. I read books like What to Expect When You’re Expecting. I joined an online message board for moms that were due in April 2002. Some of the moms were first-timers, like me, and some were more experienced. I put together a birth plan based on what I had read. I wanted to incorporate different birthing methods and positions in my labor that would ease my pain and help with the delivery. I was open to having an Epidural if the pain got intolerable because I had heard how horrible the pain was and I was scared. I felt as prepared as I could be for something that was still largely an unknown thing.

On Sunday, April 28, my due date, I woke at 7:30 am when I felt a trickle of liquid. I flipped myself 180 degrees out of bed to a standing position (in an insane desire to prevent the bed from getting wet) and my water gushed out all over the floor. (Sorry if that’s TMI for you. If it is, then maybe you shouldn’t read this post. Consider yourself warned). I woke my husband, called my OB’s office and posted to my message board that it was my turn.

It was a couple hours before we headed to the hospital. I wasn’t feeling the contractions yet so everything was calm. We got all checked in to L&D at the hospital and began walking the track to try to get things moving. We walked and we walked and we walked some more. 

After about 3 hours of this, and for reasons I can’t remember, they wanted to hook me up to a monitor. I should note that it’s around this time when my memory gets a little fuzzy. I don’t know why, but from about 1 pm to 9 pm I only have vague images or snippets in my mind of things that happened. I’m really, really hazy on a complete narrative of the day. Was it the pain? I don’t know. The Pitocin? The eventual Epidural? I just don’t know.

These are things I know happened:
  • I couldn’t walk around anymore because I had to be in bed due to the monitor.
  • I got an IV and, at some point, Pitocin, because I wasn’t progressing.
  • As some point the baby’s oxygen levels dropped so they put an oxygen mask on me.
  • I had the most horrible heartburn all day and, thankfully, they were able to give me Tums for some temporary relief.
  • I threw up several times. Probably throwing up the Tums since I hadn’t had anything else. 
  • The on-call OB came to check on me and, when she noticed I was in pain she asked why I hadn’t asked for an Epidural? Well, because I didn’t know it was time to ask for an epidural. The contractions and level of pain had increased so gradually that it wasn’t obvious to me that I should be asking for an Epidural. I don’t know how else to explain that.
  • I had the shakes really bad before I got the Epidural. I think those calmed down after. At least I don’t remember them after. 
The next part of the process that I remember clearly was when I was starting to feel the pain from the contractions again. They were going to give me another dose of the Epidural but they realized then that I was at 10 and started preparing for me to deliver instead. Since they wanted me to feel the contractions (so I would know when to push) I didn’t get more Epidural. 

I pushed for the next 3 hours. From 9 pm to 12 am. Pushed for about 30 seconds and then rested for 30 seconds. Rinse and repeat. For 3 hours. I threw up a few more times. The baby was crowning but that was it. That kid was not budging. 

I have to say, my L&D nurses were fantastic. There were 3 of them there with me. One down between my legs who seemed to be running the show (you know, other than ME). She was particularly nurturing and encouraging and I wish I could remember her name. There was another one up by my head who kept helping me sit up, rubbing my back, encouraging me, wiping my brow, etc. There was another nurse floating around supporting those two. 

My husband was on the other side of me and he was incredibly encouraging and supportive. I don’t think I cursed at him even once.

3 hours. Pushing non-stop. No progress. I became incredibly worn out. 

They decided to let me rest and asked the OB to come check on me. She had been delivering another baby so I hadn’t seen her much. When she came and examined me she gave me less than a 10% chance of delivering naturally and recommended a c-section.

I was exhausted. I just wanted him to be born already. Please, please, just make it be done and put him in my arms already. 

I consulted with my mom and my husband. They were worried about me. They were worried about the baby. It was so easy to just trust the doctor and say, “ok.” 

I don’t want to regret the decisions I made then but I can’t help but think that I should have questioned that decision more. I should have asked if they knew WHY he was stuck and wasn’t there anything else that could be done? Was he in jeopardy or should we wait it out a bit more? I didn’t know enough to ask the right questions. And did I mention I was exhausted? We were 16 hours in since my water had broken and I think about 11 hours in from when the contractions had become painful.

I got more Epidural. Around 1 am April 29, 2002 I was wheeled into surgery. At 1:47 am this happened:

I had a perfect, beautiful baby boy. He was gorgeous. I cried and told him he was beautiful for the brief second they held him next to my head. I was happily exhausted and relieved. He looked just like a miniature man.

Then they took him away from me so they could sew me up. My husband left me too and I felt tired and alone and a little disconnected to what was happening around me. 

My husband washed him and fed him a bottle – because they needed to feed him, apparently, and I was in recovery and I couldn’t breastfeed him yet, they said. I don’t know. I was annoyed they gave him a bottle, for sure, but I didn’t have it in me to throw a hissy fit after the fact.

I was wheeled back to my room and had uncontrollable shakes for a long time. They kept piling warm blankets on me. Finally they brought my little angel in and I was able to breastfeed him for the first time. He latched on great and drank like a champ.

They told me later he was facing the wrong way in the birth canal and that’s why he had gotten stuck. He was “sunnyside up.” Even now, years later, I wonder how they didn’t know that? Or check for that? Couldn’t they have turned him over? 

So that’s my first birth story. That early morning as I was recovering from the surgery and he was laying in my arms I felt the most vulnerable I have ever felt in my life. I wanted to put him back IN. At least when he was inside of me he was safe. Outside of me anything could happen to him. That’s when I truly understood what people mean when they say it’s like your heart is beating outside of your body. 

The first few months were really hard – breastfeeding/milk supply issues, sleeping issues, etc. But I’ll save that for part 2. 

Here he is, almost 9 years later:


Thanks for reading. 🙂 

Posted on by Wise Sass · 3 Comments

3 words: Chocolate Mug Cake

Warning: this post is for chocoholics. If you are not a chocoholic then you may want to go on your merry way until I get around to my next post about something that isn’t about chocolate. It might be a while.

A few weeks ago my husband sent me a link to a microwaveable mug cake recipe that he wanted me to make. This is unusual because, generally speaking, he doesn’t like me to bake. I mean, he likes baked goods as much as you and I (well, maybe not as much as I) but he’s trying to lose weight. I, on the other hand, am watching my weight . . . watching it stay the same.

We’re not going to talk about that right now. Moving on.

So this past Friday night the boys were asleep (or in bed, at least) and the hubby went outside to smoke a cigar (deplorable habit) and I wanted a little something. Just something dessert-like. With chocolate, of course.

IT’S NOT DESSERT UNLESS IT’S MADE WITH CHOCOLATE.

Then I remembered the mug cake recipe! Excellent idea. Microwaveable so super easy, right? I tracked down the recipe in my email inbox and quickly skimmed the ingredients list.

Whoa, what’s self-rising flour? Seriously, I have to buy a special flour? Time to do some Googling.

I was happy to find out that it’s super easy to make self-rising flour. Essentially for each cup of all-purpose flour you just need to add 1 1/2 teaspoons of baking powder and 1/2 teaspoon of salt and then mix together. Easy-peasy lemon squeezey. I made a cup of it and stored it in my pantry for future mug cakes.

I didn’t have Nutella (or Justin’s Nut Butter which, according to my friend Joni, is even better than Nutella and possibly better for you) so I ran to the store.

At 10:30 at night in my comfy clothes. Needless to say, MUST.HAVE.CHOCOLATE. prevailed.

No Justin’s Nut Butter in my local Albertson’s so I picked up the Nutella and some whipped cream. Normally I make whipped cream from scratch but I was trying to make things simple and quick so I got a can.

10 minutes later I was sitting on my sofa, turning on House Hunters International and eating chocolate cake out of a mug.

I was, in fact, eating this very thing:

Here’s the full recipe & instructions:
Nutella Mug Cake
4 tablespoons self rising flour
4 tablespoons white granulated sugar
1 egg
3 tablespoons cocoa powder
3 tablespoons Nutella (or Justin’s Nut Butter)
3 tablespoons milk
3 tablespoons oil (vegetable or canola preferably)

Combine all ingredients in a large coffee mug (the large part is IMPORANT. Think gigantor latte cup.) Whisk well with a fork until smooth. Microwave on high for 1 1/2 – 3 minutes. Time depends on microwave wattage. (Mine took 1 minute, 40 seconds). If you cook it too long it will be dry. The top should look kind of wet but if you stick a toothpick in (or a finger, like me) then it should be cake-like inside.
Like this:

I topped with whipped cream, chocolate syrup & a sprinkle of cinnamon. I have a suspicion that warm, soft caramel drizzled on top of the cake and then topped with whipped cream would be freakin’ fantastic. Mmm. Let’s just pause and think about that for a minute. Mmm-hmm.

The recipe makes 1 very large serving. This is a perfect shared dessert with your honey if you are feeling all romantical. If your honey is being a butthead then DO NOT SHARE. This is serious stuff, man.

I luuuurve chocolate but I could only eat about half and then put the rest in the fridge for the hubby the next day. (Yes, the next day. Due to the previous butthead note. So on Saturday morning I told him what I had made and he bee-lined for the fridge. He ate half of it cold but I think it was even better after I warmed it in the microwave for 30 seconds or so).

It doesn’t have a real Nutella flavor that I could detect. I wonder if playing with the amount of Nutella, or changing when the Nutella is added (like after it’s all mixed up, or mid-cooking process) would provide more of that hazelnut flavor. Hmmm, if you try any variations please let me know.

Enjoy!

(I should note that neither Nutella, Justin’s Nut Butter nor Albertson’s knows me and I’m not endorsing any particular product or business. Except for chocolate. We are tight like whoa).