Earlier today I had a great idea for a post but it was mostly full of things that were irritating me about my husband.  Things like setting his chocolate milk glass and spoon next to the sink instead of inside the dishwasher that had been running for only 3 minutes.

But then I remembered how he put the clothes from the washer into the dryer on his own, without being asked, even though the clothes hadn’t been washed yet and would probably end up with set stains.  Or how he bought me a gallon (a gallon!) of Pink Bubblegum Ice Cream from Baskin Robbins when all I swore I wanted was a pint, and has never once made a comment about how much I shovel in nibble every single night.

So I thought it best not to write that post.  Not on my anniversary.  A sacred and holy day.  The day I signed my life away to spend with someone else forever and ever and ever and everrrrrrrrr.

I wrote this story instead:

Seven years ago today, at around 8 pm the sun was setting in the hills and a vineyard was bathed in golden light.

A girl in a white dress stood behind some rose bushes stomping her foot impatiently, waiting for all the guests to be seated.  “It’s my wedding!” she told her grandfathers, “If I’m ready to go that’s all that matters so let’s get this show on the road!”Parents and grandparents were escorted down the aisle.  Girls in red dresses made the walk too.  Then the music changed, something about air wearing a G-String, and it was time.  All of a sudden the girl in the white dress couldn’t breathe.  She couldn’t move.  This was it.  Like IT, it.  Her one and only chance to make this walk, and she was torn between running to meet the guy on the other end and moving painfully slow so as to capture every sight, every smell, every memory there was in the air. And also to make sure everyone saw her in that damn dress that cost her so many pretty pennies.  Her Grandfathers walked her slow, each clutching an arm and making sure she remembered this moment.

They tossed her away presented her to the guy waiting in the black suit.

They said “I Will”.

Then they turned around, married.

And they ran away!

Just kidding.  They only ran to the end of the field.  Because that’s what you do when the William Tell Overture starts up.  You run down an aisle.  Laughing.

They smiled a lot for the camera.

And took a walk in the outrageously hot summer night.

There was food and dancing.

And good times had by all.  Maybe a little too much good time.By the end of the night we were beat and dragged ourselves outside to leave.  The 3.2 people who stayed late enough to watch us go got to see the big finale.

Then it was over.  Just like that.  Thankfully the fun continued as the newlyweds “honeymooned” for a week packing up an apartment to move to Chicago.  It was earthshakingly romantic.  But at least we had a good time.

The wedding.

We went out on our first “official” date on Saturday, September 12, 1998.  In a decision that will go down in history as one of the WORST IDEAS EVER, I had my hair cut a few days before.  It was the start of my senior year in high school and I wanted a change.  I asked for the bob haircut like Cameron Diaz had in There’s Something About Mary (which I had seen at least twice that summer.  I guess a penis getting zipped up in the pants just never gets old).  I ended up with the hair lovechild of Kinicke and Rizzo from Grease.  Yes, it was that bad.  No, there are NO pictures from the entire senior year I spent growing it back out.

Back to our story.  It was our first date, and I had bad hair.  In order to downplay the manliness of the cut I had the brilliant idea to wear the delicate and smart ensemble of – wait for it – khaki pants and a white, long sleeved button down shirt.  Tucked in.  With brown loafers.  Did I mention the really bad hair?  I know, you can’t believe that this story ends in marriage but it does.  Keep reading.

So we ate at Magic Time Machine and I think I had the fried shrimp.  I actually can’t remember what we did between the dinner and the end of the date because my stomach was full of butterflies the size of boulders.  If I could remember in accurate detail anything we had said or thought that night I’m sure it would sound something like this:

Oh my God.  I’m on a date.  Like, a REAL date.  With Kevin Welch.  I wonder when he’ll kiss me tonight.  What if he doesn’t kiss me?  Is it because of my hair?  Shit my hair is bad.  Oh God he keeps saying it doesn’t look that bad.  Liar!  Why do you keep bringing up your hair?  If he doesn’t care just quit bringing it up you idiot!  Seriously!  Shut up about the hair!  Stop touching it!  What if it never grows out?  What if your hair stays like this forever?  I wouldn’t date me looking like this.  Why is he on a date with you?  He is so much cooler than you are.  Aw crap, why did I order the shrimp?  Who’s going to kiss someone with bad hair and shrimp breath?

Yeah, it would have sounded like that.  As it is I can’t remember anything we said or thought that night but I remember the end of the date quite vividly.

My curfew that summer was 2 AM.  You better believe I wasn’t going in that apartment one minute before 2 AM.  So there we were, standing outside my apartment leaning against his car.  Doing what?  Nothing, that’s what.  Just leaning against a car, awkwardly talking about nothing, elbows grazing each other, waiting for the other to make a move.  Finally it was almost time to go inside.  I’ll skip the details and just say we ended up in prime kissing position, if you ignore the fact Kevin is almost 10 inches taller than I am, thus our necks were craned in very awkward positions.

So we both lean in, arms wrapped around each other in what is sure to be the most romantic first kiss of all time, right?  A kiss that will result in fireworks and, you know, probably bring world peace or something.

“Can I kiss you?” he asked.

“Yes.” I replied and he did. I couldn’t help it, I laughed out loud and probably flooded his face with my fabulous shrimp breath.

“What’s so funny?” he asked, pulling away and looking hurt.

“Uh, because it’s YOU and you’re kissing ME.  It’s kind of weird.”

So he tried it again only this time it wasn’t that funny.  This time it was romance and fireworks, and for a brief second my world felt right.  It was my very last, first kiss.

So here’s to you, 2008. May the fond memories linger and the sad moments fade, and may 2009 be even better and brighter than any of us can imagine.

January

February

March

April

May

June

July #1 – July #2 – July #3 – July #4 – July #5

August #1 – August #2

September #1 – September #2

October

November

December #1 – December #2 ]]> http://hobobaby.com/2009/01/goodbye-hello/feed/ 2 http://hobobaby.com/2008/09/10-years-later/ http://hobobaby.com/2008/09/10-years-later/#comments Sat, 13 Sep 2008 20:09:00 +0000 JenniferW http://hobobaby.com/?p=160 Ten years ago today, around 2am, Kevin and I decided to make it official and admit we both wanted this thing to go somewhere. Which is only a big deal because I was 17 and a senior in high school and he was 21 and a senior in college. Details, details.

We had spent the last three months hanging out, flirting, laughing, working, talking, writing and avoiding each other. We’d had a “mock date” the month before and I prayed so hard that night that he would all of the sudden profess his undying love for me and admit that he couldn’t live without me and then, you know, hold my hand or something. I think our fingers touched.

So on September 13, 1998 while we were standing outside his car getting ready for me to go inside we decided to do it – and started dating, officially. He so sincerely said, “Can I kiss you?” to which I replied “yes”, or sure or something totally lame. And he did. And I laughed. And he got his feelings hurt and asked why it was so funny and I told him – because it’s YOU and you’re kissing ME. So he tried it again and I really wanted to laugh but this time it wasn’t so funny. It was my last first kiss.

Summer 1998 May 1999, Kevin’s ACU graduation May 1999 you sucked it up and took me to my prom (yes, he’s a saint)September 1999 you were my hero October 2001 April 2002, my 21st birthday (check out those sideburns!) August 24, 2002 was the first most beautiful day of my life
In 2002 I followed you to Chicago to pursue your dream, and somehow lost mine along the way.
But in 2006 you followed me back to Texas, so I could find it again. In 2007 we surprised ourselves with the most amazing gift.
Did you ever think I could get any bigger?
April 18, 2008 caught us by surprise.And she is growing into the most beautiful and amazing little girl.
Thank you for embarking with me on this incredible journey of life.

Each time someone asks how old Avelyn is and finds out how much she weighs they always ask the same question, “Oh you must have breastfed her, right?” I can’t tell you how happy it makes me that they think that.

As you may remember, I tried so hard to breastfeed. Avelyn never latched properly or I never learned or whatever, but it didn’t happen. I was miserable about it and cried for months, feeling like a total failure. I’m not sure exactly why it meant so much to me but it did, and I was incredibly disappointed in myself when I couldn’t do it. I think it was a combination of many things. As a nurse I knew all about the nutritional benefits of breast milk over formula but more importantly, I had heard so much about the bonding experience between mother and baby during feeding and I felt like I was cheating both Avelyn and myself.

For the first two weeks after she was born I cried everyday throughout the day and pretty much nonstop from 5pm until I went to bed. I was just so overwhelmed with emotion. I cried almost every time I looked at her because she was so tiny and so beautiful. I cried because no one was taking care of us at the hospital so I checked out early and I was not ready to go. I cried because Avelyn was sick and had to be under the bili lights 24 hours a day and I couldn’t hold her for days. I cried because Kevin had to go back to San Antonio when she was 4 days old. I cried because we had to go to the doctor’s office everyday for a week and have her weighed, poked, pricked and prodded to monitor her progress. I cried because she wasn’t eating and she was losing weight so then I cried because I was the one that couldn’t feed her and I felt like I had failed at the most basic thing I should have been able to provide. And of course I cried because I had to go back to school when she was only 3 weeks old and she was so small and she needed me.

Those first few weeks seem like such a blur. I was so overwhelmed with an all encompassing, earth shaking, terrifyingly strong love for this baby that it almost hurt. It seemed like I couldn’t stare at her enough, hold her enough, love her enough. I was terror stricken that she would stop breathing. Kevin could sleep through several minutes of whimpering and crying but I barely slept a wink. I slept at the foot of the bed right next to her bili bed so I could hear her if she made a noise or worse, didn’t make a noise. I kept the hall light on too bright because I was afraid of it being too dark. I kept the temperature way too hot because I didn’t want her to get cold. I almost never went downstairs because I was afraid I wouldn’t hear her if she cried/moved/breathed/wiggled her pinkie toe….

Those first two weeks I knew I was suffering from the “Baby Blues”. I was also in so much pain from the delivery I could barely move. Forget walking, just rolling over in bed was agony. Sitting up or getting out of bed took another person or a lot of work and time. It was almost four weeks before I could walk without feeling like my insides were going to fall out on the floor. It was a pretty awful recovery. I knew it was Baby Blues and I knew it would get better and it did. At the end of two weeks I woke up one day and just felt better. I didn’t cry all day. I took a shower that lasted longer than 5 minutes and kept the door closed (although I did keep the monitor in the bathroom!). At the end of three weeks I noticed I could walk from the front door to the car without too much discomfort and it was becoming less of an effort to move.

Starting back to school was hard but I looked forward to going home to Kevin and Avelyn every day. I was so tired from being a new parent and my hormones were so wacky that my brain was fried and I couldn’t concentrate or remember anything at all. I was determined to give her breast milk and not formula for as long as I could so I hooked myself to the pump every 2-4 hours to try to keep up with her demand. Between feeding her, pumping and going to school I was exhausted. The exhaustion I felt can only be understood by someone who’s been there. Trust me, I have pulled plenty of all-nighters and a few all-weekers but this is something so completely different. You can only understand the depth of “new baby fog” once you’ve been through it. It’s indescribable.

When she was seven weeks old I made the difficult decision to switch exclusively to formula. It was very hard but I knew it was what I needed to do. I was pumping night and day and barely sleeping trying to keep up with her appetite. With Kevin being gone all summer and me going to school full time I was going crazy. I don’t remember when it started because I felt so much better after the BB had lifted but one day I realized that something had changed and I was going downhill.

Depression runs deep on both sides of my family. I have never suffered from a major depression although I do have a history of panic attacks and severe anxiety that over the years I have learned to control to a good extent. There was a time when I would have multiple panic attacks a day but I have worked hard and now only suffer one every few months or so. I know that during times of great stress or emotional upheaval I am at risk for relapsing and I work hard to notice the signs ahead of time to hopefully prevent or at least lessen the toll.

I was sitting in Psych the day we were learning about depression and anxiety disorders. Dealing with the lack of sleep, new mother obsessions, full time course load, etc. I was out of tune with my body. It wasn’t until the slides popped up on the screen that I started to realize I was probably suffering from depression. I was getting more and more anxious sitting through class, wondering what I should do, who I could talk to about it without sounding like a crazy hypochondriac that thinks they have every disease they learn about in class. After the lecture I waited for the other students to leave and I approached the professor. I didn’t even know what to say but before I even said a word I started to cry and she sat down and talked to me for a good 20 minutes. I am so thankful for her silent ear.

Once I started talking I just couldn’t stop. Everything had been building up inside of me and I didn’t even know it. I told her about Avelyn’s birth one month before, about Kevin having just left for the summer, about the lack of sleep, the lack of friends, the anxiety attacks that had been occurring more and more frequently without me even realizing it. The more I talked the more I was amazed it had taken me this long to see it. I felt a little stupid for laying it out there to someone I barely knew, but it felt so good to talk to someone who didn’t know me, that could be objective and caring without making me feel inferior or dependent. I pride myself on my independence and my privacy. I didn’t want to lose that. I didn’t want anyone close to me thinking I couldn’t do it all. I still don’t. My professor suggested I contact the university counseling service since it was FREE and came with my tuition fees. Uh, yes, thank you. I called that afternoon and had an appointment two days later.

My therapist was wonderful. That first day I think I cried the whole time and I told her everything. I talked about being disappointed in myself for not breastfeeding, for not being able to stay home with Avelyn, for feeling guilty when I enjoyed being at school sometimes even though I would choose to stay with Avelyn in a second if I could. I talked about feeling guilty for choosing sleep instead of homework once Avelyn went to bed. She asked me about my appetite (none, I hadn’t eaten anything real in weeks), my sleep (exHAUSted), my fears (uh, yes, many) and everything else she could think of. I told her all about my increasing panic episodes and my obsessive thoughts that I just couldn’t seem to get rid of. That was my biggest concern.

I was obsessed with thoughts of dropping Avelyn on the concrete, as if I spent SO much time walking on sidewalks with her hanging loosely in my arms. I couldn’t shake the thought of stumbling and falling down the stairs or losing my grip and watching her little body fly down the steps. It was uncontrollable and terrifying. I was so overwhelmed with anxiety and fear that I felt like I was going crazy.

Luckily I never had bonding issues with her, never felt distant or afraid of her. I loved her the moment I knew she was conceived and felt the overwhelming warmth of that love take over my body the moment the doctor laid her on my chest. Taking care of her was the only thing I felt like I was doing right. I could recognize her “feed me”, “hold me”, “change me” cries after just a week or two, although it took a little longer to really trust that voice.

Anyway, we talked about everything and she suggested I see the psychiatrist to determine if I fit the criteria for post partum depression and if so what we could do about it. The psychiatrist determined that it did sound like I was suffering from increased anxiety and depression. I started on an antidepressant and haven’t looked back. I’ve been seeing the therapist almost every week since my initial appointment and the psychiatrist once a month to monitor side effects and improvements.

I am so happy to say that I feel better than I’ve felt in years. I feel good. I didn’t even know what good felt like, it had been so long since I hadn’t felt sad. It wasn’t just pregnancy and hormones that made me feel this way but it was what sent me over the edge and made me realize it was something I could try to help myself with. I wish I had sought help years ago. I wish it wasn’t such a stigma to have “Psychiatrist” on your insurance bill. I wish I could tell everyone feeling sad and anxious and worried that life isn’t supposed to feel that way. I wish someone had told me that.

By the way, there is no hidden message in this post, no cry for help, no woe is me tale. I just wanted to be honest. This was part of my “new mommy” transition. Now it’s something I know I have to be aware of the next time around. I will know what to look for, Kevin will know to speak up if he sees these behaviors, and I will know that it will get better if it happens again. I am so thankful for all the support friends and family provide without being overbearing and checking in too often. I appreciate the respect and Independence you provide that I so desperately require. I also appreciate that I know you will be there should the need ever arise.

So thanks for all that, and if something I said here resonates with one person then I won’t feel too totally stupid for writing this. If it doesn’t, well, now you know. Have a great week!

…Kevin was just pulling into town. I had known for five whole days that I was pregnant and had somehow managed not to spill the beans to him over the phone. I thought all week about how I would tell him. Would he be as excited/nervous/thankful as I was? Would he jump for joy or be stunned into silence?? Would he smile or demand to know who the real father was??? I spent my whole first week of nursing school thinking about these things.

Before we go any further, I have a confession to make. I have a sick relationship with Target. We have a deep bond, Target and I. I could go to Target everyday and find something new I wanted to buy. These days it’s nearly impossible for me to get out of there without something new for Avelyn but I can’t avoid it because it’s the cheapest place to buy her freaking expensive formula but I digress. A few months before this whole getting pregnant thing, Kevin and I were walking through our Target in San Antonio and saw a funny t-shirt. The next 20 seconds went something like this:

“I’m buying that t-shirt for you when we eventually have a baby and you will have to wear it,” I said.

“Okay,” he replied, “but only when you’re really big so people don’t just think I’m a creepy dumbass.”

“Deal”.

Clearly this conversation took place at a time when I thought it would be a few more years before we could have a baby. A few weeks apart and a little irresponsibility on my part and the stick turned blue… or showed two pink lines, whatever. She’s here and she’s amazing and came at just the right time but again I digress. Before her arrival I had to inform Kevin of his impending fatherhood. While he started teaching that week I started thinking of ways to tell him and suddenly remembered the t-shirt.

I had a whole thing planned. With my last few dollars (having blown the bulk of it on pregnancy tests for the last month) I bought the t-shirt we’d seen as well as a little blue shirt that said “I get my good looks from my dad”. It was clearly a boys t-shirt but I figured I’d just return it if we had a girl… which I did so you won’t see it here. I wrapped the shirts up with the pregnancy tests and put together a really cute gift bag. I told Kevin I had gotten him a belated anniversary present since I hadn’t given him anything the week before.

Well, he got here around 4ish I think and we had to get to the bank to cut our rent check. He wanted to jump in the car and go right away so we could make sure it went out on time.

“Sure,” I said, feeling the anticipation build to the point I expected to throw up at any second, “but do you want to open your present now or when we get back?”

“When we get back is fine, or maybe at dinner.”

Ugggggghhhhh. I have to wait even longer?!?!?! That’s okay, I told myself, I don’t want to just dump it on him standing in the middle of the parking lot sweating buckets in the August heat. It has to be special. Right? So off we headed to the bank. I drove since he had just driven 200 miles to see me.

We start driving to the bank and I’m trying to act super cool, like nothing is out of the ordinary all the while thinking for sure that he has to be able to see me shaking, he has to have noticed that I keep trying not to smile. At the next stoplight he is saying something I’m not really paying attention to when I catch him staring at me.

“What?” I ask.

“Your boobs looks bigger. Are you pregnant? Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!”

I just stared at him. “Yes.”

“What? No you’re not!”

“Yes I am.” Then I start shouting, “I AM AND THIS IS NOT THE WAY YOU TELL SOMEONE! YOU DON’T TELL SOMEONE IN THE CAR ON THE WAY TO THE BANK! I had a whole thing planned!”

I don’t remember much after that except that he couldn’t stop smiling and he kept looking at me with the biggest grin I’d ever seen. He looked like a 5 year old on Christmas morning. It was the best he’s ever looked and he looked very good on our wedding day. I’m sure we looked like crazy people in the bank line since he kept hugging me and saying things like “We’re having a baaaaaaby” over and over.

So maybe I did have a whole thing planned, but this was way more memorable.

I thought I would throw up waiting for that stick to do something. Didn’t have to wait too long to see a very faint plus sign. A part of me thought “Maybe it’s false. It’s too faint to be real, right?” The other part said “Heck no, preggo! A line is a line is a line.”

So then I proceeded to alternately jump around the room, tell Etta and Thumper we were having a baby and stare at myself in the mirror trying to say convincingly, “I’m having a baby. We’re having a baby. I’m gonna be a Momma. OH.MY.LORD!!!!”

Then I did this.

The next day was my first day of nursing school. Perfect timing. They say the morning pee has the most pregnancy hormone so I held it all night long. You know, just to be sure. Then around 5 in the morning I forgot what I was saving it for and accidently flushed before I remembered the test. I’m pretty sure I said a dirty word. Oh well, I decided, if I’m really pregnant it will show up anyway, morning pee or not. I went ahead and did it again the next time I got up and I got that extra line. THREE more times.

And that’s how I found out I was pregnant. Kevin would have to wait a few more days…

[see part two here]

As previously posted, there was no change at Tuesday’s OB appt regarding all those technical details — still 3cm/60%. We were all hoping I would last until the induction date but with everything that had been going on they were all surprised I hadn’t gone into labor yet.

Just two days later, during my weekly ultrasound on Thursday, we found that in the last 7 days the amniotic fluid level had dropped dangerously low, which occurs in roughly 4% of pregnancies. In my case this was most likely caused by the placenta just giving out. Luckily the baby was showing no signs of distress and her heart rate and breathing pattern were strong. They sent me back up to my regular OB with well wishes saying I would probably be having a baby! Even though I understood the situation, I still don’t think I could comprehend that we would have this baby in the next 24 hours. Even after I got upstairs and was signing in to see my doctor and the receptionist said – “Dr. X wants you to go across the street to the hospital and check in and she will meet you there. Congratulations! You’re going to have your baby!” EVEN THEN, I was still stunned thinking “Baby = Maybe” not “Baby = NOW FOOL!”

I finally got a hold of Kevin and told him he would probably need to come to Houston because we were probably having a baby today. It wasn’t until I’d already checked into the hospital and was waiting for them to call me back before I thought to ask a nurse what they were planning to do for me. This surreal conversation went something like this:

Me: I’m sorry, when you said induction were you referring to the scheduled induction on the 27th or are they planning to induce today?
Nurse: Um, today [idiot]. Dr. X is going to check you to determine if we need to deliver you tonight or early tomorrow morning.
Me: Oh. [awkward pause] So I should probably tell my husband he needs to come back into town.
Nurse: Yes.
Me: Okay, wow, thank you. [AGHHHHH!]

I phoned Kevin again who promptly got moving, and my grandparents to keep me company until he arrived. Pretty soon we were in a room and the rest is history. Kevin brought a great pizza as my last child-free meal and then I slept the night away thanks to the wonderful effects of Ambien – 6 whole hours. I realize now why that was so important.

We started the Pitocin at 5 am the next morning and Avelyn was born just 9 hours later at 2:05 pm after 40 minutes of pushing. It was the most amazing experience ever and I highly recommend it (with epidural, of course). The whole thing was just very relaxed, calm, exciting and FUN thanks to my wonderful doctor and nurse. Kevin did a fantastic job too – he was supportive, attentive, funny, worried, nervous, everything a new dad-to-be should.

When she came out I just remember being totally stunned at how surreal it all was. My belly deflated (a good amount anyway), a baby was lying on it instead if in it and she was breathtakingly beautiful. She seemed like such a little stranger but in the most familiar way. It was really odd how everything changed in an instant — She made two people into a family who seconds before were just a couple.

Crazy. Wonderful. Beautiful. Life.

5 times the charm

Our last “just the two of us” photo (note the “IV fat face”)