I Would NEVER Walk 500 Miles. And I Would Certainly Not Then Walk 500 More.

Hello Blogstalkers,

So you know how when you experience something that seems really odd or out of place you turn to your companion and say, "Am I crazy or is this pie crust taking forever to bake?  Is this ear slightly higher than my other ear?  Does this guy on the Food Network look exactly like Jake Gyllenhaal with a beard?"  (The oven wasn't on.  It is - I have to special order my glasses now.  And he totally does, right?)

Cuban Jake.  Or "Cake".  I might like him better than Normal Jake.  Or "Nake".  Unless Normal Jake got Nake.  But then again that could also be trumped by Cuban Jake bringing Cake.  So, back to where we started then.    
But anyway, I used to say that a lot.  Until Ryan was all like, "I don't know why it's always one or the other with you.  It would make a lot more sense if you said, "Am I crazy AND did the guy in the grocery store just lick that cantaloupe?" then I could just say yes.

And of course I was severely affronted and all like, "I'll show you crazy RYAN!"and then did things I'm not proud of in public.

But these days, I'm inclined to agree with my husband.

For one, I met my new neighbor yesterday when I was outside vacuuming her porch.  (One of my plants sheds and I was politely cleaning up the detriment.  My vacuum has a very long cord.)

For another, after the check-in guy at the gym said, "I didn't see you two yesterday!" to Fiona and me this morning and I panicked that he was like tracking my gym time, I was all, "Oh haha yeah someone had a long nap yesterday.  Also if you don't see us for a while it's because we go on a lot of vacations which would also explain the increased plumpness that will probably exist upon my return."

Also I get in a fight with my scale every single morning because when I step on it the first thing it does is flash LRG LRG LRG in big red letters.  And I am all like, "NO WAY SCALE! I'VE BEEN GOING TO THE GYM AND EATING COTTAGE CHEESE!  YOU'RE FULL OF NONSENSE!"  Until Ryan reminds me, every single morning that LRG is actually just my initials these days.

And then there's this:

Ryan: Hello? This is Ryan.

Lauren: So you know how I do that time travel thing?

Ryan: What?

Lauren: You know that thing where I pretend to be myself from five or ten years ago and then travel through the future until now and then make judgements on my current self?

Ryan: Noooo I can't say I did know that you did such a thing.

Lauren: Ok well it's a thing I do.  Mostly when I'm feeling really really happy with my life and I want the often sad and anxious former-me to know that everything is going to turn out just grand.

Ryan: Lauren, that doesn't even make any sense.

Lauren: It does get a bit confusing.  Especially since I've done this forever and so there are like a hundred versions of me hurtling through time and space exclaiming things like, "Look at all the bras you've got now!" and "That one's yellow!"

Ryan: This is the most ridiculous thing you've told me in a long time.  First of all, if you could time travel, why would you choose, of all the times and places in the universe, to just spend normal everyday time with yourself five years into the future?

Lauren: I don't know RYAN, why don't you tell me?  Seeing as you're the one that has chosen to spend all of his futures with me.

Ryan: Ok fine.

Lauren: Also I don't exactly travel forward in time, I like, first go back in time in my head and become my old self and then just travel to today and glance around a bit and think, "This seems nice." And maybe walk around on any new soft rugs and say, "Ooooh soft rug."  Mainly.

Ryan:  Mainly?

Lauren: Yes, until today.  Because I was at lunch with my dad and I wasn't even trying to play the time travel game and there I was just absentmindedly sucking the last of my cottage cheese off of the piece of lettuce it had been served on when suddenly I accidentally started playing the time traveling game or whatever and then Lauren-of-times-gone-by was there laughing at me and thinking I was ridiculous.  And so I was like, "Get out of here!" Not very loudly but it did happen to be just as the waitress was coming back over and I didn't know if she heard but if she did she clearly was going to think I was talking to her so I just continued with, "I love your blouse! Get out of town!"  And it was obviously a uniform top.  It was terrible.

Ryan: What is your point with all of this, because, let me remind you, I'm at my very first day of a new job right now.

Lauren: Oh nothing, I just wanted to let you know that I think I might actually be going crazy.

Ryan: Huh.  I always thought it would be a doctor of some sort that called me to tell me you were actually crazy now.

Lauren: Rude.  This is what I get when I am being a concerned wife who I just remember now really just called to see how it went with the wart doctor?

Ryan: Podiatrist.

Lauren: Right, that dude.

Ryan: He just lasered the little spot and that was it.

Lauren: Did he have any guesses on where you could have acquired such a disgusting malady?  Are you slowly turning into a warthog?  Are you going to start clearing the Savannah after every meal?

Ryan: He said, "You probably got it from your wife, she sounds like she's got a lot of warts."

Lauren: Dammit RYAN.  Just for that I'm staying on the phone with you longer.

Ryan: I'm eating lunch so whatever.

Lauren: I don't really have anything else to talk about…I had a completely normal run-in with the gym guy this morning but that's not interesting.  Oh! I met the new neighbor.  She seems nice.

Lauren: Oh I know! Something else weird I do, whenever I'm using the GPS in the car to get anywhere I decide in my head how close I have to get before, if the car, like…disappeared or something, I would be willing to walk to my destination instead of just giving up.

Ryan: Huh?

Lauren: Well, like if I'm driving to the bookstore, as soon as the GPS hits 2.9 miles to destination I shout "Walking Distance Fiona!" but if I'm going to buy you new white t-shirts, like I was yesterday it takes until I'm about .5 miles away before I'll even consider schlepping the rest of the way on foot.  And don't even get me started on if I'm going to the gym.

Ryan: You wouldn't walk half a mile to get to the gym?

Lauren: Well it's exactly like eating candy before dinner.  It would spoil it.  Oh ugh, bad metaphor, comparing the gym to things I love.  That's sort of maligning candy and dinner...It's only like that if candy tasted like wormchops and dinner was stewed yarn.

Ryan:  You hate the gym that much?

Lauren: The power has gone out 50% of the times I've been there and then I have to leave without working out!

Ryan: The power went out one time.

Lauren: Yes.  Well.  Exactly.

Ryan: And you could have stayed, I'm pretty sure it went back on 7 minutes later.

Lauren: I wouldn't know.  I was already driving home at that point.  With GPS.  It said 4.3 miles til home.  "Walking Distance, Fiona!"

Ryan: You are crazy.

Lauren: I told you.

And later:

Ryan: Hello? This is Ryan.

Lauren: Remember yesterday when I made way too many butterscotch bars and I didn't want to eat them and so I was trying to figure out how to get rid of them?

Ryan:  Hi Lauren.

Lauren: I just realized that I should have given them to the new neighbors.  Fiona and I could have set up a little FREE BUTTERSCOTCH BARS! stand.  But it's too late now.  I've already given them to my sister.

Ryan: What do you want exactly?

Lauren: Do you think it would be crazy if I put a sign on the front door that said, "Free Butterscotch Bars Yesterday"?  Because of how it's the thought that counts?

Ryan:  Yes.

Lauren: Yes I thought so too.  Just wanted to check.  Well, I've got to go, work to be done.

P.S. Please leave a comment? Comments are my bread and butter.  Except I can't eat bread and butter any longer because I'm on a diet, if you had not noticed…pfft.

P.P.S. Sometimes I write places that are not this blog.  This is one of those sometimes-es.  Life With Shorty - A Humorous Take on Raising my Daughter.  Check it out if you're not totally sick of me yet today.

P.P.P.S I mention that I'm like 5'8'-ish in the article which has already gotten some surprised reactions on The Facebook because everyone thought I was short apparently.  My brand new doctor's office (we moved) told me I was 5'7.5" just this month, which seemed taller than normal, but they are medical professionals, so that's why I wrote 5'8"ish.  But then I measured myself today after everyone was all incredulous and I personally got something more like 5'6.5".  And I can't exactly start out the new doctor-patient relationship by calling and saying, "I just have a medical question.  How tall am I?"  So I'm going with my measurement for now.  So I totally apologize for sort-of-exaggerating how tall I am in the article?  I'm also sorry for not really knowing how tall I am.  That seems like something a respectable person should know.

ALL THE Ps. S.  By request, a picture of my baby.  She doesn't usually wear headbands but she was feeling fancy.  She often wears fruit shorts.  We have watermelons too.




Happy Anni-Bloggy-Versary!!

UPDATE: THIS GIVEAWAY IS NOW CLOSED.  AFTER COUNTING ALL COMMENTS PLUS EMAILS AND FB MESSAGES FROM THOSE UNABLE TO COMMENT AND SUBTRACTING ALL DUPLICATE AND LAUREN COMMENTS (JUST ME-LAUREN, IF YOU'RE ALSO A LAUREN, I DIDN'T JUST NOT COUNT YOUR COMMENT OUT OF SPITE.  IN FACT I GAVE YOU AN EXTRA ENTRY) (NO I DIDN'T) VIA RANDOM NUMBER GENERATOR, THE WINNER IS:

LAURA CUTLER 

CONGRATS MISSY, I'LL BE IN CONTACT.  AND TO THINK YOU ALMOST GOT DISQUALIFIED BECAUSE YOUR NAME IS JUST ABOUT LAUREN.  

HERE IS A PICTURE TO PROVE IT WAS ACTUALLY RANDOM.

If you want to check my counting remember to discount all duplicate comments and comment by yours truly.



Hello Darling Blogstalkers.

Today is the three year anniversary of the day I first started this blog.  And while I'm not always the best at updating in sensible intervals, I still think that's something to be celebrated.  A lot has changed in the years since I started writing this website after all.  New house, new car, new baby, newd-ness at the library*.

*I was trying to make mom friends by going to story-time and I walked in all smiles, scanning the room for likely chums as I took off my jacket and unwound my scarf.  And then took off my shirt.  Seriously.  Apparently my brain just switches into getting undressed mode if I remove two articles of clothing.  It was awkward.  I bloused back up and skedaddled pretty quick after that.

But anyway, this blog was an unexpected semi-success and it and you all have changed my life for the better.  So today I'm hoping to be able to change one of your lives for the better, just a tad**.

**When I was little, I thought the phrase "just a tad" was short for "just a tadpole" because tadpoles are very little and that phrase means just a little.  So like, my mom would take me to get ice cream and they would ask if I wanted any sprinkles and I would be like,  "Maybe just a tadpole."

So here's the deal.  Just comment to enter.  As always around here, no liking or sharing or tweeting of any sort is required.  Unless you are singing the song Rockin' Robin.  And then you had better be tweeting up a storm.

I'll pick a winner next Friday.

The actual prize is mostly a surprise but for sure there will be the following things:

For $100 (The Amazon)

A pair of Kendra Scott earrings of your choice.  I have these two and love them both.

Cake.

Delicious cake.  Eat slowly for Prolonged Magic.
Please do not be like my high school BFF and send me a picture of yourself eating the cake with an extra plate of cake sitting by an empty chair with the caption "That piece is for you as I truly hope you are eating cake with me in spirit right now."  Because seriously?  I was all like, "Bitch, please.  I do not do any sort of cake-eating that does not involve putting frosting-y globs of actual cake in my mouth"  Eating cake in spirit.  Pfft.  Dumbest thing I've ever heard.

This bag:



And not just a tadpole more.  A whole crazy amount more.  Lots and lots more.  I promise it's a worthwhile pursuit.  Things I've included in the past: Coasters shaped like toast, a Tiffany necklace, personalized gym shoes from Nike, a hat that looks like a cupcake, Ugg slippers, A Kate Spade bracelet, band-aids that look like pickles, an actual pickle.  And so on and so forth.

Oh and I promise I'll include one of these little guys:



And now I must run because I have just heard a loud noise and then a bunch of "Ow Ow Owwws" coming from upstairs and I think Ryan may have hurt himself and this NEVER happens and I need to go run up and check on him so I can say "Yeah, Ow Ow, Talk Hurty To Me" because I have been waiting to do that forever.  And also I should probably make sure he's ok I guess.

Tweet, Tweet, Tweedle-Lee-Dee,



UPDATED Because it was requested, pictures of my baby.  Who is currently entering her third hour of napping.  She is not part of this giveaway.



UPDATED x 2 - I just want to say that it makes me insanely happy that you are all most excited about the cake.  You're seriously the best bunch of Blogstalkers ever.

UPDATED x 3 - If comments hit 200, you'll have to hit "Load More" or something like that, I don't remember, to see your comment after you post it.  



I Heart Jim Beam. Gym Beam, Not As Much.

Hello hello Blogstalkers.

Jumping right in today.  No time for long rambling introductions.  Ryan is currently out to dinner with friends and I thought I had all this free time to write an entry but just now he's texted me that the restaurant he's chosen is cafeteria style and thus he'll be home before I know it.  So there goes all the plans I had to not spend time with Ryan tonight.

I shouldn't be surprised I suppose, the cafeteria is where he's always brought his dates.  I'm not complaining though, there's something extremely romantic about a boy you like swiping his meal card for your dinner in his college cafeteria and whispering, "Put back one of those rolls, I'm not made of Wildcat Willie Bucks." Don't you think?

Plus that roll thing only happened the first time.  Ryan stopped telling me what I could and could not have at the cafeteria when OJ joined us for dinner that night and asked Ryan to cover him as he had forgotten his meal card and then proceeded to grab two rolls.  Clearly that wasn't allowed and so first I gave Ryan a silent look like, "Do you see what is happening here, tell him about how you don't have a lot of cat money or whatever."  But when Ryan was only like, "Stop looking at me like that, that look makes me nervous," I had to take matters into my own hands.  So I used said hands to slap one of the rolls out of OJ's hand and said, "Two Rolls?  Really?  When you're making Ryan pay?  He's not made of pussies and willies you know."

So as I said, jumping right in to the meat of the post today.

When my siblings and I were small children, my mom, like many moms, signed us up for a variety of activities.  We did t-ball and piano lessons and community plays, among other things.  One of those other things being gymnastics.  And that is the thing I am going to talk about today.

That thing, that thing that thi-i-in-ing.

God I am so musical.  Must have been all the piano lessons.

But moving forward.

I was not *great* at gymnastics.  My little sister however, was really really great.  The gym we went to was a serious place.  It was run an Eastern European couple and their two sons.  They were in the business of training promising young girls for the Olympics.  To fund that business, they were also in the business of teaching less promising young girls to walk the balance beam without falling off.

Guess which group I fell into.  Also guess if I fell off of the balance beam a lot.

I was TERRIBLE at gymnastics.  I've never had any sort of balance and I hadn't yet grown into my exceptionally long limbs.  There were four main areas in the gym: Floor, Bars, Beam, and Vault and all four of them were tied for being my least talented area.  Like, I know those coaches and their sons sat around the dinner table at night and talked about which girls showed a real knack for the sport and should receive a lot of attention.  And then I know one of them brought up my name as a joke and the rest of them spit sauce across the table in spasms of hilarity.  I used to picture them in the throes of their laughter and think, "Can't really blame them I guess."

Because I was well aware of my awfulness.  I watched my sister move up the ranks from D Team to C Team to B Team and so forth whilst I twiddled my thumbs in Junior Squad, a large nine-year-old island in a sea of five-year-olds.  

Once I had firmly figured out that gymnastics just was not my thing, I pretty much never stopped begging my mom to let me quit.  I just wanted to sit quietly in the viewing room while my sister did full twisting layouts and read my book.  Eventually she (my mom) complied but it took a couple of years.  Here, in no particular order, is a short list of things I remember from those years.  These things may or may not have contributed to my mom's eventual decision to let me quit.

* The coaches' sons were named Eric and Dale.  Eric was nice-looking and this was right around the time The Little Mermaid came out in theaters so a lot of the gymnasts had secret little swoony crushes on him and called him Prince Eric behind his back.  I thought all of this was nonsense and also I was saving myself for Almanzo Wilder and his dashing horses (Oh Manly, I still carry a candle for you even though you are dead) so I was more interested in the fact that the second brother's name was Dale.  Now these classes were in the middle of the day during the week so mostly it was moms and grandmas and babysitters bringing their charges to the gym.  When a dad would make it in occasionally, the instructors would make sure to let the child show off a little bit.  My dad came in once.  They decided it was too dangerous to let me do a round-off-flip-flop-flip-flop combination like I suggested and instead said, "What about a forward roll?"  But that would not do because I could not do a forward roll.  So we were at standstill.  When my dad brought me home that afternoon and my mom asked, "You're home early! How did it go?"  His answer was, "Well your daughter wanted to do some sort of flip and they wanted her to do some sort of roll and then she shouted, "Roll out the Rescue Rangers because I'm doing it!" and tromped over to the floor mat."  "OH MY GOD they didn't let her do any flips did they!?" asked my mom.  "No, they lined up the two young guys to help her out since she seemed so adamant.  She got a running start and then stopped, nodded to them and said, "Chip, Dale, I think we're done here."  And then we left."

* I was not allowed to walk on the regular balance beam for a very long time.  Instead one of the coaches put a line of duct tape down one of the mats and I got to practice on that.  Once my toe got looped in a piece of the tape that was sticking up and I kneed myself in the face.  They let me use the real beam after that.  And also go on the Bars for the first time after I successfully argued that I could not possibly be more dangerous to myself in the sky than on the floor.  I remember the fact that there were zero obstacles inside the gym for me to smash into in the air being one of my talking points.

* When it was really hot the coaches would open the outside doors in the gym.  One day a bird got in.  When I walked into class that day the only thing I thought was, "Well they're definitely not going to let me do the bars today."  

* After I was finally allowed on the bars in class, I decided to show off at school a little bit on the bar that was directly in front of one of the slides on the playground.  I tried to do a somersault over it and then slide down the slide.  Instead I knocked out my front (permanent) tooth and spent the afternoon in the dentist's office.

*  I had a lot of power with the tiny people that made up the rest of my team.  I was older and bigger and they listened to me.  They let me lead the squad from exercise to exercise and they followed along behind me as we traipsed around the gym.  I called them my ducklings.  Until I figured out that we were basically the F Squad.  (Technically it was the Junior Squad but there were six teams and they were A, B, C, D, E and Junior Squad.  So let's call a spade a spade.)  Then I called them the Little Fs.  I was nine and had absolutely no agenda with this.  I got in trouble once when they were dawdling when moving to a new area and I was like, "Hurry your Little F Butts Up!"

That's probably about enough for tonight….

But to end this post with a flourish, I shall now do a forward roll right here on my rug.  Me posting is cause for celebration after all.

Ok I honestly just tried to do a forward roll ran into the table.  I was going to come back all triumphant and be like, "And THAT is how both posts and sandwiches should go, meat in the middle, rolls on either side!"  And now that doesn't make sense at all.

Sigh.

Try to do a somersault right now, I'll bet you can't.  It's much harder than you think.  You go upside down for one bit.  So it's basically like a roller coaster.  With no seat belts.

God I am so bad-ass.  Must have been all the gymnastics lessons.

P.S. Friday is my three year anniversary of blogging so I shall be doing a massive and fantastic giveaway.  Prepare yourselves Little Bs.

Also, picture of my baby, obviously.

Little F.

Introducing Little Bunny Fifi - Part II

So it's May.  And I haven't written since February.  And that's pretty despicable of me.  Despicable Me.  Sorry, I'm a mom now and I talk about kids stuff apparently.  Gone are the days of me being nothing but a serious adult I suppose.

Anyway, instead of dwelling on how wretched a writer I am, let's all just pretend it is still February and I am like on top of my game, yo.  It actually would be lovely to be on top of something for once, even if it's just pretend.  I'm much more accustomed to being the bottom…which, now that I'm thinking about it, I can trace back to when my dad used to make all of his five children climb on top of one another to form a pyramid.   And then I always had to turn sideways and assume the role of TWO of the bottom positions because there were not six of us after all and otherwise there would not be enough children to complete the pyramid.  It was nonsense.  Like what even was the point of that DAD?  So when you hosted barbecues you could call your friends over and be like, "Look at my children.  View how stackable they are."?  Or like so you could have something in your back pocket when an acquaintance mentioned some sort of accomplishment of their children?

"Matilda and Geoffrey have aced their exams in maths.  Mattie is just astounding when it comes to fractions."

"Yes well, I have an entire human pyramid worth of children.  Almost.  The big one has to be two bottoms."

Clearly I'm still suffering from some sort of longterm emotional damage as a result of that pyramid scheme...  But moving on.  When I last left you, in February, the month it still is, I had just written the first part of Fiona's birth story.  So I'm going to go ahead and finish that now.

If you don't remember the first part, HERE IT IS. Also I should warn you that since this is a birth story and since this is the portion in which the actual birthing occurs, I might have to mention things about, my uh...*whispers* Never Never Land or Lake of Shining Waters if you know what I mean.  Just a small warning.

When I last left you, Ryan and I were driving to our hospital in the middle of the night after my water broke.  It was three in the morning and absurdly freezing outside so the streets were empty and we got there in record time.

Ryan dropped me off at the door and I waddled as quickly as I could to the elevators and up to the labor and delivery ward.  When I stepped off the elevator, I was buzzed through security and then met with a group of four nurses at reception, ready to check me in.

Four seemed like a lot of nurses for one patient and I thought, "I'll bet that Ryan called from the parking garage and told them a difficult patient was on her way up and to have all available personnel ready and to not expect her to wear a diaper fashioned out of garbage bags so as not to wet the furniture, because she will not do that."

But then one of the nurses was like, "Sweetheart it's your lucky day, you are literally our only patient right now."  Which it turns out, was totally true.  I guess Doctors had been scheduling c-sections around the incredibly dangerously cold weather, plus it was a Sunday and it just happened to turn out that no other woman went into labor spontaneously that night.

It was pretty great.  One nurse helped remove Ryan's sweatpants (which I suppose I should mention were on me at the time) and all of the assorted towels I had stuffed in them in lieu of previously mentioned garbage bags.  Another wrapped me in gigantic hospital gown and slid fuzzy socks on my feet and tucked me into a bed in triage while a third prepared the swabbing kit.

"I just have to swab you quickly so we can be sure your water has broken," she said.  By this time Ryan had parked and made his way to my side.

"I certainly hope my water has broken I whispered to my husband in a panic, and that I didn't just get a juice box caught down there somehow."

Luckily my water had indeed broken and I was admitted and moved to a lovely private room with two TVs and plush blankets and scads of armchairs that folded down into single beds.  "Call my sisters, I instructed Ryan, "tell them I will now receive them in my suite and remind them of how it is proper etiquette to never let me see their backs."  And he was like, "Yes YOUR MAJESTY." And I was like, "Please Ryan, we've met before, you can call me ma'am."

So then I just settled in to await the doctor's first visit.  There was a marathon of Friends episodes on so I relaxed and watched that while I got hooked up to an IV and had fluids started and got a hand massage.  Seriously, one of the nurses heard me tell Ryan my hands were throbbing (they always hurt at the end of the pregnancy) and she pulled up a chair and massaged them.

The last picture of me pregnant. 
I had not yet started having contractions, so I was feeling pretty great, just really really excited for the moment.  Then in walked my doctor.  It was like 4 AM at this point and he had not been the doctor on call (I had asked) so I was very surprised to see him.  "What are YOU doing here?" I asked.  "Oh, well I got paged that you were in labor and I really had nothing else to do, so…I can leave if you'd like though." he responded.

"No, no no, stay, please, have a seat, I'm afraid ice chips are all I have to offer in the way of refreshments but my butler would be happy to get you a cup of them if you're parched.  I do apologize for his attire by the way.  Butler, call my sisters back and tell them to bring you a top hat, you look ridiculous."

"Nice to see you again Ryan.  How about instead we check your cervix Lauren?  Looks like you're at about a 2 at the moment, no contractions though correct?  Ok, let's get you started on Pitocin then."

And then I was like, "Oh well, goodbye so far gorgeous, pain free, luxurious birth."  And I mentally prepped myself for actually having to do a bit of, you know, labor, to get this baby out."  But then, again because there was literally no one else on the floor, the anesthesiologist came in with the nurse who was starting the Pitocin and asked, since he'd seen my labor plan (Which was: 1. Healthy Baby, 2. Healthy Mother, 3. Epidural, 4. Skin-to-skin) and since I was going to be expected to deliver in under 24 hours, if I'd like him to just start the epidural at the same time they started the Pitocin.  He'd give me a 24 hour dose, so it would last the entirety of labor, would that be alright with me?

And I was like, "Absolutely!" And mentally unprepared myself for the labor.  Because it turned out this was going to be delightful and easy.

So the epidural got placed (which was no big deal at all) and a catheter got place (also no big deal) and the Pitocin started and my body actually started to contract.  Or so they told me.  I couldn't feel a thing.

My doctor was in and out and ummm, VERY IN for the rest of the morning.

I progressed "beautifully" from a 2 to a 6 over the course of four hours.  I was six hours into the birthing experience and had not a care in the world.

My mom and my sister had arrived and we were chit chatting about all the meat sandwiches I would eat after popping the baby out when I felt a huge, wavelike sensation in my stomach and then a sudden burst of pain on one side of my body.

The doctor very carefully examined my stomach and checked me again.  I was 7 cm and still progressing normally but it looked like the baby had moved a bit and was now, as far as he could tell, sunny side up.  We were spine-to-spine which was causing the breakthrough pain.  I was in back labor.

Over the course of the next hour the other side of my body started regaining all feeling as well and by the time I was 8cm dilated, I was in a lot of pain.  I was still progressing just fine and obviously pain in labor is usually no reason to worry, so I was just checked by my four nurses and doctor at regular intervals while I tried to remain polite and not scream in their faces.  When they were out of the room I screamed in Ryan's face a lot.  And cried a little.  And vomited a lot.

This went on for what felt like days but was actually only another two hours.  My doctor did a final check and I was complete and ready to start pushing.  At this point the epidural had been turned off completely as it had stopped providing any relief hours before.  And the Pitocin was at its maximum allowed level and well, I was MORE THAN READY to meet this child.

So I pushed for an hour but it didn't really seem to be going anywhere so I was left to "labor down" for a couple of hours.  It was a really difficult couple of hours.  Then I pushed for another hour and again, nothing, so again, I was left to labor down for another couple of hours.  This pattern repeated itself two more times at which point I started to go into something like shock.  The baby's heartbeat was still fine but mine was erratic and I was confused and forgot what I was supposed to be doing and my temperature was low.  I was hooked up to oxygen and my doctor made the decision at this point to go forward with a c-section.

I should rethink the sizing of these pictures.

I was rushed into the operating room and the anesthesiologist administered a spinal, which at the moment, was the greatest thing that had ever happened to me.  It wouldn't be the greatest thing for long.    The surgery was quick and honestly, I don't remember much of it at all.  I remember hearing the baby cry and seeing Ryan, who was standing by my head, get all nervous, like he couldn't decide if he should go to the baby or stay with his wife.  "GO!" I said and he rushed off to meet his daughter for the first time.


He soon was back holding a tiny bundled thing and I finally got to say hello to my beautiful little baby.

It was a moment of pure joy and I completely lost track of my surroundings.  But then, too fast they were rushing Ryan and the baby to the nursery (she was just fine, Apgar scores of 9 and 9) and all I could hear were the words "she's tearing".  I had no idea what was going on but I was scared and I didn't have Ryan and my baby was gone.  The anesthesiologist was sitting by my head and he started talking to me about his twin girls and how they were applying for colleges already and how it had seemed like just yesterday they had been born via c-section.  He talked and talked and talked to me for the next hour or so until everything was repaired and I was all sewn up.

Then I was finally moved to recovery where I waited another hour, with constant supervision before I saw my husband and tiny daughter again.



"The baby was sunny-side-up, lying diagonally and wedged pretty solidly against your pelvic bone, the surgeon told me, when she came to talk to me after surgery.  She was really very suctioned in.  You might have heard the loud popping sound that it made when we broke the suction and pulled her out (I hadn't).  Unfortunately there was some tearing after the baby was delivered.  We were able to get everything all stitched up and it should heal very well but in the future if you have more children, you'll have to have an early scheduled c-section as it could be dangerous for you to go into labor on your own."

At least that's what Ryan tells me she said.  I was too busy falling in love.  Finally.


It was a difficult day but it was entirely worth it and I would do it all over again in the flashiest of flashes to have my little girl.  As I sit here writing this, Fiona has just woken up from a nap and is snuggled against me.  She giggles because the dog has walked past her and OMG that dog is hilarious. Almost as hilarious as the ceiling fan.



So that's that.  The best day of my life.  All other days pale in comparison.  Sometimes Ryan says things like, "But what about our wedding day? or the day you met me?"  And I just say, "Ryan this is not 'Make a List of the Best Days of Ryan's life Day, it's Monday, and stop calling me at work."  And then I hang up to the fading sound of him saying "But you called me?"

Tell me about the best day of your lives Blogstalkers?

P.S. I'm all done with the birthing stuff now.  Back to regular programming, now with more raisins tiny babies.

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