It’s a lot. You don’t have to read it.
cheekbones
Look, I’m not saying that I’m so gaunt that my bones are protruding… I’m just saying yesterday I noticed my cheek bones for the first time. Were they there all along and I just couldn’t feel them through my pudgy fingers and palms? Possibly. But for whatever reason, I felt them yesterday like I’ve never felt them before.
Oh, and today I wore a pair of skin tight 16 jeans to Bruce’s 12 month check-up. I don’t know whether they are becoming more comfortable or if I am just getting used to the feeling of that button holding on to the the button hole for dear life as either sides of the zipper desperately try to cling together. Jury’s still out.
My sister lost 16 lbs. in 6 weeks. In that time, I have lost 5. WTF.
The cheekbones thing is a good sign though, right? That has to mean something. Right? RIGHT?!
226.6
I haven’t been 226 since November 26, 2008. And that’s from a graph where the numbers were sneaking back up. By May 2009 I was 233 and by August 2010 I was 252.
My lowest weight in the past 5 years was 215 (Sept. 2008), and I thought I was hot shiiiiit.
That’s me on the right.
Basically, this means I only have 11 lbs. to lose before I start feeling human again, feeling pretty.
I am continuing my C25K, which is a training program for running a 5k, and last night I was really running for a little bit. Not just jogging, but really running. It’s crazy, after not doing it for a couple few weeks, I was able to get right back into it. I just picked right up where I left off. Music helps a lot. Not having Tom with me actually helps a lot, too, because I race home as fast as I can to be with him.
226.6!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I’ve been 228-229 for so long, since September 24! I’m so excited to see a new number on the scale! Woo hoo!
That’s 9.36% of my total body weight GONE.
In one of my favorite movies, “Hungry for Change,” they say, “you can get 10 lbs. off your body with sheer force, but you’re going to have to pay it back with interest.” I’m sure the running helps, but I hope changing to a healthy diet will make most of the difference in the long run. Diets don’t work. Revolutionizing my life is working. Getting mad as hell and deciding that I’m not going to take it anymore has made the difference. Yesterday I had 3 smoothies which consist of kale, berries and pineapple. I also had couscous, which is basically pasta, tomatoes with basil and feta cheese, a couple of handfuls of peanut M&Ms, a Taco Bell burrito and a slice of chocolate cake. I’m not depriving myself, but I’m adding so much healthy living that it’s starting to crowd out the crap.
The goal is under 200 lbs. by Christmas. I wanted to be 215 by Halloween, and 205 by Thanksgiving. It’s going to be super tough. I’d be pretty content at less than 200 by Christmas. The broader goal is 164 by next July. And since I’ve gone this far in spelling out my goals, if I am still 164 or less by July 2015, then I get the most elaborate Disney World vacation that money can buy, possibly with a vow renewal ceremony so that I can have pictures in a wedding dress without looking like I ate the entire wedding cake by myself.
a change in me
A weird thing happened yesterday while I was singing in the shower.
Well wait, let me back up a bit. When I got pregnant, my nose became very swollen and my voice got real deep. I did a little research and tried to mention it to Dr. Wolanski. This article describes my symptoms exactly and is what I believe that I had. It’s all over my head, but, as the article mentions, once Bruce came into the world, the symptoms began to subside.
Fast-forward to present day. My voice never did fully recover from pregnancy. I can’t tell you how disheartening that has been. I miss singing with the Disney Princesses. I look at Bruce and just think, “well, I guess my new Gaston voice was worth it.” I have always had pretty severe symptoms of what I believe is undiagnosed PCOS: facial hair, abnormal cycles, acne. I’m 30, why do I still have acne? I had even felt similar pain to that which I encountered that fateful Black Friday in 2011, but much less severe. We were at Disney World in 2003. I just could not get the crampiness to go away and was uncomfortable in every position. In hindsight, I was playing with fire and should have gone to see a doctor.
Tom and I have taken a whole-body approach to health. Maybe I could take a hormone to combat what I assume is high levels of testosterone that are producing many of these symptoms. Or! Maybe I could feed my body a diet of living, healthy, leafy deep green vegetables. Maybe I can shrink the fat cells that (I assume) are producing some of the excess hormones that are doing this to me. I believe Coca-Cola fed Mr. Nasty. (You know, like the way Hexxus feeds on toxins and poisons in “Ferngully.”) I believe my body wants to heal itself. I believe my cells are slowly becoming more alive as I embrace the food that God gave us.
ANYWAY
While I was in the shower yesterday, I got a little frog in my throat while I was singing (badly). I couldn’t seem to clear it. I just kept singing (badly). It felt different. It sounded different. Hmm, I wondered… I tried an oldie but a goodie and suddenly I was singing (badly) along with songs that I haven’t been able to sing (at all) for a couple of years.
I may not know what I’m talking about, but I’m going to pretend that the amount of weight I’ve lost so far is already affecting me in positive ways. I’m just going to assume this whole thing is slowly but surely beginning to impact my health.
I used to belt this out in the car, and Tom would say, “Dang! You sang the ass off that song!” I’m not back to that level, but it’s really nice to be able to sing it, period:
bloggin’ bloggin’ bloggin’
Tom and I took Bruce and Jasmine for a very unsuccessful walk last night with the new, way cool jogging stroller. We usually do 5 laps around the big Bridle Trace circle. Bruce started wailing on lap 1. He was just really tired. We were able to pacify him for a while, but Tom ended up taking him home early while I went on lap 3. I walked up and down our street until I was able to get to 3 miles.
But the jogging stroller was cool. It has rubber tires. It’s very difficult to navigate. For those of you keeping count, it’s Bruce’s 4th stroller. This one isn’t like the others, though. It’s basically useless except for running. I told Tom that I feel bad about having bought 4 strollers, but this one doesn’t really count because it’s just like an exercise toy, or weights or something. It would be really, really miserable to take this stroller to Disney World. Or the mall. Or anywhere really. I cannot stress enough the inability to steer.
I started reading blogs yesterday of women with PCOS who are trying to conceive. It dawned on me that my struggles with that might be relevant to someone somewhere on the internets. So, I went back to my ol’ LiveJournal and collected everything that seemed relevant. I don’t know how I feel about it. I like this blog being about life with Bruce. But at the same time, it IS relevant. Part of the story is us trying, trying, trying.
So, if you’ve found me today and you’re into that sort of thing, you can search my tags for LJ to find the agonizing pre-baby ovarian cyst stuff.
who, me? oh, i’m just one bad mofo.
Thanks to my ability to finally do something relatively sit-up-esque on my own and all the steri-strips from my c-section falling off in the middle of the night last night (all of them, every single one – on their own, I didn’t rip them off – but it was time, they were due off today), I finally got my first look at my scar. I panicked a little bit before I saw it. What am I doing to my body, slicing and dicing it left and right? What would God say about me butchering this body that he made for me?
Well, my anxiety was ridiculous. This scar is ridiculous… ly tiny. I’m serious, it looks like a little red hair across my pelvis, just a thin red horizontal line. I’m amazed by how short it is, too. It’s maybe 7? 8 inches long? (That’s what she said.) I can’t believe Dr. Wolanski pulled a person out of there. The scar from Mr. Nasty is maybe 10 inches or a foot long, and zig zags vertically down my stomach and around my belly button down to my pelvic area. It’s no wonder that when any doctor sees the Mr. Nasty scar his eyes bug out of his head. I’ve told doctors before about having a big cyst, then lifted up my shirt later, during the exam, and they’re all like, “and what was THIS from?” implying that I didn’t reveal my entire medical history. I paused, like, are you serious, and said, “Um… the CYST.” It’s really unbelievable. It is. People see it, and they do not believe it. Tom’s friends said things like, “my wife had 3 kids, none of them were that big,” and “you are officially the baddest mofo I know.” Yeah. Well… He’s right, and I AM.
I texted Mom about my scar comparison and she just responded [Mr. Nasty] “Seriously was serious!” I told her that might be my favorite text of all time.
I took pictures, but no one needs to see all that. Yes, the scar is small… my gut is not. (Although it’s nice to be instantly skinnier again – very much like after having a certain 15 lb. cyst removed. I can see my feet!)
So, I’m proud and excited. I feel a lot like I did after Mr. Nasty was removed: I CAN TAKE ON THE WORLD and I WANT TO GO TO DISNEY WORLD. It’s nice to be sitting up unassisted. Weening off pain medicine. I feel good.
In other news: Breastfeeding is tough! I should have been tipped off when the nurses and lactation specialists at Martha Jefferson said, “don’t give up” and stuff like that. Bruce is a good little sucker, but my supply is pretty measly. It got up to about 2 ounces at one point the week that Mom was here, but it has declined ever since. I’m lucky to get an ounce every 3 hours. That’s not enough for this growing boy, so we’ve been supplementing with formula. I am blaming it on lack of nutrition (I generally just eat dinner, maybe a snack or two in the afternoon… I know, right? Awful.) and lack of my mommy here taking care of me and things around the house. Gosh, that was nice. I haven’t talked enough about how wonderful it was to have Mom here. I keep meaning to devote a blog post to recapping our week together. It was just nice to have someone make me a peanut butter sandwich and walk the dog. Everyone in the house was content, and we never got back into the groove after she left.
Anyway, as far as the breastfeeding… I’ve got a plan. Eat more. Drink more. We’ll see how that does. I had a good sized lunch, fed Bruce, pumped a tiny bit, then had a bowl of oatmeal (gross!) and orange juice and a whole lot of water so we’ll see how we do. Bruce lost a whole lot of weight because I have no clue what a growing boy needs… so, we’re working on beefing him up. At two and a half weeks old, he’s a little over his birth weight today. Yikes. But… he is gaining at a steady rate. Mommy and Daddy are new at this, but we’re figuring it out.
Just hope the little guy doesn’t starve to death in the process.
enter the dragon
I feel bad. I should be posting daily about each cute and perfect thing my new son, Bruce, does each day. I’ve just had this daunting task of recounting his birth story looming over me, and I know it’s a long story and a lot to sit down and write, so I’ve been procrastinating. It’s also really, really important so I feel guilty for not typing it up right away. I did try in the hospital, I just could never get Tom to hand me the laptop.
I don’t know where to start. Where did I leave off? Oh, right… a terrified, anxious, scared little girl. How can I have a kid? I AM a kid. I want my husband to myself… mehhhh.
On Sunday night, our last night of freedom, Tom and I went to see Finding Nemo in 3D. It was really good. I mean, it was well-done in 3D and it’s just a good movie, period. It’s almost like we were supposed to see that movie that night. It’s almost like it was destiny. We spent 80 minutes watching a father love his son, you know? It might be the most important movie I’ll ever see in my life. I walked out of the theater and told Tom, “I think I can do this.”
I didn’t sleep at all on Sunday night. We went to bed at around 12, and I woke up at about 3:30 tossing and turning. Our plan was to be up at 5 and at the hospital by 6. I kept trying to slide back into sleep mode and claim those precious few minutes, but I never did.
We got to the hospital around 6:05, or 6:10 or something. They showed us to our room, 3048. I changed into my hospital gown. Someone came in and took blood samples and someone else hooked me up to an IV. Mom, Dad and Lindsay came around 8 I think.
Surgery was supposed to be at 7:45, but I got pushed back because of an emergency that someone else was having. I don’t remember waiting very long. The wait time flew by. I want to say they took me back around 8:45.
You know I was a wreck during the pregnancy. That all culminated on Monday morning, right before surgery, with me not being very nice to Grandma. No joke, it was so awful that she was about to leave 5 minutes before they took me into the operating room. Leave. Like, that’s it… and she’d go and I’d just go back into surgery and she wouldn’t be there. Okay, honestly, I ruined it. I took this beautiful moment, you know, all the excitement of getting ready to have a baby and basically made everyone in the room upset. I’m, like, the best at being the WORST. Everyone was worked up.
Then they came to collect me for surgery.
It was a complete disaster.
The doctors were fantastic. It’s the patient that was a train wreck – all worked up. Everything went by so fast. I just kept crying and wishing I could take it all back. I wasn’t at all focused on the fact that I was having a baby. I was just thinking of that f-bomb that I dropped. I was totally and completely out of it. Depressed. It was almost an out-of-body experience. I kept looking at myself, and telling myself to get my head in the game. It was like the halls and rooms were whizzing by and I couldn’t keep up. Everyone was talking. Everyone was telling me to do something.
I walked down to the OR with the nurse. Tom was close behind us trying to put on his moon suit and walk at the same time, but they made him wait outside for the spinal block anyway.
I sat on the table and was surrounded by happy, friendly people, but I just cried like a little baby. I was losing it. I sat on the operating table leaning forward, hunched over so the anesthesiologist could get the needle in my spine. I didn’t realize how distracted I was until the nurse said, “calm down, just take a deep breath and relax.” I did. I laid down on the table. I couldn’t feel my legs. Am I having a baby? Is this happening? I was crying like I couldn’t catch my breath. I can’t do this. I felt so bad… like… knives in my eyes. What had I done?
They brought Tom in. Oh, sweet, wonderful, familiar Tom.
He was cute as hell in his cap, space suit, mask and booties. He sat on my right side, held my hand and stroked my hair.
I just remember that it hurt. Not like, “you’ll feel some pressure,” but like, cutting. It hurt. I was wincing. Honestly, it was like i could feel them pulling the baby down from under my ribs. I was numb to a certain height, but above that I still felt feelings… and it didn’t feel good at all.
Someone said, “Dad, you can take pictures.” It was all happening really fast, like an oncoming train that I couldn’t escape. Take pictures? Pictures of what? Baby? Already?! I am not ready to be a mom… We thought we could only take pictures on the non-surgery side of the sheet. Tom asked if he was allowed to take pictures of the surgery side, and the doctors said they didn’t mind 1 or 2.
I heard, “Alright, 9:06.” Before I knew it, they were saying, “There he is! That’s your son!” I saw him sitting on a table past Tom. He looked like an old Chinese man. Great. An ugly baby. I told Tom to take his picture.
I felt sick.
Tom told Dr. Mathis, who was monitoring things by my head. I felt like I was going to throw up. My stomach was in knots. I asked Dr. Mathis what to do – he said if I was going to do it, turn to the left. I did, and I did. He put a pink bowl by my face. I was crying, wincing and hurting as they moved higher up my body pulling and tugging at stuff. Dr. Mathis said, “I’m going to ask you to stop for a second,” to Dr. Wolanski. Oh my gosh I was so sick… Crying and nervous and just physically ill… violently ill.
He gave me something for the nausea and some morphine and we waited a minute. I thought it was a quick second, Tom said it was about 5 minutes. They kept asking if it was better, and when I finally said okay, they let Dr. Wolanski continue.
Someone said, “look to your left.” I looked to my right first, at Tom, then to my left.
I saw the most beautiful little pink face… teeny-tiny, sweet, soft, perfect little face. It was the most amazing thing that I’ve ever laid eyes on.
NOT AN UGLY BABY!
Everything else melted away. They took him away to go take care of all the stuff they do to newborns. They told Tom to come with them, but he asked if it would be okay if he stayed with me. No one minded. I was so relieved. He continued holding my hand and rubbing his hand on my head. Everything was going to be okay.
They lifted me onto another bed and carted me down to recovery and brought the baby in. We tried nursing, but mostly we just held our little boy and spent the first two hours or so of his life getting to know each other a little bit.
When we made it back to our room, all that tension had melted away, too.
Everything feels so perfect. It’s been two weeks and it still feels perfect… like this is how it was supposed to be all along.
head down
Hook Hand Thug: Head down.
Flynn Rider: HEAD DOWN!
Hook Hand Thug: Arms In.
Flynn Rider: ARMS IN!
Hook Hand Thug: Knees apart.
Flynn Rider: KNEES APA – Knees Apart?
Little Happy’s head is down… “That boy has assumed the position!” I don’t know how anyone can tell that by looking at my stomach, but apparently Dr. Wolanski can. Feeling kind of crampy, but now that I think about it, it’s not as bad as regular period cramps, but it is a sign that my body’s getting ready to get this wagon train a-rollin’. Everyone says when it’s labor you will definitely know – so I’m not worried about that. Dr. Wolanski said he’s 95% sure this week will be uneventful and it’s safe to go back to Charlotte, so that’s what we did. Doc also said that if the worst should happen, you know, if my water does break – we have plenty of time. Just call him, tell him what’s happening and he’ll tell us what to do.
So, this week will be spent packing and cleaning and packing some more. I need to buy a car seat, probably from Craigslist for the time-being. I also need a solid name.
I want a really good name, like Thomas Andrew La or Wendy Michelle Johnson. I had so many excellent girl names. Oh boy, what am I going to do.
I think I also need to print and fill out one of those birth plans. How does that work? Does anyone in the hospital actually read/honor those? I spent a lot of time telling Tom my demands last night on the way home. It’s nice to have that dude in my corner 24/7. An example is, okay, there will be hundreds of thousands of photos taken of this kid throughout his lifetime… I want Daddy to take the very first one. I can’t think of other things on the birth plan. Drugs, yes. Water birth, no… although I really would like an excuse to get in the Jacuzzi in my MJH birth room. Keep the placenta, HELLLLLLLL NO.
I get updates from different baby websites in my inbox, today: “Especially for you this week on thebump.com: CRAZY Labor and Delivery Stories!” Really, thebump.com? Why the HELL would you think I want to read that right now?
Uncle Haley turned 22 on the 22nd. Dee Dee came and it was like, “Birthdays all around!” She brought me a birthday present and Mom a birthday present and Haley a birthday present and Baby a birthday present! She had some things off the registry including the first thing I registered for (back when I thought we were pregnant in Sept. 2011):
It makes me SO happy, and is going to look great in his room next to his orange lamp. It reminds me how devastated I was when my period came that time, and how elated we were to finally get that positive test a few months later. She bought a Finding Nemo sleeper that features Bruce and the other sharks, it really makes me want to name him Bruce. That thing is SO much cuter in person than online! It’s no longer in stock, and I feel like I want to find it in every size now.
I need to finish the changing table. It’s almost all sanded… and I need to paint it. I was always planning dark blue and lime green, even back when I was sure my baby was a girl. I never bought newborn cloth diapers. I think I’ll just have to use the disposables while we’re in VA and work out the cloth when we get back home.
I’m slowly, and I mean slowly getting excited about seeing his face. This surprise has been building for months and months… and is finally about to be revealed. You know that I’m crazy and have only been cautiously optimistic all this time. I start thinking about how “all this time” goes back to the Super Bowl. Tom and I were both in the bathroom and just cried and cried. Happy crying! Really, I thought something might be up when Dad, Lindsay, Haley and I went to Daytona for the Rolex 24.
We went over to WDW and took this picture at Animal Kingdom the day before the race. Look at my face. I’m thinking, “they don’t even KNOW!”
Yeah. Right now it’s a cartoon lion baby. Give it 9 months.
I’m not sure why Dad’s yawning.
phew! glad that’s over! (almost)
- Chocolate Milkshake from Baskin Robbins
- M & M Minis
- M & M or Oreo Blizzard from Dairy Queen
- McDonald’s Fries
- Little Debbie Oatmeal Cream Pie
- Mei Wah Roll
- Outback Steakhouse Aussie Cheese Fries
- A big, soft, ooey-gooey chocolate chip cookie
- Serious Dark Chocolate from Lindt or Ghirardelli
- Phish Food and Chocolate Fudge Brownie Ice Cream from Ben & Jerry’s
- Bread from Topeka’s Steakhouse
The MJH Diabetes Nurse Educator suggested I make a list of things from Tom to bring me in the hospital after the baby is born. That is what I’ve got so far. I’ve been writing it down in the back of the log book that came with my meter. I should also put granola cereal and lots and lots of fruit on there, because that has also raised my blood sugar so I haven’t been able to have it.
I’m just too damn sweet.
I’ve gotten in the habit now of eating meat and vegetables and not much else. I can’t imagine that it’s very good for me to have so much red meat. (Before you say anything, I have had enough chicken!) I wonder how hard it will be to revert back to cereal and applesauce for breakfast. A sub would be nice. I miss sandwiches.
BUT!
My numbers this week have been declining. I’m thrilled. I’ve gone from 135 – 170 on 9/4-9/6 to 87 – 127 so far this week. I guess, that doesn’t mean anything to you unless you are diabetic, but I’m supposed to keep it under 120. The MJH DNE said the placental hormone production peaks at 36 weeks, which was 9/9.
So although we’re not done pricking and bleeding and metering and logging yet… we’re getting there. Won’t be long now and Tom can bring me all the things on that list! I was so frustrated with the whole thing, I’m glad to have a handle on it.
cloudy: another rant
I read somewhere that artists are prone to being over-sensitive and depressed. ::shrug:: I don’t know… I guess it’s just one of those days. I’m apprehensive about everything that motherhood entails. I’m making mountains out of molehills. Tom asked me today, “what’s wrong?” And I said something about a college fund.
I just can’t seem to get my head on straight.
I feel bad for letting people down, for not being giddy all the time. I was already a worrier, already anxious. Now there’s all this extra hormonal stuff going on… I feel out of it. I feel like a disappointment. I feel like everyone’s stoked about the fact that there’s going to be a baby in the family, but they’re also kind of bummed because it’s mine. (Someone very hateful actually told me once, years ago, that she feels sorry for my future off-spring because they’ll have me for a mom… I try not to think about it, and to consider the source, but it’s still pretty painful all these years later.)
So, then… do I say something? Do I talk about my feelings? Because my feelings are wrong. Most people, I don’t know, they just don’t understand what I could possibly be complaining about. How can I possibly be sad now?!
I don’t know. I just am. I don’t even feel completely comfortable writing this because I’m afraid of the fallout. I should just write about my awesome visit with Dr. Wolanski on Friday and happy things that people actually want to read about. Sunshine. Lollipops. Glitter. Rainbows. Why am I so weird? Why is all the happiness tempered with this overwhelming anxiety? I don’t know what I want. I just want to be honest and say I don’t feel good. This is my blog, dammit, and I’m going to tell you the truth about my feelings.
I want to be like Lindsay and Trudy. Outgoing, life of the party, happy, hilarious… FUN TO BE AROUND. Why am I stuck being me?! It suuuuucks. Cynical. Sarcastic. Downright mean sometimes. I think I’m being funny and people are like, “what the h*ll is the matter with you?” I’m not trying to be mean! I was telling Dad and Haley at dinner at Outback the other night that I wanted a birthday re-do and was going to tell the waitress that my birthday was a bad night and they were like, “you don’t have to be a jerk about it.” And I said, “I’m not!” But they were both like, “actually… you are.”
I’m not calling you out, Haley (or Dad, although he has probably never read any of these entries). It was unanimous around the table that I was harsh. I had no idea.
I mean, I’m starting to think that I have no redeeming qualities except a functioning reproductive system. But I can’t make people like me.
I’m not outgoing and fun to be around, I guess… I’m just not, but I’ve got other stuff going for me. I’m smart. Ask me anything about Disney – I can tell you anything you want to know. I can paint. I am crafty. I can organize the sh*t out of an art closet. I don’t do much of anything unless my whole heart is in it. I’m thoughtful and compassionate… and despite how Dad, Haley and Tom felt about my little monologue at Outback, I’m very sweet. I was nice to the waitress, and for me there was no discernible difference between the way I said it to them and the way I said it to her.
While we’re on the subject of who I am and what I stand for, I’m sincere… not judgmental. I’d like to think if I’m telling you something, something important, if I’m going out on that limb coming into your life trying to rebuke and admonish or even just connect, that you’d understand how much I care about you and that I thought we had that kind of deep relationship. I thought I could come to you with anything and everything. You think it’s easy to waltz right up to someone and say, “you’re doing it wrong?” No way man… that takes a lot of freakin’ guts! God’s put some stuff on my heart, things that cause me worry and anxiety, things that I want to share with you and you think I’m just being critical – just looking down my nose and judging you.
Nothing happened! I mean… I’m not talking about a recent event – so cool your jets – I’m just saying people look at me and think I’m judging them. I get that a lot. I’m not over here in silence staring you up and down criticizing your life choices. I don’t talk because I’m shy. Bottom line. I’m wishing I could be more like you, over there having fun and doing your thing. I’m shy and I hate it.
If it’s important, like Richard Sherman is just standing by himself on the deck of the Disney Wonder, or Jim Korkis (great guy!) is sitting alone right in front of me in the Walt Disney Theater, or I run into Virginia Davis in a hallway, then I am going to make a move. If it’s important, like I’m worried about you, or I feel like we are growing apart, then that’s a move I have to make as well. Not easy.
I woke up early today and didn’t have breakfast even though I know I need to check my blood sugar. Sometimes I sleep in and miss breakfast… but today I was up early and everything and STILL skipped it.
It still hasn’t set in that there is a person inside me. I know he’s there, he’s moving. If he’s born today, he’ll be full-term and he will live. It’s important for me to say that to myself. He is alive. He will live. Even now, I find myself saying to myself, “well, barring any unforeseen circumstance,” but, I mean, I’ve got to stop that. It’s a habit that I got into as we dealt with infertility. Cautious optimism. I want to be happy, but I can’t get too happy, because there’s always the chance I will find myself on the floor in the fetal position begging God for answers. Again.
I guess if you care about me and are reading this, it’s important that you see that. You know? The weak moment. Maybe it’ll help you understand the weirdness, and why I am not just straight-up happy. He kicks me all day, but you’re much more likely to believe he’s really there than I am. Part of me can’t understand that we made a baby and won’t trust it until the thing is in my arms.
In my arms.
Really… he will live. He’ll eat. He’ll sleep. He’ll poop. He’ll cry. And he’ll start kindergarten, and he’ll do wushu with his dad, and we’ll ride Winnie the Pooh and Dumbo at Disney World, and he’ll wear hats and sunglasses, and he’ll throw a baseball through a window then lie about it, and he’ll place in the science fair, and he’ll spend summers working in the restaurant and learning Chinese, and his grandparents will take him to visit distant cousins, and his grandparents will take him on Disney Cruises, and we’ll give him charging privileges on his Key to the World card and he’ll buy way too much, and he’ll keep an eye on his little sister and fight with her and say, “that’s not fair,” and he’ll go to band camp, and he’ll graduate high school, and he’ll go to college, and he’ll meet a girl, and I’ll wonder who the h*ll she thinks she is…
But he will live. He will.
From way back: “Impression: Single living intrauterine pregnancy. No complications noted.”
You know what really makes me mad… I can’t find my ankle bones. My feet are that swollen.
—
I wish I had a picture with Jim Korkis. I have pictures OF him. We met at the Disney Institute when I was 15, then became Pen Pals after I saw him on the Disney Cruise in 2003. He even took Courtney and I around Epcot one day. Really awesome, awesome guy.
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- I look like I could swallow Virginia Davis.
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- Amazing, amazing talent and wonderfully genuine guy.
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- Dave Smith, minding his own business until I accosted him.
That La Kid 