>Remember the post a few weeks back where I spoke of my bad luck with cameras and difficulties of keeping everyone else off of them? Well, today Evan got caught. Random cute pictures of Zach kept showing up, and I just figured John was taking them. But nope. It’s Evan. Because he forgets to delete the evidence. Today, this is what I found:
>So I went to the hospital yesterday to settle the last lingering bit of the Pregnancy from Hell. I had to go to the cashier’s window, and they pull your info up on a screen, and their little computer screen populates with the different accounts you have. Each visit is a seperate account, and I was hospitalized a total of 34 times between late-January and mid-May. The poor guy working the window! His eyes got as big as saucers and he got all pale on me. He croaked, “Can I ask what was wrong?” So I told him, and that made it worse. Turns out his wife is 19 weeks pregnant. Then he asked about my level of insurance, since our hospital offers three levels of coverage. He apparently has the cheapest while I had the best, most expensive (thank God!). I only ended up owing about $15K total, for everything. This would seem like a lot until I explain that my home health bill alone was $48K before insurance. So the bottom line is that despite my best efforts to reassure this guy, everything I said only made it worse. But I had to explain, because the poor guy was thinking that those charges were all routine for pregnancy, when in fact they are not and I am a freak of nature.
Maybe I just need to keep my mouth shut from now on.
>Okay, so I wake this morning before the baby. Before John. And way before Evan. I brew my coffee. (Yep, remember the Death of the Coffeemaker? My old friend was replaced!) And I go outside to sit on the front porch before it turns into Shades of Hades out there like it always does. Lately it has been sweltering, and you can feel your fat cells melting as soon as you step outside, but not this morning. I actually was wearing a hoodie!
So there I am, mug in hand, people-watching. Before I say this, let me tell you I love my neighborhood. I really do. But seriously? Some of these people are freaks!
When I was pregnant with Zach, I tended to notice other peoples’ baby gear, simply because I was in the market myself. Well we have this one chick who walks every morning with a Bugaboo Frog. WTF, you ask? Well, that’s a stroller. An $800 stroller to be exact. I covet it, really. But this woman has it to….wait for it…walk her damned dog. Which happens to be the ugliest animal I have ever seen. I am all for the pets-as-family-members deal. And just because I am allergic to everything with fur does not make me an animal hater. But this? Seriously? Isn’t the pont of walking a dog just that? Actually walking the dog? I guess I could be wrong…
Next we have Mr. Crotchety. Mr. Crotchety has to be 80 years old. He hates kids. Fine. He has that right. I try to be polite to him, but because I procreated, I am on his short list. He is directly next door to me. For the first 6 months we lived here, I was off of work for the Pregnancy From Hell. But once I started working again, and could be seen coming and going in scrubs, his memory was jogged and I became familiar to him. Turns out I took care of his wife at one point. But before that, he would simply growl when I would smile and wave. Well, in the mornings, before it gets hot, Mr. Crotchety tends his lawn. He can be seen doing a vast array of chores in odd old-people ways. This morning, he was seen trimming the grass along his sidewalk…with scissors! Down on his 80-year-old knees.
Then there’s The Playa. Ha! This is the guy who gets up, ushers his kids into his minivan, then rolls. It’s all “Come on, kids, buckle up!”, then you hear it: booming bass. In the minivan. And all of the windows are down as gagsta rap thuds from the vehicle as he makes his way down the street.
And do you remember those ultra-short running shorts that were made of shiny nylon? We–wait, not we–some people—wore them in the 80’s. Well, I have a neighbor who thought they were too good to let slip with the passing of the decades. And he runs in them every morning. But the best part? He completes the look with the tight tank top, the tube socks pulled up to his knees, the sweatbands on his head and wrists. And he has to be about 60. It is all I can do to keep from laughing when he runs by the house in the morning.
Before you think I live in the Land of Misfits, I shoud clarify that these oddballs are mixed amongst the general population of late 20’s/ early 30’s young professionals that make up the rest of the community. We are the more normal ones. They can be seen walking behind strollers with actual children in them, while their dogs trail along on leashes. Wearing clothes from this decade. Mowing the lawn with actual lawn equipment. Acting their age.
But the oddballs make my morning coffee so much more interesting!
>http://www.kypost.com/video/videoplayer.swf?dppversion=2979This happened here, in Northern Kentucky. I came out of work Sunday morning, where John was there to pick me up after my shift, and he immediately told me to be quiet as he was listening to the radio host talk about an incident that had occurred in my own area. Of course the interview on the radio was rather one-sided and I got the impression that the woman in the restaurant was actually topless. With that in mind, and even as a breastfeeding mother, I sided with the restaurant. I believe we should have the right to feed our babies in public, and the law is on our side, but there is no need to flaunt it, and I think discretion is called for. I personally am too self-conscious to nurse Zach in public without being hidden. Instead of fighting the sensibilities of others, I would just as soon go to my car. Of course my self-consciousness has led me on many occasions to give in and give Zach bottles of pumped milk while out on trips. Of course, this is bad. My pumped milk, in light of my supply issues, really is precious to us and should be saved for my long hours at work.
So all of this has me thinking about the whole ordeal. I think the views of the public keep me from just whipping out my boob whenever Zach is hungry, but my own misgivings would keep me covered even if my breastfeeding in public would solicit applause from a crowd.
So back to this woman…She was vilified, and now I am appalled at the restaurant. Of course they made it sound like she was topless, which is now obviously not the case. But what of the people who complained?
The restaurant owner was on the radio speaking of how there were 8 year old boys in the restaurant at the time. And I happened to think of my own 8-year-old boy and my breastfeeding. And sadly, I could relate. Evan understands that the way I have chosen to feed Zach really is what is best for Zach and I both. With that in mind, it is not something that should be hidden from Evan. But then there is the conservative part of me who cannot get past the idea of exposing myself to my son at a time when he is most impressionable and curious about the differences between male and female. So for my own comfort, we have elected for me to pump and nurse out of Evan’s sight. He knows what I am doing. We tell him. He laughs when he holds Zach and Zach roots, looking to nurse against Evan’s chest. He’ll tell his baby brother that he doesn’t make milk as he giggles. He understands the process. It is all about personal comfort for us. But I am not going to force that on anyone else, and if this woman was feeding her baby in front of Evan, I wouldn’t care.
And the bathroom….Really? Does the manager eat in the bathroom? Especially a public restroom! What do you think of when you think of public restrooms? Germ-laden. Gross. Dirty. Not exactly appetizing, is it?
So overall, I am appalled that this happened here. I am aghast at the way they presented this woman to the media, in such a way that another breastfeeding mother was even siding with the restaurant and labeling her as a fight-picker. I really thought this area was more progressive than that.
>
So it only took 10 years. I followed him in the car as he drove it home, and realized that I am as fiercely protective of John as I am of my children. It’s strange to realize this a decade into a marriage, but it’s true. With every car he passed, with every twitch of his foot as he shifted gears, I worried for his safety as much as I do my young, vulnerable kids. Even though he is older than me. Evan though he can take care of himself. Even though the same hands he has used to diaper our children are also the ones that were tough enough to defend our country. This man is my world.
An admirer at the gas station struck up a conversation at the pump, and he beamed when he told the man, “My wife bought this for me.”
And right now, I am just happy that he is happy.
>I’ll start this with a direct quote from a coworker.
“Andrea, you are so much more pleasant to work with now. You were such a bitch before.”
Ummm, wow! Really? And I assure you she wasn’t joking. And the fact that she thought it was okay to say something so hurtful may sort of be my fault. I have that abrasive, in-your-face attitude. I always have, and any effort I have put forth to change it fails miserably. It’s just me. Or is it?
I talk a good game. People around me would tell you I am hardcore, no-nonsense. But truthfully? My skin isn’t quite as thick as I put on. My feelings are easily hurt and I am seriously pretty insecure. But you would never know that unless I tell you. Or unless you know me really, really well. I think John is the only one who knows the true me.
So this? Well, I laughed, but inside I was hurt. It was weird to find out she thought this about me. She honestly believed that having Zach mellowed me out. It did. But some of it is just simple logic. Before I got pregnant, I would manage at least 70 hours’ worth of work (at least!) with a full-time school schedule, fitting in sleep every third day between exams and OT shifts. I was the classic workaholic. When I got pregnant, I cut down on the OT, dreading the complications I knew would be coming. I cut down on school, but didn’t cut it out. So I was still tired, and shocked by a pregnancy. Then came the part where I wasn’t doing anything but my base work schedule. And that is when the contractions started, so I was constantly miserable from pain and discomfort. (Yes, the contractions started earlier than documented. I knew what was going on and didn’t tell anyone at all until they got too much to tolerate. I faked well.) So yeah, maybe I was bitchy. But a bitch?
So this has all got me thinking about the label we put on women. I think of a bitch as someone who is generally mean-spirited and female. I don’t think I fit into this category, with that being said. But that isn’t what the word has come to mean in our society. The label is instead carelessly tossed around to any woman who is outspoken, ambitious, serious, and honest about her thoughts. With that being said, it can actually be a compliment. Should I say thank you?
>Hmmmm, where to start?
I have always said that children are not supposed to bring gifts into our lives. It is their job just to be, and our job to love them and make them feel secure in this world. But having Zachary has brought such an enormous gift to my life that it is difficult to put into words.
It all starts with breastfeeding. I used to be a junk-food junkie. I paid no more attention to the junk going into my body than I did to speed limit signs along the road. I lived on fast food. I never took vitamins. The list of abuse to my body is endless. But with his birth and subsequent nursing, I started to pay more attention. Herbal supplements. Whole grains. Fresh, organic fruits and veggies. Lean meats. Lots of water. Actual exercise that doesn’t involve running around a hospital while the rest of the world sleeps. And the real kicker? I started doing all of this effortlessly. Oh, I’ve dieted before, and it always took such effort that I gave up soon thereafter. But lately I find that making more healthful choices just comes with the territory of being a nursing mom. I don’t want junk food. It has completely lost its appeal to me.
And the changes don’t stop there. I take vitamins and herbal supplements now. I go on walks. I actually sleep. I am calmer, more serene. Overall, I just take better care of myself. Zach did this to me, and it got me to thinking. Is it all about breastfeeding or is a new-found appreciation of my body after surviving the pregnancy behind the changes? I think it is a combination of both.
Of course these changes are having a huge impact on my life. People around me are noticing (another post about this coming up). And the more healthful habits have manifested themselves into weight loss. Although I know my caloric needs greatly increased with breastfeeding, my appetite never did. So I am burning more and actually eating less, and at 9 weeks postpartum, I have lost a total of 45 pounds. I knew I had lost a significant amount of weight by 5 weeks when I went to my OB to be cleared for work, but the rest I didn’t measure until recently. I just noticed clothes changing in the way they fit: first it was “Hey, I can fit into these shorts again!”, followed by “Hey, these shorts are looser than before.”, then finally “Hey, these shorts are too freakin’ big to wear!” Shirts I wore right before getting pregnant are now nightgowns. And the little c-section pooch I had from having Evan, which I expected to get worse with the second c-section, is actually getting flatter.
Before you discredit this and tally it up to normal postpartum changes, let me tell you something. I looked horrible during the pregnancy. I was bloated, tired-looking. You could see the misery on my face. It oozed from my pores. But I only had a net gain of 11 pounds throughout the whole damned thing.(I emphasize “net gain” because I would gain a pound, lose 2, gain 2, lose 4, throughout.) And 7.5 of those pounds were all baby. So I actually left the hospital weighing less than I did when the little pee stick revealed its fateful two pink lines.
So now here I am. In better shape and weighing less than I have ever weighed. And this is following 5 months of bedrest and otherwise sedentary ways. Thanks, Zachary!
>So I just finished Eat Pray Love by Elizabeth Gilbert. Loved it. It is being released as a movie with Julia Roberts in it, though that had nothing to do with my selecting it. Actually, it was more like a “Hey, why is Julia Roberts on the cover of my book?” type of moment. I absolutely hate seeing a movie before I read the book. And the movies always let me down. I loved loved loved The Time Traveler’s Wife. One of my all-time favorites, but the movie left me disappointed. For me, reading that book was like reading a giant metaphor for marriage. I didn’t get the same feeling from the movie. So anyhow, back to Eat Pray Love.
For some reason, this book had a strange impact on me. I should start by saying that I’m not religious at all. I’m not anti-religion either. My son attends parochial school, for crying out loud. So I’m not an atheist either. I would call myself more agnostic than anything. But I am reading about Gilbert’s spiritual journey around the world, and I suddenly got this feeling that my life was off balance. I wanted that level of peace and self-reflection for myself, and I was jealous of her experience. This is really bizarre for me.
I’ve done yoga as more of a relaxation/ fitness practice than a spiritual one. There is something inherently calming about sitting quietly in insane poses that both pulls you in and centers you. And maybe it’s age-related (I am getting older!) but I feel like I need this sort of calm in my life at this point in time.
Before you roll your eyes at me, I should explain. It is certainly not surprising for a new mother to long for some calmness. I am not exempt from that. But considering my personality, this desire surprises me. I usually thrive on stress. Crazy job, insane schedule, educational demands. Juggle juggle juggle. And it is almost like I need this to be happy. As a matter of fact, if there isn’t adequate challenge in my life, I get too bored and subconsciously invent drama, being the lunatic that I am. I’ve actually caught myself doing it when I wasn’t even aware. So for me–ME–to say I long for that? Well it is bizarre to say the least. I see big changes coming my way, and I have no idea what they are going to be.
>The craziest thing I have ever done was to marry John.
Let me explain.
John and I met through a mutual friend 10 years ago. I was a cashier at this huge party store, and so was my friend. And she was telling me all about her good guy friend named John. He kept getting involved with the wrong women, and I with the wrong men. I jokingly told her, “Well, if he is such a great guy, introduce us, because all I can find are jerks.” But he lived 4 hours away. Apparently she knew him through a friend of hers from Cincinnati who ended up moving to the town he was from. They dated and she ended up being one of the bad seeds, but not before John had made friends with her friends. C’mon. 4 hours away. I forgot all about it. Then about two months later, there he was, up to visit. Riding his motorcycle, fresh from the Marine Corps, wearing Levi’s that were faded in all the right places. Of course she introduced us. And we hit it off. As a matter of fact, we hit it off so well that everyone around us at a party thought we had already been a couple. We ended up pretty much spending the weekend together before he had to get back on his motorcycle and head home. I didn’t want him to go. We had fit together so well. He said he would call, and in my cynicism, I thought “yeah, riiiiiight”. But he did call. Not only did he call when he got home, but called on the way home. Pulled over in the rain, motorcycle perched on the side of the road under a bridge. And he called again when he got home. We pretty much stayed on the phone for a little over a week. Then he cashed his paycheck, quit his job and moved to Cincinnati to be closer to me. After just a couple of weeks. Crazy.
Within a month, I was so over-the-moon in love with this guy that I felt insane. We hadn’t been together long enough to feel the way I did. Was I losing my mind? What was even crazier was when he bought me a beautiful princess-cut solitaire. And with that, we were engaged after one month of meeting.
We started looking at the idea of planning a wedding. I do not have cheap taste. I wanted the elegant venue, drenched in crystal and roses and candlelight. The fairytale dress. I always have and still do. But at that point, neither of us were in position to pay for it. My parents had passed, leaving just us. And we decided that if we couldn’t afford what we wanted, then we didn’t want any of it. With that, we eloped. Well not really eloped. We were married on Christmas Eve in front of a Christmas Tree at John’s mom’s house. The dating, the engagement, and the wedding altogether took about 3 months. That’s it.
Everyone said we were insane. We didn’t care. We were insanely in love. He had my very soul. And just a couple of months later, we discovered ourselves to be expecting a little boy–our Evan.
A lot has happened since then. Educations were completed. Children were born after horrendous pregnancies. We’ve had some pretty big trials, and we have made it through. Together. Just us.
Remember the motorcycle? I made John get rid of it. It scared me. He loved it, too. But he did so because he didn’t want me to worry. Throughout our whole marriage, all 10 years we have been together, he has longingly looked at replacing that motorcycle. It was Kawasaki Vulcan, he says, because he couldn’t afford a Harley Davidson back then. He wants a Harley so bad I swear he can taste it. And because I love him, I want so much to be able to give it to him. I have literally envisioned me finishing med school, and with a doctor’s salary, surprising John in front of all of his family and friends with a new Harley. But it never happened and is never going to now.
I was thinking to myself that I would approach my favorite loan lady at my bank for a loan for John to have a motorcycle for his birthday in November. On the heels of Zach’s pregnancy, John is feeling aged, and I wanted to make him happy. After all, I would give him the world if I could. I didn’t know if it would happen though…
Well, the other night, as I was doggedly schlepping through the halls of the hospital, I noticed a sign on the door of the in-hospital branch of our credit union. They were selling a 2006 Harley Davidson Softail Deluxe, apparently a reposession. These are pretty common lately, as our hospital recently purchased another area health system, and with that merger, our credit unions merged. Therefore, our credit union inherited some bad accounts. There for awhile, they could have stocked their own used car lot with all of the repossessions. I made a few calls and discovered the asking price was about $3K below what I would pay a dealer, and so I put in a bid for it for the asking price. That was approved. Then I put in for the financing, and it was approved as well.
I just bought John a Harley. The look on his face was worth it. He has dreamed of having one for as long as I have known him, and I made that dream come true. I cannot put into words how I feel. It is so much more to me than a motorcycle. It is a chance to give back to John for the years I have had him by my side, through it all, without fail.
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bitchypants 