In my last post I mentioned the name I chose for my first child if the pregnancy had come to term. I’d never really thought much about it too wrapped up in the grief of losing the pregnancy and the abusive relationship with the father. However looking back on it now I wanted to note it.
I remembered my ex being very adamant about naming our first son Jeremy because he had some sort of attachment to the name. He explained it as being tied into a certain song. I remember because he wasn’t particularly a fan of the band and it seemed odd that he would choose to name his child after a random song. He was dead set on naming the child Jeremy after the Pearl Jam song by the same name.
Going back and actually looking at the song itself and then delving into the inspiration behind said song… WOW. I really hope that the song was just a convienent mask for his true attachment to the name, because… yeah.
The song was penned in memorandum of a young boy who chose to end his life by self inflicted gunshot in the middle of English class one afternoon. The story was similar to most stories of young suicide. The boy was ostracized and bullied without repreve. He didn’t have a stable home life and no support from his peers and saw death as his only escape.
My ex told me he loved the song because he could relate to it, and that made it significant enough for him to want to bestow the moniker on our first born son. I believe that he could relate to the song considering the strained relationship he has with his father, but to want to attach an innocent child to such pain is a little… I guess it just highlights his state of mind during our relationship over all really.
But… of course, so many years after our relationship eventually came to an end my ex has since confessed that 90% of everything he ever told me was a lie. So who the hell knows what his real attachment was to the name. Apparently it was genuinely significant for something. God only knows.
My oldest child, if the pregnancy had come to term, would be turning 13 next month.
While I can appreciate God’s grace in never allowing my first three pregnancies to continue to term, I often wonder who those people would be. I often wonder if the first four pregnancies were single or multiple since I never had the opportunity to make it to my first ultrasound appointment before I lost them. Knowing that I carry the hyper ovulation gene, it’s possible that each pregnancy represents more than one life. I’ll never know.
I often wonder how different the course of my life would be. If my ex and I would have stayed together, or if our tumultuous end was inevitable regardless. Due to his illness/injuries/disorder I know I never would have been able to leave Ohio. I probably wouldn’t have healed from any of my trauma, and I certainly wouldn’t have written any of my books.
And then I look into the faces of the tiny humans that I have been blessed with. Each beautiful little soul that wouldn’t exist if my previous pregnancies had survived, and I can’t imagine never knowing these little souls. As much as I have grieved the loss of my angel babies, I can also appreciate how wonderful my life became because of their loss.
Time heals, even when the wounds still occasionally ache.
I love our house. It’s big enough for our family to exist comfortably within its walls, it’s in a nice neighborhood, great school district and it was a quick sale/divorce proceedings so the price was great too. It wasn’t exactly what we wanted when we set out to move after the Twins arrived, but for the most part I’m quite cozy here and in no hurry to move on.
The only thing that I absolutely could not stand about this house was the one bathroom. It’s challenging enough going from a multiple bathroom living space back down to one, but the annoyance was magnified by the previous homeowner’s obvious lack of home improvement skills. They tried to refinish it, and pretty much destroyed it in the process. We knew this moving into the home and it wasn’t an issue while we were remodeling.
But then my ex decided to act like a damn lunatic and break into my apartment where the kids and I were living while Hubs spent his time making the house we bought into our home. We managed to finish pretty much all the major renovations EXCEPT the bathroom. I didn’t even have the opportunity to paint before we were forced to moved in.
Not only did previous owners of this house destroy the bathroom structurally, but they also decided to paint it a horrid shade of Puce. Puce is one of the worst colors I’ve ever seen. To each their own when it comes to colors and styles but I’ve hated it since the moment we moved in.
My bathroom has been stuck with that awful paint, and weird “wood” accents for almost three years. Every time I set foot in there for any length of time I cringed and got so mad at the blatant disregard of the previous owners. Lol. But the poor color choice, and weird accents are the least of our bathroom issues which I not so happily discovered ridding myself of the horrible paint this weekend.
I set out to use half a gallon of left over paint we had stashed in the laundry room to freshen things up. It was raining, Hubs and the kiddos were content, and I had nothing else to do Sunday since we accomplished all of our other household chores Saturday. I figured hey, this will be a piece of cake. I’ll just slap some new paint on there and call it done until we can afford to hire someone for a complete renovation. Hubs and I both are fairly handy when it comes to basic home repairs, but our bathroom is too far gone. Lol. I’m not even wasting my time trying to fix everything that needs fixed. I’m going to hire a contractor and come back when it’s new and shiny.
ANYWAY… so I’m getting everything ready to paint. Moving some shelves out of the way, getting the shower curtain down etc. I decided instead of painting around it that I would take down the vanity mirror, and that my blog friends is when I discovered:
The GIANT GAPING HOLE in the wall (and that our fancy vanity mirror came from Goodwill lol) I… I can’t even. From what we can tell they had to install a GFI outlet before they could pass an inspection to sell, because the one to the left of the GIANT GAPING HOLE is not a GFI outlet, and the one that is a GFI is literally tape and spackled into it’s home. I’m not really even sure how it’s still hanging on since the spackle is quite literally crumbling around it.
I laughed. I stood there holding my mirror and just straight up laughed. I mean what else could we do?? We don’t have the materials to fix it right now nor did I have the time. All I wanted to do was paint my bathroom walls and call it a night. Which in the end of it all is what I ended up doing lol.
My vanity mirror went right back over the hole after I finished painting. Lol. I added a hand towel bar and carefully covered the outlet and called it done. Because honestly until I can toss a grenade in there and start over, this is as good as it’s going to get. 🤷🏻♀️
Yesterday I went to the store with the Twins. We stopped for breakfast, I grabbed a PSL (because what’s fall without a PSL am I right??) we wandered around the grocery store for an hour or so and headed home. Once we got home the boys went out back to play with the dog and I put everything away before taking a few minutes to throw together some banana bread. While the bread was in the oven I did some dishes and watched the boys playing in the back yard.
Then it occurred to me that I wasn’t anxious. I wasn’t depressed. I wasn’t lost in intrusive thoughts. I wasn’t discontent in the stillness of my own home. I was… happy? I mean… I’m still trying to figure out exactly what healthy emotions and feelings are so I think this is happiness. Although in a way it feels more like I’m complete. I have zero desire to get out of the house and not because I’m fearful of the world. I just love being at home these days.
I can’t wait until my daughter gets off the school bus this afternoon because it’s Friday. I don’t have to work weekends right now which means I get to have my Hubs and my kiddos allllll to myself. Little doesn’t participate in any sports or such right now so our weekends are spent just being together as a family. Something that I dreaded up until recently.
Not because I don’t love my family. I do. I love my tiny humans and my husband. I just didn’t love sitting still for those long quiet moments while my trauma was running around unchecked. I had to stay busy to numb and avoid the pain. I always wanted to be doing something, going somewhere or with friends and Hubs. I never wanted to sit back and relax.
Now? I relish those quiet moments. I love coming home from the grocery store and watching my Littles play with the dog and baking banana bread. I love cooking meals for my family. I love sitting quietly on the couch working on writing projects, or just goofing off online next to my husband doing the same.
In the past I was apprehensive about these feelings of contentment because it never seemed to last. Some crisis or another was always around the corner, but now life has settled into the blissful repetitive nature that I’ve longed for since childhood and for the very first time it actually feels *good* to be here.
I think this is happiness… lol. At least I’m pretty certain. If not happiness, it’s definitely peaceful which is a new experience all around. New and wonderful.
My Little is struggling in school again this year. Not academically in the least, but socially. After talking with her teachers I don’t believe it has anything to do with my Little at all. She’s seven. Her behaviors are typical, seven year old behaviors. She’s excelling as far as grades go, but she’s bored in class and goofing off. She’s not acting out in terms of attention seeking or intentionally being disruptive. She’s seven.
What her teacher expects from her isn’t developmentally appropriate for a seven year old. It’s more aimed towards a nine or ten year old, so she has decided that Little is “immature” and needs more strict discipline to bring her to the behavioral level of her peers.
I’m not against rules, or strictly adhering to them as long as the expectations you have for my kid are reasonable. Delivering punishment everyday because she’s not adapted to sitting in a classroom like her peers who have been in daycare/preschool since birth isn’t reasonable. It’s not going to motivate my child, it’s going to discourage her. She already has the anxiety that comes with emotional intelligence and awareness. She’s an introvert that isn’t going to be able to articulate her feelings immediately no matter how many times or different ways she is pressured into doing so. She’s getting great scores on her tests so she’s obviously retaining information even though she’s not “paying attention” in class. I mean…
I understand that the public education system is designed to put 30 individuals into a box and turn out 30 academic clones who meet the state funding requirements. That’s just the flawed American Education System, but this teacher really seems to have forgotten that her students are individuals at all. It would be one thing if Little wasn’t paying attention and failing her classes. It’s entirely different if she’s just bored and disengaged in the learning process. No amount of discipline is going to change my child’s intelligence, and if the school refuses to give her the high ability test simply because she is “immature” then we’re going to have this fight every year with every teacher until Little goes off to college and can fight with her instructors by herself or actually chooses a field of study that offers a challenge.
Instead of focusing on what happened to me in terms of the abuse I endured in my past, we chose to focus on where life has taken me since; how I’ve been able to heal and overcome despite the challenges.
If you’d like to take a listen for yourself you can find More to the Story Overcome: Becca MacCeile at the link below, or wherever you listen to podcasts.
The way my work schedule is set up right now I have about five minutes after my daughter arrives home from school before I have to leave. Usually Hubs and I will wait for the bus together so I get to see her. Yesterday: my Little did not get off the bus.
As a parent when your child doesn’t arrive somewhere they’re supposed to be it is one of the most terrifying things you can ever experience. This was the first time she’d just not gotten off the bus. Hubs and I stood there dumbfounded for a moment as the neighbor kids walked home. Thankfully they were able to tell us that she was on the bus so we calmed down a bit, but I was still freaking out as mothers do when their babies are lost. So I hopped in the van and chased the damn bus for three blocks like a maniac.
First of all, I adore our bus driver. He’s former military and always punctual which is a wonderful change from last year when we never knew who was coming/driving or when. He’s strict, but compassionate and he genuinely cares for the kids in his charge. I’m following him in the car honking and waving and he didn’t bat an eye. He didn’t stop he didn’t waver he was going to do his job. He had two more stops after ours, I missed him at the first stop but at the second I leapt out of the car and ran half a damn block to catch him.
Once I got to the front of the bus he explained that she was on the bus but he couldn’t let her off until he went back around to our stop. Which was totally fine with me, as long as she was accounted for and I didn’t have to drive across town to the bus barn. Little had other ideas and bolted through the doors before he could stop her neglecting all the basic bus safety rules.
Which lead to the conversation with the driver that she had been neglecting the bus safety rules most of the year. He was frustrated. As he should have been, but hadn’t yet had an opportunity to speak with me or relay the message to the school. He took the opportunity to say something while we were blocking traffic lol. Priorities am I right?
Anyway… after I collected my errant Little and took her home Hubs and I set about trying to figure out what the hell happened for her to just not get off the bus at her stop. My first grader, who just turned seven, failed a social studies test. She was devastated and didn’t want to come home to tell us.
Which broke my heart into a million pieces. Hubs and I have never told her that she should be ashamed of failing a test. We hold her accountable for finishing her home work and paying attention in class, of course, but never have we put emphasis on her grades like that. I don’t know where on Earth she got the idea that she couldn’t come home, or that grades matter so much in first damn grade. This is actually her first year receiving grades at all, and she’s excelling in almost everything.
What made things even worse is that she only failed one subject out of all the tests she took this week. The other ones were all B or above with two A+! She did so well on everything else, but that one bad grade ruined her entire day to the point where she didn’t even want to get off the bus. This was her first experience with failure at school, and after a good conversation with Hubs and I she seemed to be feeling better.
Parenting is hard. If you’re too strict it breeds hatred and malcontent toward authority. If you’re not strict enough it breeds entitlement and laziness. Finding the balance is next to impossible.
Sometimes my Cosmic Joke life is pretty hilarious. I had the opportunity to bump into Target Jerk again this morning. He was at work. He just so happens to work at a local Starbucks, and whadda ya know, I just happened to drive through there this morning taking the Twins to the apple orchard for Champ’s very first school field trip.
BAH HAHAHA. It was great. I recognized him immediately, but he wasn’t paying attention. Our interaction was priceless. I made sure to be extra polite and got to revel in the look of terror that washed across his face as recognition set in after he handed me my drink. I just smiled and wished him a good day, using his name which I took notice of from his name tag.
It’s especially amusing because I rarely visit that particular Starbucks. It’s out of my way any other time, but it happened to be en route to the orchard and I had just enough time for a quick trip through the drive through.
*sigh* It made my day, and hopefully will teach the young man to be more mindful of yelling at strangers in public. Our community isn’t small by any means, but it’s not some giant urban sprawl either. I figured I’d run into him again sooner or later, but I never imagined it would be within the week lol.
Crash and Champ loved the orchard. I was so thankful that Crash was allowed to go with us even though he isn’t enrolled at the school this year. Champ’s school is a perfect fit for our family right now. He’s finally thriving developmentally, and they’re very accommodating of his sensory needs and siblings. Crash has enjoyed his one on one time with me during the week too. He’s much more articulate now that he has the opportunity to actually talk to me without being interrupted. lol.
Neither of them really slept last night because they were so excited. They loved watching the apple processing, and loved picking an apple even more. They also really enjoyed their apple cookie and fresh cider snack. Bonus for our family: the orchard is across the street from the county airport and about six different planes flew in and out low enough for Champ to hear the engines. He was over the moon and asking a million questions about them. It was the first time he was able to see the pilots bank while turning and he was determined to figure it out. I’m going to have to get him up in a small plane here soon. As much as he loves swinging and spinning I’m sure he’ll feel right at home. If we can get him over the noise anyway. lol.
Crash was indifferent to the planes, but we had to drive past the local rail yard heading home and he was very excited to watch all the trains pulling on and off various tracks. I love their individuality. It’s a little weird sometimes because as they grow older they’re actually becoming more alike instead of growing apart. I can’t believe they’re almost 4. It seems like yesterday they were kicking around my intestines fighting over growing room.
So I’m on my way to Target to pick up a few things for Hubs this evening. I got over in the turn lane at a five lane intersection. It’s a mess, and always has been so I’m very careful when I go through there to pay attention to the other cars on the road. Out of nowhere dude in a Cobalt tried to cut in front of me. I didn’t let him and honked a polite “hey, I’m in this lane you can’t come over” honk thinking maybe he didn’t see me.
Dude lays on the horn back, and immediately cuts over right on my bumper. I thought he was going to hit me he was so close. So I continue on to Target. I’m not going to let this jerk try to intimidate me, and if he wants to follow me to the very public place whatever. Let him. We make it to the parking lot and he parked a few aisles away. We both get out and start walking toward the door. I arrived first and walked through the door. He jogged to catch up which now has my fight mode on deck and yells: “hey, it’s nice to know your brakes work.”
I turned around to face him and kind of chuckled with the response: “yeah, nice to see your turn signals work too.”
He then proceeded to make a few other snide remarks, which I fired back at until he decided to attempt to intimidate me with: “well I have you on video and I’m going to call the police and report you for a hate crime.” While waving his rainbow sunglasses around in the air.
First of all, I don’t give a flying fuck about his sexual orientation. I didn’t honk at him, or return his snide banter because he was gay. To be honest until he waved them in my face I didn’t even notice he was wearing rainbow sunglasses, nor would I automatically assume he was gay just because he was wearing rainbow sunglasses. Like dude… that’s reaching, but if you’re going to try to scare me with the police and bullshit accusations I’ll save your time and call them right now.
Which is what I did. I dialed 911, followed him down a few aisles; then headed over to customer service to wait for an officer to come and deal with the ridiculous bullshit that I found myself in. Yes, I followed the Jerk a few aisles in the store because if he was going to be stupid and try to threaten me I didn’t want to let him out of my sight. Once I lost him, I didn’t care to find him again and made my way to a safe location because OH MY GOD HELL NO TO ALL THAT BULLSHIT.
I waited about fifteen minutes for the police to arrive, which is understandable since the call was so asinine in the first place, but once the officer arrived and I relayed why the hell I had to interrupt his day everything calmed tf down.
The Jerk ran as soon as the police showed up, which I kind of figured he would after his little stunt “hate crime” ploy, but whatever. I don’t care. I wasn’t out to ruin the guys day, I just wasn’t about to be threatened with absolute bullshit like that. To be entirely honest, I’m revising (editing for clarity) one of my books and happened to be on the chapter where my ex tried a similar stunt several years ago. (My ex called me, I hung up on him and then he tried to say that I was harassing him and called the police) I was already fighting off the PTSD symptoms before this Jerk tried to spar with me, so I think he got the full brunt of them.
Normally I’m apt to ignore stupid people yelling stupid things. He just happened to catch me on the wrong damn day, with the wrong damn line. 🤷🏻♀️ If I had the kids with me? I would have ignored him. If I hadn’t just edited the chapter with my ex and all that police bullshit? I probably would have ignored him, or left it at one little sarcastic quip not bothering to waste my time with wanna be Billy Badass.
But I didn’t, and it turned into one whole fucking giant mess of drama for no real reason. All for a 24pack of soda for Hubs. Lol. Uuuuuuuuuugh. It presents a good lesson though. Boundaries are important, and treating everyone with respect as much as possible could quite literally save your life one day. On the surface I don’t look like a PTSD survivor who will throw down when accosted, but Mom in the Minivan isn’t going to put up with your shit. On the same token, Scrawny Kid in Cobalt didn’t look like a terrified gay man willing to use his sexuality as a manipulative cheap shot trying to scare me after I responded to his snark in kind. He just looked like a kid who wasn’t paying attention to where he was going or the other traffic around him.
Apparently we both misjudged one another. He bit off more than he could chew, and I wasted an hour of my time tonight making sure I wasn’t going to end up in court over some stupid frivolous lawsuit. No one wins in that equation.
Many of you have already read this story, but as my audience continues to grow year by year and I continue to reflect on how much my Little has grown each passing year, I’m choosing to share her birth story once again. I’m looking forward to what the next year has in store for us.
Happy birthday, Baby Girl! I am so proud of the young woman you are becoming. I can’t wait to support you in all of the wonderful adventures that lay ahead of you as you continue to grow.
Everything started on Wednesday the morning of the 12th. I woke up in a cranky irritated mood, with some mild stomach cramps. Nothing painful, just sort of a dull ache like I had eaten something that didn’t agree with me. I dropped Hubs off at work and had planned to take a walk around the park in an effort to get the Little in gear. As I was leaving the parking lot after dropping Hubs off, I noticed that the brakes in the car were extremely spongy. My foot hit the floor when trying to stop, which was odd I thought. Hubs drove into work, so I assumed everything was okay, and perhaps I just hadn’t noticed the last time I drove. It had been a week since I’d last had the car, so I adjusted my driving and continued on toward the park and Walmart in search of a bottled water and some brake fluid.I drove all the way across town, only to find out that I didn’t have the debit card, so I turned around and headed home. I still wanted to walk, but I definitely didn’t want to walk around without some water on hand. Especially since I was already thirsty before even starting the walk. I lounged around at home for a while, watched a few movies, took a nap and cleaned up a little. I was still having the annoying cramps, and trying to figure out what had changed in my diet to make my stomach so upset. The only thing I could think of was that I had eaten a spinach salad every day for the past few days. So, I ignored them. I did have the forethought to download a nifty contraction timer app to my phone, but other than that I went on about my day.
Eventually Hubs’ lunch time rolled around, and I set off to meet him with bologna sandwich in hand. When I got into the Jeep and began to back out of my parking space I heard a loud snap as I applied the brakes and then the dreaded brake light came on. Now, the thing about Nowheresville is that the entire town only consist of about 10 square miles. We live less than three miles away from Hubs’ work. I mean in a dire emergency he could walk there in less than an hour. So instead of rolling back into my parking space and calling some one to bring me brake fluid, I went on over to meet him. With no brakes. Like I was coasting to a stop most of the time, no brakes. There are only three intersections between our apartment and his plant, and because he works second shift he goes on “lunch” at 7:30pm. There wasn’t a whole bunch of traffic, so I wasn’t really worried about it. I had driven cars with no brakes before farther distances in worse weather. lol. It probably wasn’t one of my brighter moments, especially considering what all was really going on with my body at the time, but hey.
I coasted to a stop in the plant parking lot and waited for Hubs to make his way out for lunch. I told him I thought we might need brake fluid, and explained the situation. He gave me a lecture about driving over with no brakes 9+ months pregnant, and then called his sister to come pick me up. lol. She came, drove me to Walmart to pick up brake fluid, back to Hubs’ work to drop it off, and then home. I fixed dinner, took a shower, watched a movie and got ready for bed. I got a text message from Hubs saying that he would be home earlier than expected, and our night progressed like any other Wednesday night.
Until about 3am. Hubs had fallen asleep on the couch, and I had made my way into the bedroom. I was laying there sound asleep, when I woke up with an awful pain in my abdomen. I rolled out of bed and headed to the bathroom. I mean what else would you do if you awoke with a crazy abdominal pain, right? I returned to bed shortly after. Before I could fall asleep, again I was struck with this intense pain. I was kind of annoyed and confused at this point. Not only was I trying to get enough sleep to make my doctors appointment at 9am, but I hadn’t felt well all day. Then, after about half an hour of enduring this weird pain it donned on me that these could be contractions!
I whipped out my phone and contraction timer, and started timing them. To my surprise, they were only about 2 minutes apart. Two minutes apart?? Already? I thought to myself. So I gradually got up, and went out to the living room. I tapped Hubs on the shoulder and woke him up. I told him that according to my nifty phone app that we would probably be heading to the hospital in the next half an hour. Now, honestly we both thought that this was just false labor. Especially since the Little is my first child. Everyone had always told us that because she was my first child that my body was still trying to figure things out and false labor wasn’t uncommon at all. When I was eventually in true labor it would take hours to even days just because it was something that my body hadn’t done before. You know, all those don’t be surprised that labor takes forever it’s not like TV things.
So Hubs and I reluctantly drug ourselves out to the car at 4am hospital bags in tow just in case, and made our way to the hospital. We arrived, and sat in triage for about two hours. Just as we suspected, the first nurse that examined me had said it was probably false labor, but they would give it an hour and see how far I progressed. They hooked me up to several monitors and away they went. Hubs and I both sat there patiently waiting for the verdict. My contractions were getting ever more intense, but not exceptionally close together. When I arrived they were close, very close, but after sitting there for a while they started to fade. I was disappointed, but again. Hubs and I went into the trip assuming it was just false labor, so it wasn’t too disappointing.
Then, at about 6:30am, everything kicked into over drive. Up until that point I had been able to yoga through every contraction with only minimal discomfort, but as another nurse came in to check me before making the decision to admit me or not it was crazy insanely uncomfortable. She actually ended up doing the exam during one of my ninja contractions, which is a good thing. If she hadn’t I would have been sent home.
When I first arrived, I was at 2cm with that looked like minor contractions on their fancy monitor. An hour later, when checked again I was at 7cm and even though my contractions still weren’t showing up on the monitor as anything other than a basic muscle twinge I was in visible discomfort. They called my doctor, who was actually already heading to the hospital to check on another patient, and he gave the go ahead to admit me. It was shocking and surprising to Hubs and I, but it was also a relief. Little was 13 days over due, and if I had made it to my doctors appointment instead of going into labor her induction would have been scheduled.
Before we made our way to the delivery room, the nurse asked me if I had intended to get an epidural. I asked how long I had to decide, because it was so early in the day and I assumed I would be in labor for hours. The pain wasn’t UNBEARABLE, I just didn’t want to deal with it all day on less than an hour of sleep. She said the way I was progressing I should decide now, because if I waited there wasn’t any guarantee I would be able to get one. So… after several moments of thought, and one heck of an intense contraction later I said yes. Go ahead, drug me up.
Good news, I don’t have an opiate allergy! I also have insane muscle control apparently, because for being completely numb I could still move relatively freely. So freely in fact that instead of bringing in a whole team of nurses to help with the delivery it was just one nurse and Hubs. Yep, Hubs was there the entire time, and actually assisted in the delivery. lol. He did very well, and thanked me profusely for getting the epidural.
We got settled into the room around 8am, still with no contractions on the monitor. My doctor arrived, did some initial assessments, and gave us the good news! We would be delivering our little one sometime during the day on September 13th. He also explained that it could still take hours or even most of the day because: “It isn’t like the movies where you labor for an hour, push for ten minutes and your baby arrives.” I was completely okay with that, thanks to my wonderfully spontaneous decision for an epidural. lol. Little did anyone know, that less than an hour after I started pushing my Little would be born. 10:31am she made her entrance into the world.
It was pretty intense in those first few moments after birth. Because she was over due she had passed her first stool inside the womb, (which is what I was worried about with attempting castor oil and the pitocin induction) and because her head was so low they couldn’t do anything about it until after she was born. There would be an increased risk of infection, but they would do their best to clear her airways before she took her first breath. Which meant that instead of having her birthed, and hearing her cry right away there was a few moments of nothing but silence as they whisk her away to be cleaned up. Everything happened in the same room, so it’s not like they rushed her to a different room, but it was still scary until she started crying.
Once I heard her first little wail, everything was okay. I was SO relieved. Both to have her finally outside of my abdomen, and that she was safe and after they got her all cleaned out otherwise healthy. It took the doctor almost an hour to get me all put back together, which Hubs said was insanely brutal, but I was just floating on cloud nine the entire time. I don’t know if it was the epidural, or the fact that I had just “officially” become a mom, but either way I felt nothing other than happy, and as soon as I got to hold my Little and see her for the first time other than as my protruding belly button it just made everything that much more awesome. *sigh*
So, since she was born on the 13th, after all of those crazy circumstances we have affectionately dubbed her our little Lucky 13. Still even almost a week later, she has been nothing but a wonderful little blessing. She even sleeps through the night most nights. ALREADY. Her feeding has taken off with out a hitch, she hardly cries more than a few minutes at a time, and she is bright eyed and alert. I too, bounced back insanely quickly. We’ve already been out and about on the town several times this week, my house is clean, the bills are paid and we’ve all settled in to our new lives. It’s going to be a great ride Bloggies. I’m so glad she’s finally here.