Someone was screaming out in the hallway. I glanced over the computer towards the shut door. “Really?” I asked out loud. Several students had stopped reading their tests and were staring towards the door.
“I know Mrs. Flower! How am I supposed to-“
“Reed. Eyes on your paper. Thank you.”
I walked over to the door and opened it, preparing to storm down the hall and give one of Mrs. Humble’s students a piece of my mind about yelling in the hallway while classes were going on. I flung the door open and stepped into the hall. The hallway was empty. The double doors down the hall were shut.
Mrs. Linea peered around her door. She raised one eyebrow looking down the hall.
“You heard that right?” I asked.
“Yeah.” Mrs. Humble flung her door open and paused with finger crooked and mouth open ready to deal out a strike or detention and froze mid-step.
“Really?” she said. “Why would you yell?” She turned my way. “Aren’t you giving a test?”
I sighed. “We didn’t yell. I guess something is going on over on the other side of the doors. Maybe someone has a guest speaker.”
The lights went out.
Screams came high pitched and feigned from all three classrooms.
“Well shit.” Humble disappeared behind her door and started barking “hush” orders. I turned around to address my own room.
“Guys, really? Calm down, the power will come back on in just-“
The ground started shaking.
The screams started for real. I watched as the SMARTboard projector began to shake. “Under the desks! Get under desks and tables right now!” Crashes echoed as the projector hit the ground and shattered, cabinets opening and computer screens plummeting. The shutters jiggled flashing miner amounts of light from outside. I braced myself in the doorway. A cracking noise moved my eyes upward. I watched as the front of the room was traced by a black crack running up the wall. I looked around the room, scared eyes under the desks staring up at the ceilings. Bright lights seemed to flash from outside as the shades wobbled in the shaking.
Finally, the rumbling stopped. I looked around the room. My eyes found the emergency bag on the wall. I stepped one foot over and grabbed it. Earthquake. What page was earthquake on? I flipped quickly through looking for Earthquake. Jesus, this was Oklahoma! Why the hell would they even – oh there it is, Earthquake…under desks..wait until stops…assess room. I looked around. There was glass on the floor, the cubbies had cracked and the front wall looked like a fault line. Room bad. I glanced back at my paper. I could hear crying. “STAY UNDER THE DESKS!” I yelled and scanned the form. OK, if the room is not going to survive and after shock, move outside. I glanced out the door. “Linea, Humble, our room is not safe. I’m going to take them out.”
I turned back. The students were crying, screaming, completely freaking out. My own heart was racing. I needed to get their attention. “Students!” A few eyes my way but most were still panicing as their eyes darted about the room.
I needed something familiar. “B-A-L-B-O-A!” I yelled.
“Saw the Pacific Ocean!” Several students yelled.
“Listen up! I know you are scared. That is ok. But I need you to listen to me. I’m going to take care of you. We are going to line up in number order, and we are going to leave the building. The room is damaged and so we are going where you won’t get hurt. I need everyone to remain calm, and follow me out. Stay quiet so you can hear me. Stay close to me and don’t lose sight of the person in front of you.” I met their eyes. “Ok. Let’s go!”
I had never seen the students line up so quickly. Within seconds we were ready. Emergency bag in hand, I turned to lead them out. Humble and Linea were in the hall, bags on their shoulders and getting ready to exit. We turned to look out the glass doors that were our emergency exit. And that’s when we noticed that all of the trees outside our school had been burnt to a crisp.
Wednesday, December 8, 2010
Sunday, September 19, 2010
Stalled, but positive feedback
I have no time to write since I am working on writing lesson plans ALL THE TIME. However, I am happy to report that my kid's book on the Bill of Rights is being very well received by my students. During free reading time they are ALWAYS reading it! I'm hoping that this is a good sign and I will eventually get some positive news from an editor.
Side note:
When Doc finishes residency in 3.5 years, I will probably take a break from teaching. It will be Evelyn's last year before she starts school and whatever other children we have will still be at home so I can spend time with them. I am thinking I will invest some time in writing then to try to finish books. What this means is that I will try to keep a real writing journal with a ton of notes in it so that I can write then. Hope it works.
Side note:
When Doc finishes residency in 3.5 years, I will probably take a break from teaching. It will be Evelyn's last year before she starts school and whatever other children we have will still be at home so I can spend time with them. I am thinking I will invest some time in writing then to try to finish books. What this means is that I will try to keep a real writing journal with a ton of notes in it so that I can write then. Hope it works.
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
More side project...don't ask me how it fits together or what happens
Somewhere mid-book
He was there again. “They keep telling me you aren’t real,” she told him, watching as he approached. He smiled at her, and held out his hand. She stared at it. If she could touch the hand, it was real. Slowly, she stretched out her fingers, daring to test her dreams. She took a deep breath, and gasped as he pulled his hand away right as she almost touched it.
That was not fair. He laughed as he turned and started running. She smiled, and ran after him.
Emma smacked her head on the hallway wall as she ran straight into it. She really needed to stop sleepwalking. All of her bruises would eventually make people talk, and then what would she do?
Emma returned to her bedroom, and glanced at her clock. Right on time. She shut off the alarm before it could start its shrieking. One day away from school wasn’t enough and she was still pissed at CT anyway. She’d show him abrasive.
She closed the door and walked down to CT’s house. Turning to walk to the front door, Emma changed her mind, and with a grin on her face headed for Amanda’s humble dwellings. She knocked on the door and waited as the prissy perfect-faced babe opened the door.
“What do you want?”
Emma took a deep breath. “I just wanted to let you know, that I talked to CT last night, and he told me that he wants to ask you out today. He’s a little shy about it though, but I just thought maybe you could help him out.”
“Why would you want to help me out?”
“I just want CT to be happy.”
Amanda tilted her head, obviously buying it. She sighed happily, then glared at Emma and slammed the door. Emma turned back toward the street and trotted along to the bus stop.
He was there again. “They keep telling me you aren’t real,” she told him, watching as he approached. He smiled at her, and held out his hand. She stared at it. If she could touch the hand, it was real. Slowly, she stretched out her fingers, daring to test her dreams. She took a deep breath, and gasped as he pulled his hand away right as she almost touched it.
That was not fair. He laughed as he turned and started running. She smiled, and ran after him.
Emma smacked her head on the hallway wall as she ran straight into it. She really needed to stop sleepwalking. All of her bruises would eventually make people talk, and then what would she do?
Emma returned to her bedroom, and glanced at her clock. Right on time. She shut off the alarm before it could start its shrieking. One day away from school wasn’t enough and she was still pissed at CT anyway. She’d show him abrasive.
She closed the door and walked down to CT’s house. Turning to walk to the front door, Emma changed her mind, and with a grin on her face headed for Amanda’s humble dwellings. She knocked on the door and waited as the prissy perfect-faced babe opened the door.
“What do you want?”
Emma took a deep breath. “I just wanted to let you know, that I talked to CT last night, and he told me that he wants to ask you out today. He’s a little shy about it though, but I just thought maybe you could help him out.”
“Why would you want to help me out?”
“I just want CT to be happy.”
Amanda tilted her head, obviously buying it. She sighed happily, then glared at Emma and slammed the door. Emma turned back toward the street and trotted along to the bus stop.
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
Side project...
The first chapter of another book. Completely different audience, no idea where it goes. Enjoy.
He was back. That boy. She could see him so clearly now. Away from here, his features faded to a watery benevolence that made his image ghostly. Yet, he was back, in this place. She felt a warm smile spread across her face as she followed him through the trees. A storm was brewing to the west and the air began dancing. The breeze shifted as they came out of the forest and the trees gave way to a field.
Her legs began pumping as he began running in earnest. She’d catch him this time and study his face until she could recall it whenever she pleased. Her breathing became labored, and her legs began to burn, but she was gaining on him. She laughed as he slowed down. Triumph. He stopped and stood facing away from her.
With a triumphant whoop she leapt to knock him to the ground. She sailed right through him and fell flat onto her bed.
Emma awoke to a face full of pillow and the obnoxious beating of her alarm. She hated that sound. It had stolen more happy endings then reality ever could. From the day she was born, reality had disappointed her. Her dreams were far more entertaining than reality. The blinking digital numbers laughed at her as she reached over to shut off the alarm. Another boring day in boring ole’ reality was about to take flight.
Emma threw on second day jeans and a t-shirt. Morning sucked. Downstairs everything was proceeding as normal. No breakfast sat on the table as her mother had long ago given up any hope of cooking an actual meal. Granola bar again. It always seems to happen that mothers give up cherished pastimes like feeding their eldest when they have more children, particularly the five children living in Emma’s house. Emma entered the downstairs study to gather her school gear.
A loud thud caught her ear, followed by the down-the-stairs-stampeding of her younger brothers. Well, crap. No time for coffee before the mini-rugbee team attacked. She quickly retrieved her bag, flung it over her shoulder, and bolted for the door. “Bye Mom!” she called as she threw open the door and disappeared from her house.
Sighing heavily, Emma breathed in the morning air. It tasted slightly lighter today. Perhaps the ridiculous humidity was finally lifting itself away. She couldn’t help but smile at the thought of being able to breathe right again. No one should have to cope with this weather. She was getting out of Tulsa. Oklahoma had no excitement to offer anyway.
It was quiet, but that was to be expected on a Monday. Not even the birds were anxious to begin the week. Three houses down from Emma’s stood an all white Southern style home, covered in bright manicured flowers and grotesquely popular shiny orbs on stands.
A muted “Charles, are you sure you don’t need a ride today?” resounded through the plantation shutters. “You can’t honestly like riding the bus with all those apartment kids.”
“Mom, leave it alone.”
Smiling fully now, Emma strolled up to the house. As she opened the door she was rudely pushed right back outside by a sixteen year old boy a good foot taller than her. C.T. followed her outside and slammed the door. “Good morning Mrs. Clarke!” Emma called over her shoulder.
“What’s the matter with you? Do you want to die?” he asked in a hushed voice.
“Oh, come on now CT! Your mother loves me!” Emma stated, trying once again for the door.
“Your sarcasm is not appreciated.” He grabbed her arm and pulled her down the walkway.
“At least our discussions are interesting. Your mother has absolutely absurd ideas about tradition and old world values! I can just say the word LESBIAN and you can tell she’s having a minor stroke. We could all use a little excitement around here, you know.”
CT smirked, releasing her arm as they reached the street. Just as they began their trek to the bus stop, the red door across the street flew open and Amanda Thornton ran out to greet them. Her blonde curls bounced as she ran. It then occurred to Emma that she hadn’t even dragged a brush through her hair.
“Hey CT!” she flung her golden hair over to one side.
“Hi, um, Emma and I are going to be late for the bus so…”
It amazed Emma how someone could contort their face to look something like a shriveled pumpkin and the next moment, fling their hair and smile without smudging their makeup. “Look, CT,” her weight shifted and she tilted her head slightly, absent-mindedly twisting a lock of her bleached blonde hair. “I’m thinking about playing hooky today. Want to join me?”
Emma would have continued on to the bus stop if it didn’t humor her to watch CT struggle under pressure. CT shifted uneasily. Amanda had been out to get him for three solid months, and tragically for the poor popularity queen, he couldn’t stand her.
“No thanks. I, um, have stuff to um, just…not today,” Amanda shot a jealous glare in Emma’s direction before flipping her hair lightly and resituating her backpack.
“Some other time then.” She smiled and turned on her heel. Amanda made sure to walk with a completely exaggerated amount of confidence and sway her butt back and forth as she strutted two doors down and knocked on Tom Harrison’s door. Tom was the head of the football team and drove a trendy little hybrid car, as if he gave a crap about the environment.
Amanda had moved on to the jealousy tactic she often used when she was rejected and planned to bum a ride from the high school super star. As soon as Amanda was out of ear shot, Emma burst a giggle out at CT.
“Can it, Emma.”
“You know, you ought to go out with her, and then dump her. Then she’d write you love poems and throw rocks at your window, and maybe even dance naked on your lawn to win you back.”
“Shut up.” CT watched Amanda climb into Tom’s car as the two of them headed off down the street. “I wish I knew what her problem was. Why doesn’t she just bother the four hundred guys at school that want her attention?”
“Oh come on CT, you’re intelligent, ambitious, cultured, sensitive and, dare I say, stunningly attractive.” CT looked up with a start. Suddenly the air was a bit too awkward. Emma whacked him upside the head. “Oh don’t be dumb, you know I don’t mean a word of it.”
“Hey!” He laughed, rubbing his head and attempting to look hurt.
Emma swung her arm around his shoulder. “Don’t worry ole’ chap, some girl out there won’t mind if you’re a dumb, lazy, barbaric, insensitive old fool.” She winked at him as they walked the rest of the way to the bus stop. At the big yellow sign with a horrendous depiction of a yellow twinkie, they both turned left and kept on walking. Emma and CT were dodging the bus today. No need for parents or psycho stalkers to know that.
At the corner of 47th and Willow, Jen and Wade were waiting for them. Jen stood about the same height as CT and Wade was the shortest of the entire group. People often joked that Jon Wade was the perfect image of a stereotypical leprechaun. Standing at 4’10” with bright red hair they weren’t stretching far. His scruffy face didn’t help his image either. Wade refused to shave because he didn’t have a full face of fuzz, so his chin was covered in sporadic little red hairs that stuck straight out at least a quarter of an inch.
But it wouldn’t be fair to say that Wade was the only odd one of the bunch. Jen, well she looked like an alien. She was tall and gangly, making her head look a tad too big for her body. She always wore her blonde hair back in a tight bun making her forehead look expansive and her eyes bulge slightly.
Emma was the only normal looking one in the group. But it was by no means a good thing. Everything about her was average. She had brownish blonde hair, light brown eyes, stood at an average height, and average weight, and had average features. Nothing really stood out on Emma. CT often told Emma if she committed a crime, they’d never be able to describe her to the police, so she’d get away with it easy.
“Top o’ the morning to you, Wade!” CT called out.
“Come on CT, we have the whole day ahead of us, let’s not be all stuck up and snobby right away,” Jen stated indignantly lifting her chin slightly and narrowing her eyes. Jen’s facial expressions never seemed to really match her emotions.
CT pretended not to hear her and kept talking, “So what’s the plan Wade? We doin’ the usual?”
“Yeah. I toyed with trying to convince the girls of a different destination, but I know better.”
Emma took off her side bag and stuffed it into the back of Wade’s little two door piece of crap car. “So, are we heading to eat or what?” she asked over her shoulder.
“Yep. Waffle House!” Jen shouted leaving her mouth open wide, sounding enthusiastic, but looking like she had dilated to seven centimeters and was about to give birth.
Wade looked up at CT, “You sure we couldn’t talk them into going to get jalapeno breakfast burritos or something?”
“Those places only make eggs out of Styrofoam! I’d prefer to eat real eggs thanks,” Jen stated looking a little in love. Emma laughed as she folded herself into the back seat. Jen could always express love for food.
Wade signed, “Don’t tell me you’ve started up a conspiracy theory! Styrofoam eggs? Can’t you take up something normal to freak out about?”
“Like what? Burying my pot o’ gold?” Emma retorted with a thick Irish accent.
“I had a dream last night!” Jen interjected, changing the subject quickly. “It was that one where you’re being chased by something and you keep running down a long hall and opening doors that lead to more halls.”
“I hate that dream,” CT stated, now holding the seat back so Angela could climb in next to Emma.
“I keep having recurring dreams about digging in a gigantic bowl of ice cream. Is that weird?” Wade turned to Emma who shrugged.
“I keep having dreams about this girl,” CT added.
“AMANDA!” All three shouted.
“No, it’s not Amanda. I don’t know who it is. I can never remember her face.” Emma glanced at CT’s face through the rear-view mirror.
Jen sighed, “I hear people dream like that after they eat too much.”
Emma tried to remember what she ate the night before. Pizza. Too much of it. Maybe that boy was just undigested food. Maybe she’d have to start eating too much pizza on a more regular basis.
He was back. That boy. She could see him so clearly now. Away from here, his features faded to a watery benevolence that made his image ghostly. Yet, he was back, in this place. She felt a warm smile spread across her face as she followed him through the trees. A storm was brewing to the west and the air began dancing. The breeze shifted as they came out of the forest and the trees gave way to a field.
Her legs began pumping as he began running in earnest. She’d catch him this time and study his face until she could recall it whenever she pleased. Her breathing became labored, and her legs began to burn, but she was gaining on him. She laughed as he slowed down. Triumph. He stopped and stood facing away from her.
With a triumphant whoop she leapt to knock him to the ground. She sailed right through him and fell flat onto her bed.
Emma awoke to a face full of pillow and the obnoxious beating of her alarm. She hated that sound. It had stolen more happy endings then reality ever could. From the day she was born, reality had disappointed her. Her dreams were far more entertaining than reality. The blinking digital numbers laughed at her as she reached over to shut off the alarm. Another boring day in boring ole’ reality was about to take flight.
Emma threw on second day jeans and a t-shirt. Morning sucked. Downstairs everything was proceeding as normal. No breakfast sat on the table as her mother had long ago given up any hope of cooking an actual meal. Granola bar again. It always seems to happen that mothers give up cherished pastimes like feeding their eldest when they have more children, particularly the five children living in Emma’s house. Emma entered the downstairs study to gather her school gear.
A loud thud caught her ear, followed by the down-the-stairs-stampeding of her younger brothers. Well, crap. No time for coffee before the mini-rugbee team attacked. She quickly retrieved her bag, flung it over her shoulder, and bolted for the door. “Bye Mom!” she called as she threw open the door and disappeared from her house.
Sighing heavily, Emma breathed in the morning air. It tasted slightly lighter today. Perhaps the ridiculous humidity was finally lifting itself away. She couldn’t help but smile at the thought of being able to breathe right again. No one should have to cope with this weather. She was getting out of Tulsa. Oklahoma had no excitement to offer anyway.
It was quiet, but that was to be expected on a Monday. Not even the birds were anxious to begin the week. Three houses down from Emma’s stood an all white Southern style home, covered in bright manicured flowers and grotesquely popular shiny orbs on stands.
A muted “Charles, are you sure you don’t need a ride today?” resounded through the plantation shutters. “You can’t honestly like riding the bus with all those apartment kids.”
“Mom, leave it alone.”
Smiling fully now, Emma strolled up to the house. As she opened the door she was rudely pushed right back outside by a sixteen year old boy a good foot taller than her. C.T. followed her outside and slammed the door. “Good morning Mrs. Clarke!” Emma called over her shoulder.
“What’s the matter with you? Do you want to die?” he asked in a hushed voice.
“Oh, come on now CT! Your mother loves me!” Emma stated, trying once again for the door.
“Your sarcasm is not appreciated.” He grabbed her arm and pulled her down the walkway.
“At least our discussions are interesting. Your mother has absolutely absurd ideas about tradition and old world values! I can just say the word LESBIAN and you can tell she’s having a minor stroke. We could all use a little excitement around here, you know.”
CT smirked, releasing her arm as they reached the street. Just as they began their trek to the bus stop, the red door across the street flew open and Amanda Thornton ran out to greet them. Her blonde curls bounced as she ran. It then occurred to Emma that she hadn’t even dragged a brush through her hair.
“Hey CT!” she flung her golden hair over to one side.
“Hi, um, Emma and I are going to be late for the bus so…”
It amazed Emma how someone could contort their face to look something like a shriveled pumpkin and the next moment, fling their hair and smile without smudging their makeup. “Look, CT,” her weight shifted and she tilted her head slightly, absent-mindedly twisting a lock of her bleached blonde hair. “I’m thinking about playing hooky today. Want to join me?”
Emma would have continued on to the bus stop if it didn’t humor her to watch CT struggle under pressure. CT shifted uneasily. Amanda had been out to get him for three solid months, and tragically for the poor popularity queen, he couldn’t stand her.
“No thanks. I, um, have stuff to um, just…not today,” Amanda shot a jealous glare in Emma’s direction before flipping her hair lightly and resituating her backpack.
“Some other time then.” She smiled and turned on her heel. Amanda made sure to walk with a completely exaggerated amount of confidence and sway her butt back and forth as she strutted two doors down and knocked on Tom Harrison’s door. Tom was the head of the football team and drove a trendy little hybrid car, as if he gave a crap about the environment.
Amanda had moved on to the jealousy tactic she often used when she was rejected and planned to bum a ride from the high school super star. As soon as Amanda was out of ear shot, Emma burst a giggle out at CT.
“Can it, Emma.”
“You know, you ought to go out with her, and then dump her. Then she’d write you love poems and throw rocks at your window, and maybe even dance naked on your lawn to win you back.”
“Shut up.” CT watched Amanda climb into Tom’s car as the two of them headed off down the street. “I wish I knew what her problem was. Why doesn’t she just bother the four hundred guys at school that want her attention?”
“Oh come on CT, you’re intelligent, ambitious, cultured, sensitive and, dare I say, stunningly attractive.” CT looked up with a start. Suddenly the air was a bit too awkward. Emma whacked him upside the head. “Oh don’t be dumb, you know I don’t mean a word of it.”
“Hey!” He laughed, rubbing his head and attempting to look hurt.
Emma swung her arm around his shoulder. “Don’t worry ole’ chap, some girl out there won’t mind if you’re a dumb, lazy, barbaric, insensitive old fool.” She winked at him as they walked the rest of the way to the bus stop. At the big yellow sign with a horrendous depiction of a yellow twinkie, they both turned left and kept on walking. Emma and CT were dodging the bus today. No need for parents or psycho stalkers to know that.
At the corner of 47th and Willow, Jen and Wade were waiting for them. Jen stood about the same height as CT and Wade was the shortest of the entire group. People often joked that Jon Wade was the perfect image of a stereotypical leprechaun. Standing at 4’10” with bright red hair they weren’t stretching far. His scruffy face didn’t help his image either. Wade refused to shave because he didn’t have a full face of fuzz, so his chin was covered in sporadic little red hairs that stuck straight out at least a quarter of an inch.
But it wouldn’t be fair to say that Wade was the only odd one of the bunch. Jen, well she looked like an alien. She was tall and gangly, making her head look a tad too big for her body. She always wore her blonde hair back in a tight bun making her forehead look expansive and her eyes bulge slightly.
Emma was the only normal looking one in the group. But it was by no means a good thing. Everything about her was average. She had brownish blonde hair, light brown eyes, stood at an average height, and average weight, and had average features. Nothing really stood out on Emma. CT often told Emma if she committed a crime, they’d never be able to describe her to the police, so she’d get away with it easy.
“Top o’ the morning to you, Wade!” CT called out.
“Come on CT, we have the whole day ahead of us, let’s not be all stuck up and snobby right away,” Jen stated indignantly lifting her chin slightly and narrowing her eyes. Jen’s facial expressions never seemed to really match her emotions.
CT pretended not to hear her and kept talking, “So what’s the plan Wade? We doin’ the usual?”
“Yeah. I toyed with trying to convince the girls of a different destination, but I know better.”
Emma took off her side bag and stuffed it into the back of Wade’s little two door piece of crap car. “So, are we heading to eat or what?” she asked over her shoulder.
“Yep. Waffle House!” Jen shouted leaving her mouth open wide, sounding enthusiastic, but looking like she had dilated to seven centimeters and was about to give birth.
Wade looked up at CT, “You sure we couldn’t talk them into going to get jalapeno breakfast burritos or something?”
“Those places only make eggs out of Styrofoam! I’d prefer to eat real eggs thanks,” Jen stated looking a little in love. Emma laughed as she folded herself into the back seat. Jen could always express love for food.
Wade signed, “Don’t tell me you’ve started up a conspiracy theory! Styrofoam eggs? Can’t you take up something normal to freak out about?”
“Like what? Burying my pot o’ gold?” Emma retorted with a thick Irish accent.
“I had a dream last night!” Jen interjected, changing the subject quickly. “It was that one where you’re being chased by something and you keep running down a long hall and opening doors that lead to more halls.”
“I hate that dream,” CT stated, now holding the seat back so Angela could climb in next to Emma.
“I keep having recurring dreams about digging in a gigantic bowl of ice cream. Is that weird?” Wade turned to Emma who shrugged.
“I keep having dreams about this girl,” CT added.
“AMANDA!” All three shouted.
“No, it’s not Amanda. I don’t know who it is. I can never remember her face.” Emma glanced at CT’s face through the rear-view mirror.
Jen sighed, “I hear people dream like that after they eat too much.”
Emma tried to remember what she ate the night before. Pizza. Too much of it. Maybe that boy was just undigested food. Maybe she’d have to start eating too much pizza on a more regular basis.
Honesty about our relationship...
Doc has amazing faith in me and is super supportive of this book project. Infact, he has given me license to air our dirty laundry in the interest of authenticity. We have fights. I'm not ashamed of it. The lives we have chosen are not ones that fit together easily, and every fight we have is a fight for our relationship. We fight to stay together, we fight for eachother. We fight to survive.
So I am about to start work on another "fight scene"...one where I tell Doc he can't be a surgeon. It's probably the worst guilt I have ever felt telling my own husband he can't do something he loves. But I had reasons, and Doc has come to understand and accept that I could see things he could not about his decision. I think we are on the same page now, but it was really hard for me to be a dream crusher, and I think hard for Doc to let go of something he was so sure of.
It's a rough thing to do as a wife, and something that I feel like five years from now, could very well be the thing that drove us apart, or the thing that kept us together. I'm hoping for the later.
So I am about to start work on another "fight scene"...one where I tell Doc he can't be a surgeon. It's probably the worst guilt I have ever felt telling my own husband he can't do something he loves. But I had reasons, and Doc has come to understand and accept that I could see things he could not about his decision. I think we are on the same page now, but it was really hard for me to be a dream crusher, and I think hard for Doc to let go of something he was so sure of.
It's a rough thing to do as a wife, and something that I feel like five years from now, could very well be the thing that drove us apart, or the thing that kept us together. I'm hoping for the later.
Monday, July 5, 2010
Dry Spell
I haven't written anything in 3 weeks. It was as though figuring out the story made everything just stop. It doesn't help that Doc is always on the computer when he is home. He's studying for board exams coming up in August and that's important, so the writing kind of needs to take a back seat for a while. I'm worried that this will just be another shelved project that I don't finish...like...
Starting a wedding planning business
Starting a baby food business
Scrapbooking Evelyn's first months
and every other book I've ever tried to write with the exception of "My Bill of Rights"
Starting a wedding planning business
Starting a baby food business
Scrapbooking Evelyn's first months
and every other book I've ever tried to write with the exception of "My Bill of Rights"
Thursday, June 24, 2010
Fight exerpt
I glanced at my phone. Still no missed calls. What the hell? Surely they weren’t so damn busy in Stigler, Oklahoma that Doc couldn’t pick up his phone to call me or at least text a friendly, “Hello.” I tried calling again. Three rings and the “Hi, this is-“ voicemail message cued making me slide my phone shut and throw it across the room.
“’Chelle?”
“WHAT?”
“Everything ok?”
Hell no. My goddamn husband was ignoring me. “He’s just really, really busy. So busy infact that calling his wife EVER is too damn difficult.”
“Well, I’m sure he really is pretty busy-“
“Oh, I know he is. I just find it hard to believe he can’t find an excuse to send me a hello.” I stared at the phone on the floor. Evelyn gurgled saliva bubbles with her fingers shoved in her mouth and stared where it had thudded. “I’m done trying to get a hold of him. If he’s too damn busy for me I can sure as hell be too damn busy for him.”
“Do you think that’s the right thing to do?”
“No, but I’m tired of feeling like a freaking teenage girl. I shouldn’t have to beg for him to call me.” I picked my phone up and shoved it in the bottom of my purse. Done trying.
That night I ignored a phone call that came in at 10:30 and woke me up. In the morning, I didn’t send a hello or try to call. I kept my phone on silent and went to work. No sending texts, no phone calls. Around 2 PM, I received this text:
“Hey honey, I miss you.”
I bet he did. I bet he missed me trailing after him like an attention hungry dog. God forbid my every moment didn’t hang on his stupid ass schedule. Like hell I was going to respond. How about you trail after me? And then at 4 PM:
“I love you, honey. I miss both of you. How was your day?”
Nope. Not responding. He could see how it felt to try to reach out and get nothing back. He could see what it felt like to really need support during your day and get nothing but a voice message or disappointing inbox checks. A phone call at 6, ignored.
Then at 7:30, I answered:
Doc: Hey! I’ve been trying to get a hold of you.
ME: I’ve been busy.
Doc: Was everything okay at school today?
Me: Fine, but I really don’t have time to talk right now, I’m helping my mom with the dishes.
Doc: Okay, well, will you call me later.
Me: Yeah, if I have time I guess.
Doc: Okay. I love you.
Me: Love you, bye.
I hung up and looked at my mom, who was cleaning up the kitchen with a tsking look of disapproval on her brow.
“Funny,” I said, “how when I ignore him he starts lavishing on the ‘I love yous’ and trying to actually talk to me every now and then.”
She just shook her head. Yeah, I was being petty, but dammit he’d left me alone with our daughter. I was not interested in the single parent game. I got a max of four hours of sleep a night and had no help. He was off in quiet middle of nowhere sleeping a good eight hours and eating gourmet homemaker wife cooking while I worked my ass off all day and then took care of my daughter and tutored my sisters until it was time for dinner and then the drive home and bed. Then I was up all night taking care of my baby. Son of a bitch.
As I loaded Evelyn into her car seat to head home I threw my phone in the front seat. I turned the IPOD to play Nickel Creek and started the half hour drive back to my house. On impulse I switched the song to This Side.
“One day you’ll see her and you’ll know what I mean,
Take her or leave her she will still be the same…”
That song used to be my anthem. I claimed in high school that it had been written about me. I was that girl who didn’t need you, but you wanted anyway. I was that capable, amazing, independent, free-spirited-
Well shit I wasn’t acting like any of those things. I was being a whiney, childish brat. I glanced at the phone in the passenger seat. Damn it all to hell. With a reluctant sigh I picked it up and dialed Doc’s number.
Doc: Hey!
Me: Hey.
Doc: Are you busy now?
Me: No, I’m just driving home. Evelyn is sleeping in the car seat.
Doc: It sounds like your day was pretty busy. I’m sorry honey, I wish I could be there to help.
Despite myself I felt the familiar stinging commonly associated with tears forming in the corners of your eyes.
Me: I wish you were here too. It’s hard being alone here. I feel like a single parent and I hate it.
Doc: I hate it too. But I’ll be home in two days, hon. We can go do something fun this weekend if you want! Let’s go to the market on Saturday!”
Me: Hon, I feel really lonely when you don’t call me all day or even at all that day.
Doc: I’m sorry. We were in three different clinics today and I’m with the doctor all the time. Even when I can call you I have no privacy. I’m in my room at their house now, but it’s just…
Me: Yeah, I understand. I love you.
Doc: I love you.
Me: I’ll talk to you later?
Doc: Okay. Bye, honey. Sleep well.
Me: I’ll try.
I spent the rest of the drive thinking about what kind of mother I wanted to be. I didn’t want to yell. I didn’t want to be passive-aggressive. I wanted to be happy and full of life. I wanted to live the life I wanted for my daughter.
I walked into the house, laid Evelyn down, and picked up a dry erase marker. The bathroom mirror soon read “Stop Bitching. It’s not sexy.” Stepping back, I smiled at the blue ink. Before meeting Doc, I was entirely self-sufficient. This would be much better if I would go back to depending on myself and stop expecting my white knight to bail me out.
The next morning, I woke up before Evelyn. I made the bed, showered, and gathered my books for the day. By the time my mom arrived to pick Evelyn up, she was ready and I was walking out the door smiling. No more grumpy bitch. Hello modern woman!
Doc wasn’t able to call much the rest of the week, or the next week. His supervising physician was tagging him onto other doctors who worked night clinics so he had almost no spare time. I didn’t try to bait him or ignore him anymore, I just accepted the happy times I did get to talk to him.
By the end of the month, I was used to Doc never calling. I was completely capable of taking care of Evelyn by myself and still being ready to go at work. I was even making progress on the papers I had to write for my seminar class. I would come home from work, start dinner, wash some laundry, nurse Evelyn, strap her in the tummy carrier, clean the house, eat, feed Evelyn again, put her to bed, do the dishes, and go to bed myself without crying about how hard it was. I had learned how to get along without Doc again. Now, with Doc back at home every day, that was precisely the problem. I didn’t need him.
“’Chelle?”
“WHAT?”
“Everything ok?”
Hell no. My goddamn husband was ignoring me. “He’s just really, really busy. So busy infact that calling his wife EVER is too damn difficult.”
“Well, I’m sure he really is pretty busy-“
“Oh, I know he is. I just find it hard to believe he can’t find an excuse to send me a hello.” I stared at the phone on the floor. Evelyn gurgled saliva bubbles with her fingers shoved in her mouth and stared where it had thudded. “I’m done trying to get a hold of him. If he’s too damn busy for me I can sure as hell be too damn busy for him.”
“Do you think that’s the right thing to do?”
“No, but I’m tired of feeling like a freaking teenage girl. I shouldn’t have to beg for him to call me.” I picked my phone up and shoved it in the bottom of my purse. Done trying.
That night I ignored a phone call that came in at 10:30 and woke me up. In the morning, I didn’t send a hello or try to call. I kept my phone on silent and went to work. No sending texts, no phone calls. Around 2 PM, I received this text:
“Hey honey, I miss you.”
I bet he did. I bet he missed me trailing after him like an attention hungry dog. God forbid my every moment didn’t hang on his stupid ass schedule. Like hell I was going to respond. How about you trail after me? And then at 4 PM:
“I love you, honey. I miss both of you. How was your day?”
Nope. Not responding. He could see how it felt to try to reach out and get nothing back. He could see what it felt like to really need support during your day and get nothing but a voice message or disappointing inbox checks. A phone call at 6, ignored.
Then at 7:30, I answered:
Doc: Hey! I’ve been trying to get a hold of you.
ME: I’ve been busy.
Doc: Was everything okay at school today?
Me: Fine, but I really don’t have time to talk right now, I’m helping my mom with the dishes.
Doc: Okay, well, will you call me later.
Me: Yeah, if I have time I guess.
Doc: Okay. I love you.
Me: Love you, bye.
I hung up and looked at my mom, who was cleaning up the kitchen with a tsking look of disapproval on her brow.
“Funny,” I said, “how when I ignore him he starts lavishing on the ‘I love yous’ and trying to actually talk to me every now and then.”
She just shook her head. Yeah, I was being petty, but dammit he’d left me alone with our daughter. I was not interested in the single parent game. I got a max of four hours of sleep a night and had no help. He was off in quiet middle of nowhere sleeping a good eight hours and eating gourmet homemaker wife cooking while I worked my ass off all day and then took care of my daughter and tutored my sisters until it was time for dinner and then the drive home and bed. Then I was up all night taking care of my baby. Son of a bitch.
As I loaded Evelyn into her car seat to head home I threw my phone in the front seat. I turned the IPOD to play Nickel Creek and started the half hour drive back to my house. On impulse I switched the song to This Side.
“One day you’ll see her and you’ll know what I mean,
Take her or leave her she will still be the same…”
That song used to be my anthem. I claimed in high school that it had been written about me. I was that girl who didn’t need you, but you wanted anyway. I was that capable, amazing, independent, free-spirited-
Well shit I wasn’t acting like any of those things. I was being a whiney, childish brat. I glanced at the phone in the passenger seat. Damn it all to hell. With a reluctant sigh I picked it up and dialed Doc’s number.
Doc: Hey!
Me: Hey.
Doc: Are you busy now?
Me: No, I’m just driving home. Evelyn is sleeping in the car seat.
Doc: It sounds like your day was pretty busy. I’m sorry honey, I wish I could be there to help.
Despite myself I felt the familiar stinging commonly associated with tears forming in the corners of your eyes.
Me: I wish you were here too. It’s hard being alone here. I feel like a single parent and I hate it.
Doc: I hate it too. But I’ll be home in two days, hon. We can go do something fun this weekend if you want! Let’s go to the market on Saturday!”
Me: Hon, I feel really lonely when you don’t call me all day or even at all that day.
Doc: I’m sorry. We were in three different clinics today and I’m with the doctor all the time. Even when I can call you I have no privacy. I’m in my room at their house now, but it’s just…
Me: Yeah, I understand. I love you.
Doc: I love you.
Me: I’ll talk to you later?
Doc: Okay. Bye, honey. Sleep well.
Me: I’ll try.
I spent the rest of the drive thinking about what kind of mother I wanted to be. I didn’t want to yell. I didn’t want to be passive-aggressive. I wanted to be happy and full of life. I wanted to live the life I wanted for my daughter.
I walked into the house, laid Evelyn down, and picked up a dry erase marker. The bathroom mirror soon read “Stop Bitching. It’s not sexy.” Stepping back, I smiled at the blue ink. Before meeting Doc, I was entirely self-sufficient. This would be much better if I would go back to depending on myself and stop expecting my white knight to bail me out.
The next morning, I woke up before Evelyn. I made the bed, showered, and gathered my books for the day. By the time my mom arrived to pick Evelyn up, she was ready and I was walking out the door smiling. No more grumpy bitch. Hello modern woman!
Doc wasn’t able to call much the rest of the week, or the next week. His supervising physician was tagging him onto other doctors who worked night clinics so he had almost no spare time. I didn’t try to bait him or ignore him anymore, I just accepted the happy times I did get to talk to him.
By the end of the month, I was used to Doc never calling. I was completely capable of taking care of Evelyn by myself and still being ready to go at work. I was even making progress on the papers I had to write for my seminar class. I would come home from work, start dinner, wash some laundry, nurse Evelyn, strap her in the tummy carrier, clean the house, eat, feed Evelyn again, put her to bed, do the dishes, and go to bed myself without crying about how hard it was. I had learned how to get along without Doc again. Now, with Doc back at home every day, that was precisely the problem. I didn’t need him.
Found my plot
Well, the book will end on a happy note with a chapter about Midsummer. We managed to do several things in the last week.
1.) have the best sex ever
2.) finally break down and talk about Doc doing surgery
3.) let our little one's candle go
4.) Evelyn slept through the night
5.) I got a job interview
Sounds like a nice happy note to end hte book on...now I just really need to delve into all the shit that has happened since Evelyn was born and get some of the major struggles down...here are hte ones I can see
1.) finally letting our lost one go
2.) Getting off page with doc after he's gone for a month and struggling to get back
3.) confidence in my style of motherhood
4.) job search sucking and how I overcome the feeling of worthlessness
So yeah, a plot has sort of emerged. I need to expand a ton on the midsection of the book. I finally penned out a few fights Doc and I had (some he didn't even know were fights at the time). I'll share one in the post after this.
1.) have the best sex ever
2.) finally break down and talk about Doc doing surgery
3.) let our little one's candle go
4.) Evelyn slept through the night
5.) I got a job interview
Sounds like a nice happy note to end hte book on...now I just really need to delve into all the shit that has happened since Evelyn was born and get some of the major struggles down...here are hte ones I can see
1.) finally letting our lost one go
2.) Getting off page with doc after he's gone for a month and struggling to get back
3.) confidence in my style of motherhood
4.) job search sucking and how I overcome the feeling of worthlessness
So yeah, a plot has sort of emerged. I need to expand a ton on the midsection of the book. I finally penned out a few fights Doc and I had (some he didn't even know were fights at the time). I'll share one in the post after this.
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
Uninspired?
June 21st is Midsummer. I believe that our Midsummer festivities will wrap up the portion of my life I intend to include in the first book I am writing.
I think I'm starting to see some of the developments of plot within my life.
I realized recently that some people I had trouble getting along with in the past are much more like me than I thought. I realized that I had only known them during the worst years of their life and had never really given them credit for the stress they have indured while I have known them.
Motherhood makes you more forgiving and more open in someways, and more judgemental in others. I think overall, motherhood has improved me.
My brand of motherhood is perfect for us, and following my own instincts has been immensly rewarding. I am happiest when I follow my own heart, even if it leads to a sloppy looking mommy.
Babies put strain on relationships, but overcoming the strain and reconnecting is a wonderful way to fall in love all over again. Doc and I were on different pages for a while, but have recently realigned ourselves and I don't think I have ever been happier.
I think I'm starting to see some of the developments of plot within my life.
I realized recently that some people I had trouble getting along with in the past are much more like me than I thought. I realized that I had only known them during the worst years of their life and had never really given them credit for the stress they have indured while I have known them.
Motherhood makes you more forgiving and more open in someways, and more judgemental in others. I think overall, motherhood has improved me.
My brand of motherhood is perfect for us, and following my own instincts has been immensly rewarding. I am happiest when I follow my own heart, even if it leads to a sloppy looking mommy.
Babies put strain on relationships, but overcoming the strain and reconnecting is a wonderful way to fall in love all over again. Doc and I were on different pages for a while, but have recently realigned ourselves and I don't think I have ever been happier.
Wednesday, June 9, 2010
The hardest chapter I've ever written
Disposing of a Candle
My 21st birthday was spent shivering. I sat huddled shivering under blankets in a freezing apartment with my 2 month old puppy, waiting for Doc to finish taking his finals in the dark. The worst ice storm I have ever seen struck Tulsa just before my birthday. So instead of getting to go bar hopping and drunk off my ass, I ended up settling for a pina colada from Chili’s. A Chili’s we drove 20 miles to find so I could purchase alcohol to have some symbolence of the big occasion.
Now I was turning 22. No ice storm. No shivering under blankets. My best friend was taking me out for a night on the town, or at least what Tulsa could provide for that. Luckily, my period was a tad late so I didn’t have cramps to bog me down. Maybe I was a year late, but I was going to have my 21st bash. We’d been trying to conceive for a while, but no luck. I figured I’d take an EPT just in case, but didn’t expect anything. I peed on the stick and finished doing my make-up just as Maggie pulled up.
I called Doc from the car to check the test. Negative! Off for a night of fun, fun, fun. Or at least, a glass of wine and a margarita over the course of the whole night. I’m not as much for drinking as I thought I’d be. I like the warm fuzzy feeling but hate feeling out of control in anyway. We went to a nice dinner and out to a “nice try” of a dance club and had too much fun.
The next morning I stumbled into the restroom, peed, and started to brush the bar taste out of my mouth. And there it was. Staring at me in the trashcan. One bright purple test line and one faint, almost invisible purple line. Two lines. Two lines.
“HONEY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! WHAT THE HELL IS THIS?!?!?!?!” I dug the test out of the trashcan and ran to the bedroom to show him the test.
“It said negative last night.”
“What the hell do you mean it said negative last night? They don’t just change answers!!”
“I don’t know!” Doc yanked the test from my hand and stared at it . “It’s barely there, I don’t know what that means.”
“Where the hell is the box?” I charged back into the bathroom and pulled the box out. “I’m taking another one. Maybe that one was just a fluke.”
Doc grabbed the box from me. “Have you peed yet?”
“Yeah. So what?”
“You’re supposed to use first morning urine.”
“What? So I’m supposed to wait a day. Hell no!”
I peed on the stick. One purple line. Ten minutes later, the ghost line appeared. What the hell?!?!?!
Two tests later and still a faint line showing up. The whole box must have been defective!
I went and bought the most expensive EPT test at Walgreens. I would just take it tomorrow and everything would be fine.
Doc left early to work a library shift. I dragged myself out of bed and decided to finally face the music.
I peed. I waited 2 minutes. I read. I grabbed my phone and dialed.
Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh shit shit shit shit-
Doc answered the phone.
“Yes?”
“Um. Honey. This one is definitely positive.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. It’s freaking bright purple. TWO bright purple lines, like as soon as I peed on it. The other four were pretty faint but this one is definitely…definitely….oh god….”
“Well, bring it here. I want to see it.”
“Are you serious? You want me to bring a pee stick to the library?!”
“…Kinda.”
“Oh my god. I’ll be there in five minutes.”
I drove over to the medical school and walked in. Doc met me and followed me into the hallway. I pulled out that stick and showed it to him. He smiled and hugged me. And in that moment I realized, I was going to be a mom. Butterflies welled up in my stomach and I felt giddy.
“We’re going to have a baby!” I yelled.
“Shhh! Geez hon it is a school,” Doc hushed half heartedly. He kissed me and hugged me again. “I’ve got to get back but I’ll see you in a few hours.”
“Ok!”
“I love you.”
As soon as I left the school I called my mom. “Mom. If I tell you something can you promise you will keep it a secret.”
“Yeah, I promise.”
“I took a pregnancy test and it was positive.”
“Oh my God, why would you tell me that? You want me to keep that a secret?”
“Just until we get a chance to announce it.”
“Oh my God! Oh my God!”
“Mom, don’t tell anyone, okay?”
“Okay, I gotta go.”
My mom proceeded to call every aunt, uncle, cousin, grandparent, neighbor, or person she ran into at the super market. Meanwhile, I took a picture of the positive pregnancy test, as well as a few of a miniature tree I had decorated for the holidays. When Doc came home, we called Janis. “Janis, you need to check your email! I sent you pictures of the tree!”
“Ok. Um…there it is.”
Doc and I smiled as she oohed and ahhed over the pictures of the tree. Then she was silent.
“Mom?” Doc asked.
“That’s not a tree.”
“No, it isn’t.”
More silence. “You guys aren’t pulling my leg are you?”
“No, Janis. That would be cruel, haha.”
“Oh wow, we’re having a baby!” Janis’ voice gave away the tears she was already forming. Doc and I couldn’t help but be overwhelmed with excitement. Just moments later Facebook was shouting to the world that we were going to be parents.
Christmas is one of my favorite times of the year. It’s full of good food and family. Doc and I were off from school and we were going to get to see family. Already pushing my too-tight jeans’ limit, Janis took me to buy a few of my first maternity clothes. I felt sleepy and a little bloated, but was milking the pregnant thing for all it was worth.
“Are you really going to let your pregnant wife get her own tea? Are you going to make your pregnant wife get her own pickle? My poor pregnant feet need to be rubbed.” And Doc took it all in stride. He’d roll his eyes but do whatever I wanted and enjoy his daddy-to-be duties whether or not he cared to admit it.
Everyone was excited. My little sisters kept talking to my darling little fetus. My mom even took me shopping to buy a nice dress that my growing belly would fit under for a wedding we were going to a few days after Christmas. It was a beautiful dark blue silk dress that made me really feel like I had that beautiful pregnant glow everyone talks about. Doc must have agreed because as soon as we got to our hotel in Houston for the wedding, we decided to “break in” the hotel room. Pregnant sex is amazing when your hormones are acting favorably. The wedding was a beautiful small wedding in a butterfly dome followed by a reception at a lovely little restaurant. The bride and groom had even made sure that the wait staff brought me Ginger Ale to do the wedding toasts with. We laughed and enjoyed ourselves. I nearly sobbed from laughter while the Best Man recounted what could have been if he’d asked the bride out before his brother.
I especially enjoyed while watching some of Doc’s med school buddies get wasted, particularly a couple friend of ours. Kristin refused an additional drink from the waiter with a “Oh My God. I shouldn’t! When I get drunk I either get tired or really horny!”
To which her boyfriend replied, “Well then by all means have another!”
I laughingly dismissed myself to run off to the ladies’ room. It had been such a nice evening. I was a little tired but-
There was blood in my underwear.
“Would you like to speak to the doctor on call?”
“Yes, please.”
“Ok, she’ll call you shortly.”
“We had sex earlier tonight, could that have caused it?”
“Absolutely. Unless it gets really heavy or bright red, it’s pretty normal. Just don’t have sex or use a tampon or anything. Make sure you are drinking plenty of water and take it easy.”
“Ok.”
“How far along are you?”
“I don’t know. We haven’t made it into the office yet. I think around 11 weeks.”
“Ok. Well just call if it gets worse.”
“Ok, thank you.”
I tend to panic about things, but nothing had felt wrong. I didn’t have a bad feeling or anything. It had to just have been the sex, but it was still pretty scary. In just a few short weeks I had already started talking to my little fetus. I’d been keeping a pregnancy journal writing letter to my little peanut. The sudden realization that something could happen to my baby was a shock.
“Hey, ‘Chelle.” My mom came into my room at their house and sat down next to me. “I had some spotting when I was pregnant with you and it was nothing. I know it’s scary, but I wouldn’t worry about it.”
“Yeah, I know, it’s just scary.” I tried to buck up, but I’d had occasional spotting for two days. I guess you have to tone sex down a lot during pregnancy. At this rate, Doc was going to have to make do with celibacy for the next two trimesters because this was too scary to deal with again.
Doc and I went back to Tulsa New Year’s Eve. It was wonderful to be back in my own bed again. I had an appointment in a few days to see the doctor and they would do an ultrasound to show me my baby and her little heartbeat. I had a gut feeling she was a girl. Our daughter.
The contractions started just a little after 2 A.M. I went to the bathroom thinking I had gas pain to find that my underwear was soaked with bright red blood. I think my heart stopped beating for a few seconds until the next contraction started and tears started streaming down my face. I climbed into the shower and sat on the floor, watching the water wash clumps of tissue and blood down the drain. I watched all of the excitement and joy I’d felt wash away and all that remained was pure agony. I couldn’t control my sobs as my body shook. I cried out repeatedly, partly from the pain of the contractions expelling the life that would never be and partly from the white hot grief that consumed me.
Doc woke to the sound of me crying and ran into the bathroom. He flung back the shower curtain.
“Honey? Are you okay?”
“She’s gone. She’s gone. My baby.”
Doc held my soaking wet body close to him and tried to give me any comfort he could, but I felt so broken, so empty that even his warmth felt foreign.
I didn’t need the ultrasound two days later to tell me that “my uterus was empty”. I didn’t need the doctor to tell me that “it looks like I had a miscarriage.” I saw the little shrimplike figure that was my child in a toilet seat and watched her swirl around and disappear like a dead goldfish.
On top of my grief, I felt like a disappointment. Like I had failed everyone who was excited, especially Janis. Janis, who had needed this, needed something good since her mother had died, and I’d failed. My body had failed.
I laid in bed for a week. I didn’t want to talk to anyone. I didn’t want to see anyone. I wanted to fade away. I hoped that maybe if I laid there long enough, it would go away. All I wanted was to have my baby back.
My 21st birthday was spent shivering. I sat huddled shivering under blankets in a freezing apartment with my 2 month old puppy, waiting for Doc to finish taking his finals in the dark. The worst ice storm I have ever seen struck Tulsa just before my birthday. So instead of getting to go bar hopping and drunk off my ass, I ended up settling for a pina colada from Chili’s. A Chili’s we drove 20 miles to find so I could purchase alcohol to have some symbolence of the big occasion.
Now I was turning 22. No ice storm. No shivering under blankets. My best friend was taking me out for a night on the town, or at least what Tulsa could provide for that. Luckily, my period was a tad late so I didn’t have cramps to bog me down. Maybe I was a year late, but I was going to have my 21st bash. We’d been trying to conceive for a while, but no luck. I figured I’d take an EPT just in case, but didn’t expect anything. I peed on the stick and finished doing my make-up just as Maggie pulled up.
I called Doc from the car to check the test. Negative! Off for a night of fun, fun, fun. Or at least, a glass of wine and a margarita over the course of the whole night. I’m not as much for drinking as I thought I’d be. I like the warm fuzzy feeling but hate feeling out of control in anyway. We went to a nice dinner and out to a “nice try” of a dance club and had too much fun.
The next morning I stumbled into the restroom, peed, and started to brush the bar taste out of my mouth. And there it was. Staring at me in the trashcan. One bright purple test line and one faint, almost invisible purple line. Two lines. Two lines.
“HONEY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! WHAT THE HELL IS THIS?!?!?!?!” I dug the test out of the trashcan and ran to the bedroom to show him the test.
“It said negative last night.”
“What the hell do you mean it said negative last night? They don’t just change answers!!”
“I don’t know!” Doc yanked the test from my hand and stared at it . “It’s barely there, I don’t know what that means.”
“Where the hell is the box?” I charged back into the bathroom and pulled the box out. “I’m taking another one. Maybe that one was just a fluke.”
Doc grabbed the box from me. “Have you peed yet?”
“Yeah. So what?”
“You’re supposed to use first morning urine.”
“What? So I’m supposed to wait a day. Hell no!”
I peed on the stick. One purple line. Ten minutes later, the ghost line appeared. What the hell?!?!?!
Two tests later and still a faint line showing up. The whole box must have been defective!
I went and bought the most expensive EPT test at Walgreens. I would just take it tomorrow and everything would be fine.
Doc left early to work a library shift. I dragged myself out of bed and decided to finally face the music.
I peed. I waited 2 minutes. I read. I grabbed my phone and dialed.
Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh shit shit shit shit-
Doc answered the phone.
“Yes?”
“Um. Honey. This one is definitely positive.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. It’s freaking bright purple. TWO bright purple lines, like as soon as I peed on it. The other four were pretty faint but this one is definitely…definitely….oh god….”
“Well, bring it here. I want to see it.”
“Are you serious? You want me to bring a pee stick to the library?!”
“…Kinda.”
“Oh my god. I’ll be there in five minutes.”
I drove over to the medical school and walked in. Doc met me and followed me into the hallway. I pulled out that stick and showed it to him. He smiled and hugged me. And in that moment I realized, I was going to be a mom. Butterflies welled up in my stomach and I felt giddy.
“We’re going to have a baby!” I yelled.
“Shhh! Geez hon it is a school,” Doc hushed half heartedly. He kissed me and hugged me again. “I’ve got to get back but I’ll see you in a few hours.”
“Ok!”
“I love you.”
As soon as I left the school I called my mom. “Mom. If I tell you something can you promise you will keep it a secret.”
“Yeah, I promise.”
“I took a pregnancy test and it was positive.”
“Oh my God, why would you tell me that? You want me to keep that a secret?”
“Just until we get a chance to announce it.”
“Oh my God! Oh my God!”
“Mom, don’t tell anyone, okay?”
“Okay, I gotta go.”
My mom proceeded to call every aunt, uncle, cousin, grandparent, neighbor, or person she ran into at the super market. Meanwhile, I took a picture of the positive pregnancy test, as well as a few of a miniature tree I had decorated for the holidays. When Doc came home, we called Janis. “Janis, you need to check your email! I sent you pictures of the tree!”
“Ok. Um…there it is.”
Doc and I smiled as she oohed and ahhed over the pictures of the tree. Then she was silent.
“Mom?” Doc asked.
“That’s not a tree.”
“No, it isn’t.”
More silence. “You guys aren’t pulling my leg are you?”
“No, Janis. That would be cruel, haha.”
“Oh wow, we’re having a baby!” Janis’ voice gave away the tears she was already forming. Doc and I couldn’t help but be overwhelmed with excitement. Just moments later Facebook was shouting to the world that we were going to be parents.
Christmas is one of my favorite times of the year. It’s full of good food and family. Doc and I were off from school and we were going to get to see family. Already pushing my too-tight jeans’ limit, Janis took me to buy a few of my first maternity clothes. I felt sleepy and a little bloated, but was milking the pregnant thing for all it was worth.
“Are you really going to let your pregnant wife get her own tea? Are you going to make your pregnant wife get her own pickle? My poor pregnant feet need to be rubbed.” And Doc took it all in stride. He’d roll his eyes but do whatever I wanted and enjoy his daddy-to-be duties whether or not he cared to admit it.
Everyone was excited. My little sisters kept talking to my darling little fetus. My mom even took me shopping to buy a nice dress that my growing belly would fit under for a wedding we were going to a few days after Christmas. It was a beautiful dark blue silk dress that made me really feel like I had that beautiful pregnant glow everyone talks about. Doc must have agreed because as soon as we got to our hotel in Houston for the wedding, we decided to “break in” the hotel room. Pregnant sex is amazing when your hormones are acting favorably. The wedding was a beautiful small wedding in a butterfly dome followed by a reception at a lovely little restaurant. The bride and groom had even made sure that the wait staff brought me Ginger Ale to do the wedding toasts with. We laughed and enjoyed ourselves. I nearly sobbed from laughter while the Best Man recounted what could have been if he’d asked the bride out before his brother.
I especially enjoyed while watching some of Doc’s med school buddies get wasted, particularly a couple friend of ours. Kristin refused an additional drink from the waiter with a “Oh My God. I shouldn’t! When I get drunk I either get tired or really horny!”
To which her boyfriend replied, “Well then by all means have another!”
I laughingly dismissed myself to run off to the ladies’ room. It had been such a nice evening. I was a little tired but-
There was blood in my underwear.
“Would you like to speak to the doctor on call?”
“Yes, please.”
“Ok, she’ll call you shortly.”
“We had sex earlier tonight, could that have caused it?”
“Absolutely. Unless it gets really heavy or bright red, it’s pretty normal. Just don’t have sex or use a tampon or anything. Make sure you are drinking plenty of water and take it easy.”
“Ok.”
“How far along are you?”
“I don’t know. We haven’t made it into the office yet. I think around 11 weeks.”
“Ok. Well just call if it gets worse.”
“Ok, thank you.”
I tend to panic about things, but nothing had felt wrong. I didn’t have a bad feeling or anything. It had to just have been the sex, but it was still pretty scary. In just a few short weeks I had already started talking to my little fetus. I’d been keeping a pregnancy journal writing letter to my little peanut. The sudden realization that something could happen to my baby was a shock.
“Hey, ‘Chelle.” My mom came into my room at their house and sat down next to me. “I had some spotting when I was pregnant with you and it was nothing. I know it’s scary, but I wouldn’t worry about it.”
“Yeah, I know, it’s just scary.” I tried to buck up, but I’d had occasional spotting for two days. I guess you have to tone sex down a lot during pregnancy. At this rate, Doc was going to have to make do with celibacy for the next two trimesters because this was too scary to deal with again.
Doc and I went back to Tulsa New Year’s Eve. It was wonderful to be back in my own bed again. I had an appointment in a few days to see the doctor and they would do an ultrasound to show me my baby and her little heartbeat. I had a gut feeling she was a girl. Our daughter.
The contractions started just a little after 2 A.M. I went to the bathroom thinking I had gas pain to find that my underwear was soaked with bright red blood. I think my heart stopped beating for a few seconds until the next contraction started and tears started streaming down my face. I climbed into the shower and sat on the floor, watching the water wash clumps of tissue and blood down the drain. I watched all of the excitement and joy I’d felt wash away and all that remained was pure agony. I couldn’t control my sobs as my body shook. I cried out repeatedly, partly from the pain of the contractions expelling the life that would never be and partly from the white hot grief that consumed me.
Doc woke to the sound of me crying and ran into the bathroom. He flung back the shower curtain.
“Honey? Are you okay?”
“She’s gone. She’s gone. My baby.”
Doc held my soaking wet body close to him and tried to give me any comfort he could, but I felt so broken, so empty that even his warmth felt foreign.
I didn’t need the ultrasound two days later to tell me that “my uterus was empty”. I didn’t need the doctor to tell me that “it looks like I had a miscarriage.” I saw the little shrimplike figure that was my child in a toilet seat and watched her swirl around and disappear like a dead goldfish.
On top of my grief, I felt like a disappointment. Like I had failed everyone who was excited, especially Janis. Janis, who had needed this, needed something good since her mother had died, and I’d failed. My body had failed.
I laid in bed for a week. I didn’t want to talk to anyone. I didn’t want to see anyone. I wanted to fade away. I hoped that maybe if I laid there long enough, it would go away. All I wanted was to have my baby back.
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
Multiple Projects
Ok, I'm working hard on my motherhood stories, and it's going pretty well. I'm working on it everyday, but I need to help my ADD. I need multiple projects to work on...so I want to start working on a children's book idea.
I think the best children's book authors are ones who write from the child within, so now I'm trying to figure out what I know and can write as a child. What am I passionate about?
BINGO! The farmers market! I want to write a children's book about a trip to market and how the food gets there. I think that would be a good read, and there is a huge green push now and people want to raise baby green...so maybe? yes...maybe...
I think the best children's book authors are ones who write from the child within, so now I'm trying to figure out what I know and can write as a child. What am I passionate about?
BINGO! The farmers market! I want to write a children's book about a trip to market and how the food gets there. I think that would be a good read, and there is a huge green push now and people want to raise baby green...so maybe? yes...maybe...
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
Knowing Myself
So as I have been writing, I realized that there are still a lot of things about me I would like to change.
For Example:
I feel like I don't know how to be a girl sometimes. I don't do the mani/pedi thing, I don't keep my hair up or keep my eyebrows plucked...hell I don't shave my legs as often as I should. I've never been good at this stuff, can't blame motherhood as much as I want to. My sister-in-law Diane is gorgeous and seems to always be kept up. I wish sometimes that I was more like her, or that my mom had shown me how to be glamourous. I hate feeling like the dumpy one in groups. I do think I'm beautiful, but I think I don't show off my potential ever.
Alot of this stems from an event in high school where a guy followed me home and badness insued. Nothing horrible happened, but it was enough to scare the hell out of me. I started wanting to hide and feel like I still haven't really gotten over it. I am afraid of being noticed for my appearance...but I think I have reached the point also, where I am tired of being invisible.
For Example:
I feel like I don't know how to be a girl sometimes. I don't do the mani/pedi thing, I don't keep my hair up or keep my eyebrows plucked...hell I don't shave my legs as often as I should. I've never been good at this stuff, can't blame motherhood as much as I want to. My sister-in-law Diane is gorgeous and seems to always be kept up. I wish sometimes that I was more like her, or that my mom had shown me how to be glamourous. I hate feeling like the dumpy one in groups. I do think I'm beautiful, but I think I don't show off my potential ever.
Alot of this stems from an event in high school where a guy followed me home and badness insued. Nothing horrible happened, but it was enough to scare the hell out of me. I started wanting to hide and feel like I still haven't really gotten over it. I am afraid of being noticed for my appearance...but I think I have reached the point also, where I am tired of being invisible.
Saturday, May 22, 2010
Next work in progress
The First Few Days
Two Weeks Before Evelyn Is Born:
Doc: I really want it to be just the three of us for a while.
Me: Ok, and I just REALLY want my mom to be there.
Doc: I don’t think it’s unreasonable to want some time to be our own little family before everyone shows up and wants to hold her. This is a big deal for us. I think it’s fair for me to want that. Maybe after a week.
Me: A week? Are you crazy. I’ll give you 48 hours. That’s fair. 2 days.
Doc: Ok. 2 days.
12 Hours after Evelyn’s Birth:
Doc: Why isn’t your mom here yet ?
Me: She’s driving as fast as she can. She’ll be here by 1….I hope.
Doc: I’m so tired. Can’t…stay….awake…..
Downside of a homebirth and having your baby all to yourself? No sleep. None. Those assholes in scrubs I mentioned earlier? They aren’t going to take care of my baby for me so I can rest. Nope. Doc and I are running on 4 hours of sleep to last us two days. Evelyn isn’t in a nursery. She’s right there next to me. After being up all night and all day in labor, I was ready to sleep for a week. Evelyn however, after resting for 9 months, decided to see the world, starting now. No newborn nap for her.
Doc stayed up as long as he could and I stayed up most the night checking on her every 10 seconds to make sure she was still breathing. All I wanted was my mom to show up and take her between nursing times so I could sleep. Just a little sleep. That’s all I needed. That 48 hour period of just our little family, could have been 48 minutes. 48 minutes would have been just fine. What I needed was for my superhuman mother to show up and save my ass.
My mother is my hero. She’s also crazy. Her first date with my father was a motorcycle race that resulted in him crashing, going to the hospital, and being bedridden for a week. She biked 100 miles through the West Texas Desert when she was 50. She also hiked the Pecos Wilderness 8 months pregnant. Interestingly enough, she also knew how to make the best spiced pecans in the world every Christmas and was a sugar cookie genius. She was like Martha Stewart meets Juliet Gordon Low meets Davie Crocket. Maintenance extraordinaire and mother of five, she was my inspiration for self-sufficiency.
My mom doesn’t have what you might call, sympathy. She lives by the 48 hour grace period rule. If you have not fully recovered in 48 hours, tough shit. Get over it.
Evelyn latched on, and the raw, sharp pain that shot through me made me grind my teeth loud enough I knew she could here. I tried to shut my eyes hard enough that you wouldn’t see the tears forming.
“Is her tongue underneath your nipple?” Doc asked, glancing back down at the “how to latch” section of my breastfeeding guidebook.
“Yeeeessssss” I tried to get the whole word out without my voice shaking as Evelyn guzzled.
“Maybe she’s not opening her mouth wide enough.”
“She’s latched right….it just hurts.”
“Well, are you sure that you-“
“Just stop. Honey. She has been latching right and as you can see….it’s not okay.”
My mom crossed her arms, “I’m sorry honey. I know it’s horrible. I remember sitting there crying thinking ‘OH MY GOD’. It gets worse before it gets better.”
Worse? How can it get worse? My mom and husband are staring at my cracked, sore nipples and I’m trying to feed my baby but fighting the urge to cry like a freaking baby. It doesn’t get worse. It can’t possibly get worse.
It got worse.
Two Weeks Before Evelyn Is Born:
Doc: I really want it to be just the three of us for a while.
Me: Ok, and I just REALLY want my mom to be there.
Doc: I don’t think it’s unreasonable to want some time to be our own little family before everyone shows up and wants to hold her. This is a big deal for us. I think it’s fair for me to want that. Maybe after a week.
Me: A week? Are you crazy. I’ll give you 48 hours. That’s fair. 2 days.
Doc: Ok. 2 days.
12 Hours after Evelyn’s Birth:
Doc: Why isn’t your mom here yet ?
Me: She’s driving as fast as she can. She’ll be here by 1….I hope.
Doc: I’m so tired. Can’t…stay….awake…..
Downside of a homebirth and having your baby all to yourself? No sleep. None. Those assholes in scrubs I mentioned earlier? They aren’t going to take care of my baby for me so I can rest. Nope. Doc and I are running on 4 hours of sleep to last us two days. Evelyn isn’t in a nursery. She’s right there next to me. After being up all night and all day in labor, I was ready to sleep for a week. Evelyn however, after resting for 9 months, decided to see the world, starting now. No newborn nap for her.
Doc stayed up as long as he could and I stayed up most the night checking on her every 10 seconds to make sure she was still breathing. All I wanted was my mom to show up and take her between nursing times so I could sleep. Just a little sleep. That’s all I needed. That 48 hour period of just our little family, could have been 48 minutes. 48 minutes would have been just fine. What I needed was for my superhuman mother to show up and save my ass.
My mother is my hero. She’s also crazy. Her first date with my father was a motorcycle race that resulted in him crashing, going to the hospital, and being bedridden for a week. She biked 100 miles through the West Texas Desert when she was 50. She also hiked the Pecos Wilderness 8 months pregnant. Interestingly enough, she also knew how to make the best spiced pecans in the world every Christmas and was a sugar cookie genius. She was like Martha Stewart meets Juliet Gordon Low meets Davie Crocket. Maintenance extraordinaire and mother of five, she was my inspiration for self-sufficiency.
My mom doesn’t have what you might call, sympathy. She lives by the 48 hour grace period rule. If you have not fully recovered in 48 hours, tough shit. Get over it.
Evelyn latched on, and the raw, sharp pain that shot through me made me grind my teeth loud enough I knew she could here. I tried to shut my eyes hard enough that you wouldn’t see the tears forming.
“Is her tongue underneath your nipple?” Doc asked, glancing back down at the “how to latch” section of my breastfeeding guidebook.
“Yeeeessssss” I tried to get the whole word out without my voice shaking as Evelyn guzzled.
“Maybe she’s not opening her mouth wide enough.”
“She’s latched right….it just hurts.”
“Well, are you sure that you-“
“Just stop. Honey. She has been latching right and as you can see….it’s not okay.”
My mom crossed her arms, “I’m sorry honey. I know it’s horrible. I remember sitting there crying thinking ‘OH MY GOD’. It gets worse before it gets better.”
Worse? How can it get worse? My mom and husband are staring at my cracked, sore nipples and I’m trying to feed my baby but fighting the urge to cry like a freaking baby. It doesn’t get worse. It can’t possibly get worse.
It got worse.
Friday, May 21, 2010
To Tell The Truth
Honesty is difficult. The one things I want in this book is for it to be truly honest about how I feel about motherhood and other aspects of my life. This poses some really tough issues, because there are things that I feel about people that I haven't shared with them. How do author's do it? Do you tell the people about it before you let them read it or do you just publish it and hope they don't hate you? How would you feel if you found out in a book that someone was annoyed by something you did and put it in publication? I'm pretty sure I'd be pissed off.
::sigh::
I have a tendency to get really annoyed and bothered by really tiny things. I don't bring them up or address them very often because I know they are petty. I admit in my writing that I know I'm acting like a 2 year old. Does that make it any better?
::sigh::
I have a tendency to get really annoyed and bothered by really tiny things. I don't bring them up or address them very often because I know they are petty. I admit in my writing that I know I'm acting like a 2 year old. Does that make it any better?
Thursday, May 20, 2010
Stories so far
Ideas for Short Stories for my book...
How I Met Your Baby Daddy - the story of how Matt and I met and our first few dates
I Realize I Don't Care About Myself At All - the story of how I forget all my belongings on my trip to Little Rock
The Two-Week Long Day - Evelyn's first 2 Weeks of Life
Baby in a Bar - the "we'll take her with us" approach to parenting and how all the hater parents are just jealous they don't have the balls to take their baby to Burger Night at McNellie's
Center of the Universe - why being a mother and drunk at 2 P.M. is okay
Disposing of a Candle - my battle to release my grief of my lost unborn baby and finally get rid of the candle I burn in her memory (which means by the end of writing this book, I will have to actually do it)
You Don't Get to Pick Your Family - why my family is amazing, even when it pisses me off
Still need a few more ideas. After I write all of them, some might not make it into the final addition
How I Met Your Baby Daddy - the story of how Matt and I met and our first few dates
I Realize I Don't Care About Myself At All - the story of how I forget all my belongings on my trip to Little Rock
The Two-Week Long Day - Evelyn's first 2 Weeks of Life
Baby in a Bar - the "we'll take her with us" approach to parenting and how all the hater parents are just jealous they don't have the balls to take their baby to Burger Night at McNellie's
Center of the Universe - why being a mother and drunk at 2 P.M. is okay
Disposing of a Candle - my battle to release my grief of my lost unborn baby and finally get rid of the candle I burn in her memory (which means by the end of writing this book, I will have to actually do it)
You Don't Get to Pick Your Family - why my family is amazing, even when it pisses me off
Still need a few more ideas. After I write all of them, some might not make it into the final addition
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
Proof that I don't care about myself anymore...
Well, I went to see my good friend in Little Rock on Monday. Before I left I had to go and get my cell phone from a friend's house I had dinner at the night before. I had been so busy getting all of Evelyn's stuff together to leave dinner that I forgot my stuff. Then I swung by my mom's house to pick up some of Evelyn's "stay over" stuff I left with her since she babysits for us.
SO off we go on our 4.5 hour drive. It's a beautiful drive, but low and behold...I have to stop to feed Evelyn. I have to let Evelyn out of the car for a little while. AND Finally, we get there.
I unload 1, 2, 3, 4.......4 bags. I packed 5. Which did I forget? You guessed it. The only of the 5 bags that held my crap.
SO, I made a trip with all of Evelyn's stuff which I obsessed over to make sure I didn't forget anything, and I couldn't even think about myself long enough to put my one tiny little bag in the car.
Sounds like a chapter? I think so. Time to short story my vacation....cut short by my lack of selfishness. Ha.
SO off we go on our 4.5 hour drive. It's a beautiful drive, but low and behold...I have to stop to feed Evelyn. I have to let Evelyn out of the car for a little while. AND Finally, we get there.
I unload 1, 2, 3, 4.......4 bags. I packed 5. Which did I forget? You guessed it. The only of the 5 bags that held my crap.
SO, I made a trip with all of Evelyn's stuff which I obsessed over to make sure I didn't forget anything, and I couldn't even think about myself long enough to put my one tiny little bag in the car.
Sounds like a chapter? I think so. Time to short story my vacation....cut short by my lack of selfishness. Ha.
Sunday, May 16, 2010
From a Journal Entry to a Prologue
Prologue:
In Which I Wrap Up the “Pregnant Thing”
"What the hell do you mean you weren't a preemie?"
I held the phone away from my ear as I responded. "Mom said Dad exaggerated. I was like 2 weeks early, but not technically a preemie."
There was a long pause as I waited for my brother to respond. Finally, a sigh. "So all those arguments I won when I told you you were just a stupid preemie with low brain function...?"
"Yeah. I think I retroactively win those."
"....I am going to kill Dad."
I could tell he was getting ready to get off the phone. "Oh! Matt, one more thing."
"What?"
"I'm 9 months pregnant and I can still touch my toes."
He hung up.
I shoved my phone back into the pack pocket of my elasto-jeans. My belly had expanded to the point that even my stretch-waist pants looked like they were about to give. The only thing I could kick anyone’s ass at right now was arguments. Somehow pregnancy hormones turned me into a zing-ing machine. For example, my strong, athletic, cross country running brother couldn’t reach his toes. Not even in Elementary after he’d passed all the other P.E. tests could he manage that little stretch. I however, waddling mini-whale as I was, could still reach my toes like a yogi. It was nice to have a 1-up on someone.
A sudden ripple of movement shoved its way around my body, budging my shirt out as Evelyn’s elbow attacked her encasing.
“Shit, Evelyn. Really? Just come out if you’re going to beat me up. Neither one of us is comfortable.” She rolled over and shoved a foot up into my rib cage. “Great.” My due date was another 4 days away. I had just finished finals so I was no longer freaking out about her getting here early. I was convincing her to get out. Out. Out. Out.
Hindsight, kinda hypocritical of me. Moms would post in the blog-o-sphere about trying to induce early and how uncomfortable they were and all I did was turn my nose up at them. Didn’t they want what was best for their babies? Didn’t they think their babies knew when it was time to come out? Well, 4 days from December 17th and all I could think was my baby must be an idiot.
The last 9 months I’d transformed back to the hippie of my high school days. I’d embarked on an Earth Friendly Revolution! We’d started recycling, hanging our clothes on a line, shopping at local markets, eating organic food, taking natural childbirth classes. My husband and I were set on a happy, healthy, earth friendly lifestyle. I believed my body was empowered and I as a woman and barer of life, was the personification of fertility. Or at least I did when I wasn’t crying about the jagged pink lines had suddenly turned my beautiful fertile belly into stretched-out wasteland resembling a flesh colored watermelon.
I threw my coat on, buttoned the only button that I could still get closed, wrapped a scarf around my head, and leashed our yippy dog. “I’m going for a walk.” I called as I ran out the front door. Walk a mile. Have sex with husband. Try to sleep despite the fact that you have a 30 lb. sandbag attached to you. Send positive “be born” energy to my uterus. This baby needs to get out or I’m going to lose my damn mind.
December 15th, Maggie Calls Carly
“Michelle is in labor.”
“Oh my God! Are you at the hospital?”
“Carly!” in an exasperated tone. “Nobody is at the hospital! She’s having Evelyn at home.”
“Of course she is.”
Yep. I decided to have my baby at home. Call it brave. Call it stupid. I just didn’t want 15 mechanical strangers sharing this important moment in my life with my husband, daughter, and I. I also didn’t want some asshole in scrubs taking my daughter away from me right after she was born. I’d waited 9 months to meet Evelyn. I was getting my moment.
Despite all the pissy comments and rude shit I had said about being pregnant the last few weeks, there is something incredible about the moment you know you are in labor. I woke up at 2:04 A.M. on December 15th to minor contractions. I didn’t feel fear. I didn’t panic. I smiled. We had made it. Evelyn and I had made this journey together and she was ready to finally come out and see the world. The first hour or so of labor I lay in my husband’s arms in bed. Doc and I joked and laughed and kissed each other enjoying every moment of anticipation.
After a while I was too anxious to stay lying down. We’d planned on making a cake together in early labor so we’d have something to do. We wanted to make Evelyn’s very first birthday cake together. Mom always made us Funfetti cakes. You know, the ones with the sprinkles in the batter so the cake looks tie-dyed. We mixed the batter and got it into the pan before contractions got too intense for me to give a damn about the cake. I guess at some point Doc pulled it out because the house never burnt down.
By that time, the real work started. The further into labor you are, the less modest you become. I’m not modest to begin with. I spent the majority of labor naked because clothing was too damn uncomfortable. I paced the hallways, rocking my hips and trying to take deep breaths through contractions.
Meanwhile Doc had lost his mind. While I paced and waddled and attempted to find a peaceful, zen, happy place, I heard dishes clanging, the Swiffer mop, the vacuum and busy footsteps. It was as if all of the nesting impulses I had during the entire course of my pregnancy struck Doc in an instant. He cleaned like a maid on crack. Every time a contraction would start he’d run to my side and rub my back or squeeze my hips and rock with me until I made it through. Then he’d run back to his broom and compulsively clean again. Where the hell was that motivation before? Hell, where is it now? Maybe I should fake it sometime and see if that can get him to hang up his wet towel in the morning.
Anyway…
We shipped our dog off to a friend’s house. My midwife showed up. We reluctantly let our families know that I was in labor. After 6 hours of doing okay, labor stopped being fun. Thankfully, I don’t remember a whole lot. Bless you forgetful hormones! I remember bits of conversations:
“Keep pushing sweetie, she is almost here!”
“Ruth.” Ruth was my midwife. “Ruth I think you are a dirty liar you said that two hours ago and SHE IS NOT HERE!”
Or
When my husband offered a friendly “Honey, I think if you…” and was cut off by my “SHUT UP!!!!!!!!!!!!”
And there are certain memories that stick out too. Like when my midwife shouted because mice invaded my house. I guess with our dog gone they decided to ambush our little shack of a rent house and scurry about all over the place. I love nature. It’s beautiful as long as it stays outside. I was too distracted by my pelvis pushing apart to really be too upset about it at the time. It was almost cute. Like how all the mice are Cinderella’s friends. We would later find mouse tracks, tiny pieces of shit, and nibble marks on Evelyn’s birthday cake. FML. I also think at some point, my midwife had Arby’s.
I do know that I pushed for two and half hours. Screw those movies where the doctor goes “Okay, push!” and three pushes later you hear crying and everyone gets to see the baby. Evelyn ended up being 9 freaking pounds. It took forever to get her to move down. She kept kicking the hell out of me while I tried to push and distracting me. But there was no way in hell I was giving up. My mom didn’t think I could do this and I was not going to prove her right. I was an AMAZON! I was a GODDESS! I was…so….tired. Michael Phelps might have 8 gold medals, but I’m pretty sure I could have kicked his ass in birthing endurance.
And then there was that moment. That moment where you feel like everything in the world has stopped. I felt Evelyn slide out of my body and felt the heat of her tiny frame as she was placed on my abdomen. Her deep pools of eyes locked onto mine and all I could think was “I know you.”
I knew her. There she was. She was covered in white gooey shit and her head looked like it had been stretched with a vice. But I knew those eyes. I knew that face. I knew her flailing arm movements and had felt her head turning around curiously. She looked just like me. It was like looking into a mirror. A creepy ass mirror where you see yourself as a baby, but it was incredible.
For the first half hour of her life, I held her. I said happy, probably stupid sappy shit to her. I’m pretty sure one of the first things I said was “Happy Birthday.” I probably cried too. I don’t really remember anything other than feeling complete relief and contentment.
Doc held Evelyn and took her around to tour her room and the rest of our house while the midwife checked up on me.
“Evelyn, this is your room! Your mommy worked so hard on it!”
Ruth smiled. “He loves her already.”
“Yeah. I don’t think either one of us thought we’d actually get to meet her. We lost our first child to a miscarriage about a year ago. It devastated both of us, but he took it really hard.”
I watched Doc rock her as he moved across her room pointing out different things on the wall and explaining them to our sleeping daughter. I loved him. We had made it past losing a child. We could conquer anything. Ruth finished up and Doc brought Evelyn back to my arms.
“Okay,” Ruth said. “I’m off! See you in two days!” And she was out the door. We were alone.
Fuck.
In Which I Wrap Up the “Pregnant Thing”
"What the hell do you mean you weren't a preemie?"
I held the phone away from my ear as I responded. "Mom said Dad exaggerated. I was like 2 weeks early, but not technically a preemie."
There was a long pause as I waited for my brother to respond. Finally, a sigh. "So all those arguments I won when I told you you were just a stupid preemie with low brain function...?"
"Yeah. I think I retroactively win those."
"....I am going to kill Dad."
I could tell he was getting ready to get off the phone. "Oh! Matt, one more thing."
"What?"
"I'm 9 months pregnant and I can still touch my toes."
He hung up.
I shoved my phone back into the pack pocket of my elasto-jeans. My belly had expanded to the point that even my stretch-waist pants looked like they were about to give. The only thing I could kick anyone’s ass at right now was arguments. Somehow pregnancy hormones turned me into a zing-ing machine. For example, my strong, athletic, cross country running brother couldn’t reach his toes. Not even in Elementary after he’d passed all the other P.E. tests could he manage that little stretch. I however, waddling mini-whale as I was, could still reach my toes like a yogi. It was nice to have a 1-up on someone.
A sudden ripple of movement shoved its way around my body, budging my shirt out as Evelyn’s elbow attacked her encasing.
“Shit, Evelyn. Really? Just come out if you’re going to beat me up. Neither one of us is comfortable.” She rolled over and shoved a foot up into my rib cage. “Great.” My due date was another 4 days away. I had just finished finals so I was no longer freaking out about her getting here early. I was convincing her to get out. Out. Out. Out.
Hindsight, kinda hypocritical of me. Moms would post in the blog-o-sphere about trying to induce early and how uncomfortable they were and all I did was turn my nose up at them. Didn’t they want what was best for their babies? Didn’t they think their babies knew when it was time to come out? Well, 4 days from December 17th and all I could think was my baby must be an idiot.
The last 9 months I’d transformed back to the hippie of my high school days. I’d embarked on an Earth Friendly Revolution! We’d started recycling, hanging our clothes on a line, shopping at local markets, eating organic food, taking natural childbirth classes. My husband and I were set on a happy, healthy, earth friendly lifestyle. I believed my body was empowered and I as a woman and barer of life, was the personification of fertility. Or at least I did when I wasn’t crying about the jagged pink lines had suddenly turned my beautiful fertile belly into stretched-out wasteland resembling a flesh colored watermelon.
I threw my coat on, buttoned the only button that I could still get closed, wrapped a scarf around my head, and leashed our yippy dog. “I’m going for a walk.” I called as I ran out the front door. Walk a mile. Have sex with husband. Try to sleep despite the fact that you have a 30 lb. sandbag attached to you. Send positive “be born” energy to my uterus. This baby needs to get out or I’m going to lose my damn mind.
December 15th, Maggie Calls Carly
“Michelle is in labor.”
“Oh my God! Are you at the hospital?”
“Carly!” in an exasperated tone. “Nobody is at the hospital! She’s having Evelyn at home.”
“Of course she is.”
Yep. I decided to have my baby at home. Call it brave. Call it stupid. I just didn’t want 15 mechanical strangers sharing this important moment in my life with my husband, daughter, and I. I also didn’t want some asshole in scrubs taking my daughter away from me right after she was born. I’d waited 9 months to meet Evelyn. I was getting my moment.
Despite all the pissy comments and rude shit I had said about being pregnant the last few weeks, there is something incredible about the moment you know you are in labor. I woke up at 2:04 A.M. on December 15th to minor contractions. I didn’t feel fear. I didn’t panic. I smiled. We had made it. Evelyn and I had made this journey together and she was ready to finally come out and see the world. The first hour or so of labor I lay in my husband’s arms in bed. Doc and I joked and laughed and kissed each other enjoying every moment of anticipation.
After a while I was too anxious to stay lying down. We’d planned on making a cake together in early labor so we’d have something to do. We wanted to make Evelyn’s very first birthday cake together. Mom always made us Funfetti cakes. You know, the ones with the sprinkles in the batter so the cake looks tie-dyed. We mixed the batter and got it into the pan before contractions got too intense for me to give a damn about the cake. I guess at some point Doc pulled it out because the house never burnt down.
By that time, the real work started. The further into labor you are, the less modest you become. I’m not modest to begin with. I spent the majority of labor naked because clothing was too damn uncomfortable. I paced the hallways, rocking my hips and trying to take deep breaths through contractions.
Meanwhile Doc had lost his mind. While I paced and waddled and attempted to find a peaceful, zen, happy place, I heard dishes clanging, the Swiffer mop, the vacuum and busy footsteps. It was as if all of the nesting impulses I had during the entire course of my pregnancy struck Doc in an instant. He cleaned like a maid on crack. Every time a contraction would start he’d run to my side and rub my back or squeeze my hips and rock with me until I made it through. Then he’d run back to his broom and compulsively clean again. Where the hell was that motivation before? Hell, where is it now? Maybe I should fake it sometime and see if that can get him to hang up his wet towel in the morning.
Anyway…
We shipped our dog off to a friend’s house. My midwife showed up. We reluctantly let our families know that I was in labor. After 6 hours of doing okay, labor stopped being fun. Thankfully, I don’t remember a whole lot. Bless you forgetful hormones! I remember bits of conversations:
“Keep pushing sweetie, she is almost here!”
“Ruth.” Ruth was my midwife. “Ruth I think you are a dirty liar you said that two hours ago and SHE IS NOT HERE!”
Or
When my husband offered a friendly “Honey, I think if you…” and was cut off by my “SHUT UP!!!!!!!!!!!!”
And there are certain memories that stick out too. Like when my midwife shouted because mice invaded my house. I guess with our dog gone they decided to ambush our little shack of a rent house and scurry about all over the place. I love nature. It’s beautiful as long as it stays outside. I was too distracted by my pelvis pushing apart to really be too upset about it at the time. It was almost cute. Like how all the mice are Cinderella’s friends. We would later find mouse tracks, tiny pieces of shit, and nibble marks on Evelyn’s birthday cake. FML. I also think at some point, my midwife had Arby’s.
I do know that I pushed for two and half hours. Screw those movies where the doctor goes “Okay, push!” and three pushes later you hear crying and everyone gets to see the baby. Evelyn ended up being 9 freaking pounds. It took forever to get her to move down. She kept kicking the hell out of me while I tried to push and distracting me. But there was no way in hell I was giving up. My mom didn’t think I could do this and I was not going to prove her right. I was an AMAZON! I was a GODDESS! I was…so….tired. Michael Phelps might have 8 gold medals, but I’m pretty sure I could have kicked his ass in birthing endurance.
And then there was that moment. That moment where you feel like everything in the world has stopped. I felt Evelyn slide out of my body and felt the heat of her tiny frame as she was placed on my abdomen. Her deep pools of eyes locked onto mine and all I could think was “I know you.”
I knew her. There she was. She was covered in white gooey shit and her head looked like it had been stretched with a vice. But I knew those eyes. I knew that face. I knew her flailing arm movements and had felt her head turning around curiously. She looked just like me. It was like looking into a mirror. A creepy ass mirror where you see yourself as a baby, but it was incredible.
For the first half hour of her life, I held her. I said happy, probably stupid sappy shit to her. I’m pretty sure one of the first things I said was “Happy Birthday.” I probably cried too. I don’t really remember anything other than feeling complete relief and contentment.
Doc held Evelyn and took her around to tour her room and the rest of our house while the midwife checked up on me.
“Evelyn, this is your room! Your mommy worked so hard on it!”
Ruth smiled. “He loves her already.”
“Yeah. I don’t think either one of us thought we’d actually get to meet her. We lost our first child to a miscarriage about a year ago. It devastated both of us, but he took it really hard.”
I watched Doc rock her as he moved across her room pointing out different things on the wall and explaining them to our sleeping daughter. I loved him. We had made it past losing a child. We could conquer anything. Ruth finished up and Doc brought Evelyn back to my arms.
“Okay,” Ruth said. “I’m off! See you in two days!” And she was out the door. We were alone.
Fuck.
Um...Plot Anyone?
UGH! I hate developing plots. I like writing about characters and events that happen but coming up with a beginning, middle, and an end is rediculously difficult. For starters, I don't think I have a cathartic conclusion to my current story about motherhood. I have some neat ideas for stories, but I'm trying to figure out what my overall point is. Kinda like a TV series like Beastmaster, you know where each episode sort of stands alone, but occasionally they advance a plot line....::sigh::
Saturday, May 15, 2010
Opener Exercise
Once in a class, we read the first few lines of books that had incredible openers. After sharing them and talking about what author's did in those beginnings to really catch the reader, we were challenged to write a beginning for a book. This is what I produced.
"What the hell do you mean you weren't a premie?"
I held the phone away as I responded. "Mom said Dad exaggerated. I was like 2 weeks early, but not technically a premie."
There was a long pause as I waited for my brother to respond. Finally, a sigh. "So all those arguements I won when I told you you were just a stupid premie with low brain function...?"
"Yeah. I think I retroactively win those."
"....I am going to kill Dad."
I could tell he was getting ready to get off the phone. "Oh! Matt, one more thing."
"What?"
"I'm 9 months pregnant and I can still touch my toes."
He hung up.
There is potential in this starter. I could certainly write about my first experiences as a mother. What's changed, what hasn't. I think I could probably put a different take on it. A take that isn't afraid to say the truth about what goes through my mind in early parenthood....
"What the hell do you mean you weren't a premie?"
I held the phone away as I responded. "Mom said Dad exaggerated. I was like 2 weeks early, but not technically a premie."
There was a long pause as I waited for my brother to respond. Finally, a sigh. "So all those arguements I won when I told you you were just a stupid premie with low brain function...?"
"Yeah. I think I retroactively win those."
"....I am going to kill Dad."
I could tell he was getting ready to get off the phone. "Oh! Matt, one more thing."
"What?"
"I'm 9 months pregnant and I can still touch my toes."
He hung up.
There is potential in this starter. I could certainly write about my first experiences as a mother. What's changed, what hasn't. I think I could probably put a different take on it. A take that isn't afraid to say the truth about what goes through my mind in early parenthood....
Writer's Journal
A wise woman by the name of Robin Fuxa started me keeping a writer's journal. It's a place to jot down different ideas about what to write. You can later review all your quick writes and ideas and piece together a workable idea. So I am embarking on a quest of sorts. I want to start and finish a book. So I'm going to create and use this blog to start puzzling and playing with ideas, hopefully getting some feedback and pushes so that I can write the story all the way out.
Woot.
Woot.
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