the red hair is from my mom, the metabolism is from my dad. thanks, genetics.

when ava was a month old i took her in to our doctor for a checkup. since i was there and he was our family doctor (albeit a new one, having just bought the practice from our old doctor), i told him i was fairly certain i had a breast infection.
he asked how i knew. i was used to my midwives—they trust me, they know me. i say i have mastitis, they say we’ll call in your prescription.
so i told him—fever, flu-like symptoms, oh and this hot red spot on my right breast right here. cue nonchalant unveiling of boobage.

took him a little by surprise.

i got my script right quick.

i’m telling you this story to explain how i feel about doctors: they’re doctors. i don’t get worked up over exposing various body parts to them. that’s their job. you want to judge my body? i don’t seriously think you are, but whatever. professional courtesy demands you keep a straight face when i’m sitting on your paper covered table. pap smears, routine exams—par for the course. i’m no exhibitionist, but the fact is to keep yourself healthy is going to require the harsh florescent lighting of an office exam room shining on parts of you that you may normally keep wrapped up.

and generally-- i’m okay with that.

2 weeks ago i had an appointment with an endocrinologist. it was the first time i’d seen one, and i was nervously optomistic that maybe this would help provide answers to the weird things my body has been doing for the last two years.

he was a nice guy—we joked, he was compassionate. he assured me that he would do what he could to get me feeling better. he took my blood pressure, checked various body parts…

 and then. then there was this awkward thing. he asked me to stand up—he needed to check my stomach briefly. i didn’t fully understand, i thought he wanted to feel my stomach. turns out he wanted to see my stomach.

i was wearing a maxi dress.

it turned into this unbelievably uncomfortable moment of him starting to lift my skirt because i was just standing there waiting, then me thinking he wanted to feel my stomach hand-to-skin, so me lifting it a bit higher so he could reach under, then him lifting it even higher because i still wasn’t getting that he needed to actually see my stomach.

let me be clear: i don’t blame the doctor, i’m not angry at him. and he definitely seemed embarrassed. it was just a comical set of events that went wrong.

but.

i was humiliated.

i don’t say that lightly. i could feel my face burning as i sat back down, and i avoided his eyes for the next few questions. because for all my big talk about not caring about doctors seeing my body—i completely and totally hate the way my stomach looks.

::record scratch:: wait, what? am i allowed to say that? listen—i’ve heard the speeches, read the blog posts, looked at the websites. i’ve called my stretch marks my “tiger stripes”, my badges of motherhood. the saggy skin i try to—if not love—at least embrace as remnants of bringing my five beautiful children into the world. and my husband loves me the way i am—never once has he made me feel anything less than completely beautiful by both his words and actions.

but it doesn’t work. the sagging skin and stretch marks, the fat i can’t seem to shake from the last two pregnancies—i hate it. hate. it. it flies in the face of all the self affirmations we see and read. the praise princess kate got for “embracing” her post-pregnancy body was huge news. and to a certain extent it’s true—a woman less than 48 hours post-partum should never have to justify what her body looks like.

but what about when you’re like…24 months post partum? do the same rules apply?

i understand it all: my stomach was stretched almost to bursting and then deflated five separate times. and i thank my body for the ability to do that. my self image isn’t so poor that i look at tabloid pictures in supermarket checkout lines of stars flaunting flat bellies and 6 pack abs 15 minutes after giving birth and think “whaaaaa why don’t i look like that???” i know it’s totally unrealistic—and frankly, ridiculous--not at all what my goal would ever be. and the truth is i need to lose weight—both for health reasons and self-image reasons. i have been battling that for years now, and i firmly believe the difficulty i’m having with weight loss is connected to whatever else is going on with my body.

unfortunately in the cold light of day, or the harsh light of a fitting room…all that doesn’t really help.

but.

there are bigger forces at play here: i am a mother of four daughters.

deep breath.

teaching them to be good, kind, industrious, thrifty, creative, giving, spiritual, intelligent women..some days i just don’t feel equivalent to the task. some days it’s just overwhelming and i think there’s no way i can do all i need to do. my girls range from 13 to 2. we have pimples to potty training, algebra to animal sounds, braces to blocks.

my brain sometimes doesn’t have the power it needs to make the mental leaps from one to the other every few minutes—or seconds. so as parents we sometimes have to pick and choose—the hills on which we plant our flags and refuse to move. i’ll stick to this principle or by god i’ll die trying.

so it goes for me and body image: model what you want your daughters to see. be the woman you want them to become. and i’m not claiming i do it all right: i know i’ve complained about my body in their hearing. i know i’ve used less than flattering terms to describe other people. but i am harshly conscious of never using the term “diet” in front of them. i tell them i’m going to the gym. i’m exercising because it’s important for health. i stress good eating—eat your veggies and fruits, stop eating when you’re full, you don’t have to clear your plate but you do have to taste everything once. i tell them they’re beautiful people, inside and out. but i never tell them they’re chubby (okay, except for elliot. she’s my chunky monkey. but i don’t think it really counts when they’re babies)

they seem to have all been awarded their father’s metabolism thus far, which i hope works to their favor. i hope that i can instill in them an appreciation for their wonderful god-given bodies that helps them never fall victim to the self-loathing, the eating disorders, even the lingering dissatisfaction.

they’re smart though, you know? it can’t be “do as i say, not as i do” because they’ll see through that in a hot second. so the appreciation for your body? the viewing it with love instead of hatred? has to start here. with me. with us.

and as a general rule we women tend to focus so much on our flaws that we can’t see the breath-taking beauty of the forest for the focusing on one little scarred tree. we miss the beauty we’re exuding—each and every one of us—to complain about our thick ankles or our flabby flying squirrel arms or yes, our flabby stretched out bellies. my stomach is only one part of me—literally, and figuratively. it doesn’t define me, and i’m sure it’s not the first thing people see when they look at me.

and yes—we can focus on our good sense of humor, or our generosity, or our talent for cooking or sewing. but we—as a sex—need to step back and look at ourselves in the mirror. and then instead of seeing all the flaws, see the beauty—the gorgeous deep brown eyes, the pouty lips that make your man melt, the graceful hands or whoa hey now legs. because we ALL have it. we just don’t want to or can’t see it.

so here goes. i’ll start, as long as you promise to join in. i don’t care if you leave your name or a pseudonym or just go totally anonymous.  but tell me: WHAT IS GORGEOUS ON YOU?

me? yeah, i’ve got killer red hair. i have really pretty shaped fingernails. and, let’s face it: some nice legs.

no qualifications, no “i’ve-been-tolds” or “my husband says”. this is what i know.

your turn.

time flies.

THIS GIVEAWAY IS NOW CLOSED! THANKS TO ALL WHO ENTERED!

scene: foggy bathroom, post-shower. shannon, hair wrapped in a towel, wipes down the misted over mirror and goes to begin her daily toilette.
suddenly our heroine gets a glimpse of her reflection—shock, dismay. the years are showing. the too-many-bad-sunburns are taking their toll on her fair skin.
but wait! all is not lost! her 20’s a mere memory, she is still in her beginning 30’s—there is still time to prevent more damage! still time to…uh, slow time.
quickly she slides open her drawer of beauty products and…

ugh. it’s a sad sad state of affairs. a mishmash of store brand firming masks and eye creams mixed with deoderants and baby shampoo, rarely used makeup and unfortunately still used acne medication. (and we’ll just ignore those self-tanners, mmmkay?)
like so many other things my beauty routine has also fallen prey to The Mommy Syndrome. you know the one—where you’re too tired/stressed/frazzled/poor to give full attention to something? especially something for YOU? so you do it halfway or not at all?
yup. i see you nodding in agreement. you’re with me.
so this is why, when i was contacted by a rep for rodan + fields, i was all over it. the bulk of that mess of a drawer emptied in favor of this:

one little package containing four products:

a simple anti-age skin care regimen developed by the same two women dermatologists who developed proactiv. they offer four different regimens: REVERSE, ANTI-AGE, BLEMISH, and SOOTHE. i chose to try the ANTI-AGE one…because, well…i’m not getting any younger.
okay, here it is. i’ll admit it: i was skeptical. i tend to be fairly cynical about, well, everything. so the first thing i did when i got the products was take my camera out in the sunlight and take 4 bazillion photos of my face, sans any products at all. and now i’m going to share them with you.
presenting ME, in all my natural glory:

these photos are all straight out of the camera. i didn’t do a thing—not even a basic levels adjustment (muusst…noottt..photoshop…arrrgghhhh!!)
this is how much i love you guys. i took these photos, and now i’m sharing them.
okay i’ll be the first to admit that i don’t have the world’s worst skin. but it’s not great. one of my biggest concerns is that area between my eyebrows and my forehead.
hey—i’ve got five kids. i spend a lot of time doing things like this:

but i figured i’d try it—nothing wagered, nothing lost.
this is the 100% total, unvarnished, un-paid-for truth—i COULDN’T BELIEVE the difference. 2 weeks in i had to go back and look at the date on these photos, because i couldn’t believe it had only been 2 weeks of using the products.
you apply the daily cleansing mask both morning and night and allow it to dry for 2 minutes before rinsing. the first few times i used it it felt tingly. not a totally awful sensation, but not my favorite. now it doesn’t bother me.

you follow that up with the pore minimizing toner, and then one of the lotions—one for day and one for night.
my skin felt softer and smoother and healthier. i actually—for real—had multiple people, out of the blue (both strangers and friends), tell me how young i looked. even my husband noticed—and you ladies know how amazing that is.
here’s some more honesty for you—i almost, almost didn’t really want this stuff to work. because the one flaw i can find in rodan + fields products is their price. the system is not cheap. but the results speak for themselves.
not until this morning when i was taking my “after” photos did i realize just exactly how well. i guess i’ve gotten used to my “new” skin, because i actually was nervous that the photos wouldn’t show much difference. i figured i could explain how different my skin FEELS, and how hard that is to capture in photos. but i don’t think i need to.
again, these are straight out of the camera shots. i did my morning cleanse routine and went outside for photos. i’m wearing lip gloss and last night’s mascara.

okay, fine. i did put a little bit of eyebrow pencil on. dude—i have BLONDE eyebrows. as in—virtually invisible. that’s just weird. but other than that it’s just me and R + F. 
let’s do a side by side, shall we?


less red and splotchy, more smooth and glowy. amirite? i swear to you—these photos were both taken right outside my back door, using only sunlight. same camera, held arm’s length away. (my freckles are darker because they always get darker in the summer and we’ve been to the beach a couple times since i started using the products. tra-la-la, the joys of red hair.)
thank you rodan + fields and sage for letting me try your products! you’ve made a believer of me!
now what about you? well my r + f rep—sage bowman—has generously offered a giveaway to one of my readers. you can win one EYE CREAM and one MICRO-DERMABRASION.


i’m kind of seriously jelly of you guys right now, cause i really want to try the eye cream.
TO ENTER: + just leave me a comment. tell me something, anything. tell me about your beauty regimen (or lack thereof). tell me about the time you smeared egg yolks all over your face to minimize your pores and you stunk the house up. tell me the beauty routine old wives tales your great grandma told you. + one entry per person.
+ i’d love it if you were follower of googiemomma, but it’s not required.
+ i’d also love it if you would go check out rodan + fields website.
+ please leave your email address in the comments if it’s not easily located.
+ giveaway open until 9/30/2010, 12:00 am EST. winner will be chosen at random and notified by email. winner has 48 hours to respond or a new winner will be chosen.

note: i was provided with products for review. i was not paid, and all opinions are my own. trust me—i have plenty of my own opinions. i don’t need anyone else’s.

no,YOU'RE sick all the time.

okay, i'm really, REALLY over it.
i cried mercy and headed to the doctor yesterday. asthma + cold + double pink eye + oh add in the nasty eczema on my finger that looks like i have leprosy.

yeah. over it.
armed with a pile of prescriptions i headed to a certain bullseye labeled retailer. it was 5:30, i was exhausted, my eyes felt like they were on fire. all i needed was some veggie crumbles for dinner and my three medications.
i walked back to the frozen foods area carrying elliot and a handbasket.

BOOM.
there i was, on the floor, looking up at a nice man who ran over to help me up.
i slipped in some sort of puddle on the floor and went down, baby in arms.

cue the rigamarole--walking me to the front of the store, sending in the manager. do you need anything? coffee? water? coffee?

uhh..just some paper towels for my wet butt. i landed in the puddle of ???? and soaked much of it up in my pants. it felt like i peed myself. (not that i would know what that feels like. gah)

it's weird, you know? they have this way of seeming concerned, but trying to brush it off at the same time. i was offered coffee or water and told how beautiful my daughter's eyes were. what i really needed was a clean pair of pants and my medicines.

i felt stupid. stupid, embarrassed, annoyed, shaken. all of those things. and you can't help it--as soon as something like this happens the $$$ signs are everywhere. my wrist hurt. but i didn't want to say it, because i didn't want to sound like i was "one of those people". it sounded fake--even to my ears. even though i could feel the pain.

no, i'm okay. i just...it's just sore. and red. no, i don't want to ice it.

okay, she said. well if you don't need medical attention then we don't really need to fill this out. it takes like 45 minutes. and if anything changes you can just come back tomorrow.
she smiled her big toothy julia roberts smile and batted her eyelashes at me. they're no fools...the manager they send over looks just like rachel mcadams.

and then she beat a hasty retreat, leaving me, my cup of ice water, and a stinky baby who quite literally had the poo scared out of her when we fell. i had to walk all the way back across to the food section in my wet jeans. i grabbed my stuff and left.

i called my husband when i got outside. by that point i think the adrenaline was really sinking in, i felt shakey and upset and just wanted to go home. i think i'm okay i said.

except, today, i'm not. i'm not dying--not by a long shot. i don't need to go to the hospital or even the doctor. but i've got bruises popping up all over my legs and feet. my neck and back and hips feel like i was beat up--like i was in a car accident (not that i would know what THAT feels like either. gah).

and, to add insult to injury--my fresh pedicure got mangled when i fell. :( the not even 24 hour old pedicure i got the night before. (when i half jokingly mentioned that the manager told me i could probably go back and they would fix it for me, if i just got it done. um, okay. and they also told me "don't worry, you can't tell your pants are wet. thank goodness for dark jeans, right?" uh, yeah. thanks. i guess)

so i'm just annoyed, i guess. annoyed and sore. i called back today. i kind of want to...i don't know. now that i'm not in the fog and haze of yesterday i'm annoyed by how i was treated. and the soreness and bruises are a reminder of that. so i guess i just feel the need to complain a bit. i'm not a "suer". i'm not going to go back with a neck brace and cane and raise trouble for a quick payday. but, i would appreciate an apology. i would like to go to the chiropractor for an adjustment on my back, neck and hips, and i don't think i should have to pay for that--even if it's only $20 or $30.

the fact is i fell, and i fell hard, and i hurt myself. and it's not a huge deal, but it's not nothing, either.

but i guess i've hit Level 2 Brush Off.

hi, i was in yesterday, and i fell and you told me to call back today if i needed to?
yes, if you required medical attention.
oh. ummm, well, i don't think i need to go to the hospital. but i think i would like to visit a chiropractor. my back and hips and neck are pretty sore.
oh. well, i'll talk to the person in charge of safety. hold on.
........
yeah, you can come in and fill out the paperwork and they'll send it to corporate and they'll investigate and determine responsibility and contact you.
oh, okay. thank you. ummm...where do i go?


this is the way it went.

well look who feels stupid again. me. maybe they'll determine it was my fault? after all, i was wearing flipflops, which the first associate to respond so kindly pointed out to me (oh, flipflops? they're no good). 
ugh.

sigh.
i don't want to start any debates over suing/liability/injury/litigation/whatever. i just know that it's ashame that because of the society we live in today the store's #1 priority is protecting themselves. and if they had said "oh no! we're SO sorry! here, have a pair of jeans to put on now so you don't have to wear wet ones home. and here, here's some nail polish to fix your nails" i'd be a happier girl today. you know--like what you would do for someone if they fell in your home.

instead i feel like i got this pat on the head of oh no are you okay? yes? okay GOODBYE! runnnn awaaay!!!


oh well. there's my vent for the day. on the plus side--my eyes don't feel like they're on fire anymore. so, there's that. ;)

the one where i get serious

Source: tumblr.com via Shannon on Pinterest

**edited to add: i’m posting this without really proofing it. i kinda don’t want to reread it. sorry for typos, and sorry if it doesn’t make complete sense. it’s kind of a stream of consciousness type thing.

i’m not even entirely sure how to begin this post.

the other day i wrote myself a schedule. it contained 15-25 minute time increments, during which i was going to do things like: clean kitchen, clean living room, vacuum living/dining/play rooms, clean bathroom.

i set the timer, and i started.

what my list didn’t have: time to take care of my sick baby.
when she cried, i squeezed in a little five minute nip for her.
it was about the time that i was on my hands and knees in the bathroom: scrubbing the floor with one hand, holding a screeching, snotty, coughing baby in the other hand that it hit me.
WHAT IN THE WORLD AM I DOING?
and why am i doing it?

i know why i’m doing it: because the day before, i did nothing. i barely got out of bed. i didn’t ever change out of my jammies. i’m pretty sure i never even brushed my teeth. my older three got ready for school on their own, packed their own lunches, and the three year old spent way too much time in front of the tv.

i puttered around the house, knowing i should do something. but what? and why?

here’s what i’m dancing around: depression. post-partum, or just your regular old garden variety.

i’m not gonna act like i’m doing something AMAZING and unheard of by discussing this in a relatively public forum. obviously brooke shields has been here before me.

but i feel the need to share.

for me, it runs in quick cycles of an almost manic-depressive type: long days of nothingness, followed by frantic days of manic activity. wonky sleep schedules: nights of insomnia, followed by endless naps and 8:30 bedtimes.

baby #2 was when it first reared it’s ugly head. i didn’t sleep. i was 22 years old, with a 2 year old and a newborn, and i never slept. i would stay awake all night long, puttering around our newly-purchased home, painting and organizing.
when the sun finally came up i’d crawl wearily into bed. the googiedaddy would head off to work, and i would close my eyes for 2 or 3 hours before my babies woke up.
and the thoughts. oh, the crazy crazy thoughts! never EVER of harming myself or my babies. but i was so, SO scared something bad was going to happen. jeremy would leave for work and i would break down in tears, convinced he was going to die. i would sit at a red light and watch cars cross the intersection and think “what if i didn’t see that red light and didn’t stop and that guy HIT me and i DIED???” and all of it would play out in my head like the most morbid horrifying movie and i would sob and sob.
i kind of thought…well, i don’t know what i thought. i didn’t really talk about it.
and right about the time i started thinking maybe it wasn’t normal, maybe i should talk to someone about this, i had an epiphany: maybe this is that ‘post-partum depression’ i’ve heard about.
huh.
and just that quickly—i was fine. i was all better.

with baby #3 i was more prepared. i was waiting for it. and when she was born our life was a whirlwind: a house undergoing major construction, running our own business, a 4 year old and 2 year old and newborn with a clubfoot and weekly doctor’s visits and cast changes and and and…

i started down that road—the crazy “what-if” thoughts. the morbid dramas playing out in my brain. and i remember distinctly thinking to myself one day
STOP.
you DO NOT HAVE TIME FOR THIS.

that was it. simply, i did not have the TIME to ALLOW myself to be depressed. to have post partum depression.

so i didn’t. weird, huh?
for a long time i was fine. i had dark times, here and there. but nothing drastic. like most women there was

always certain times of the month when i was a bit more prone to sadness and melancholy.

when i got pregnant with #4 i was over the moon. i had wanted another baby for a couple of years. this was our first planned pregnancy, and despite my sickness and tiredness i couldn’t WAIT to hold another baby in my arms.
but it was 2008.
do you remember 2008? it’s the year that the economy completely
t
a
   n
     k
        e
           d
without getting into too much of it, our family owned business did the same. we went months without a paycheck. we lived off our credit cards and savings. those same credit cards were maxed out to pay our employees salaries’ and buy supplies for the few jobs we did get.
we had three children and another one on the way.

whether it was hormones, or being older or something completely different or a combination i don’t know.
but that time, i couldn’t deal. i couldn’t will it away. or tell myself to STOP.

i started suffering first from anxiety. then panic attacks. i would awaken in the dead of night and completely go bonkers. i couldn’t stop my brain. i literally could not stop my legs from moving and kicking. i would cry and be hysterical and unable to control the thoughts. unable to move on, to talk myself out of it. apologizing over and over to jeremy for my craziness. for waking him up. for being unable to stop.

what if we lose our house? WHAT IF WE LOSE OUR HOUSE? and the logical side of me would say, “yeah. what if we lose our house? we have strong families who love us. it’s FAR from the end of the world.”
and yet…

i was simply unable to cope. it was a dark time. and it was time to get help. my midwife suggesting talking to my primary doctor. my primary doctor was afraid to do anything, considering i was five months pregnant.
i don’t blame either of them—they are both excellent practitioners. but i see clearly how easily these kinds of things remain untreated. it is a huge, difficult step to take to ask for help. and when that cry for help isn’t immediately answered, it’s all to easy to forget about it. to retreat back into your shell.

my midwife met me at the office on her day off to talk with me. she felt strongly that i was in a place that required medication to help me to cope. i agreed.

i have been on that medication now for almost 3 1/2 years. through my pregnancy with gigi, post-partum with her. throughout my pregnancy with elliot and now post-partum.
i tried coming off once, but it boiled down to this: i am a better mother on it.
i’m not going to debate the pros and cons. i’m not going to listen to anyone’s opinion who is not my personal medical provider.

but the facts for me are thus: if i have high blood pressure, and i choose not to medicate, the only one who suffers is ME. if i have a headache, and i choose not to medicate, the only one who suffers is ME.
if i have depression and anxiety and i choose to live that way, the ones to suffer are my FAMILY. my children. my husband.
and it’s not fair to them.

the problem is my medicine doesn’t seem to be working quite as well these days. they say it could be because i’ve been on it so long. my body could be adjusting.

we tried raising my dosage.

it was a very odd feeling. i was still depressed. i was still down. i was still sad. but i was very flat.
“shannon, your clothes are on fire.”
“meh. oh well. never much liked these pants anyway.”

Source: jackcards.com via Shannon on Pinterest

i realized that was not the way to go. we discussed switching medications. for now though, i’ve gone back to my normal dose. we also discussed “talking to someone.” i’m not entirely sure i want to go that route. maybe this, this blog post—this can be my talking to someone. i tend to keep myself to myself in these kinds of things. i have a hard time saying the words out loud. it’s easier for me to write them. i picture myself sitting in a therapist’s office, unable to speak the words. writing things on a piece of paper.

i’m trying.

i have days of nothing. i know my weak spots: if i come home from taking the older three to school, and i’m still in my jammies, and i sit and do nothing for even a small amount of time—it snowballs. it turns into a down day.

and down days lead to berating myself as a Bad Mother and a Bad Wife. and then i Overdo.
so i try to keep moving.

but then i get caught up. and i Overdo.

that day? that day i mentioned at the beginning where i was scrubbing while my baby screamed?

i STOPPED. i got myself under control. i ran a warm bath and held my sick baby in the steamy bathroom, soaking and looking into her eyes. she didn’t even want to nurse. she just wanted to be held in her mommy’s arms.

i’m struggling. i’m battling. i hope i’m winning.

the awkward vegetarian

Source: google.co.za via Shannon on Pinterest

i’ve been basically vegetarian since i was about 13 years old.

i say basically, because there’s been a few times during my pregnancies where my body was all “MUST HAVE MEAT. NOW.” and i tend to listen to my body at those times…i figure maybe it’s trying to tell me something.

of course, those dabbles in carnivorous-ness usually don’t end well.

i’ll leave it there.

;)

i’m not one of those vegetarians though that’s all I DON’T EAT MEAT=I AM BETTER THAN YOU.

at least, i don’t think i am.

i still use leather—it’s not a “save the animals” type of activism-eating.

Source: google.com via Shannon on Pinterest

and i don’t choose vegetarianism for my children—although we are not huge meat eaters as a family—my googies are just as happy eating a hamburger as they are a tofu casserole or lentil loaf.

i remember it clearly—i had just eaten a huge cheesesteak, and it was sitting like a lead weight in the bottom of my stomach (which, ironically—cheesesteaks are one of the only things i really miss. can i get a philly shout-out? holla!).

“this can’t be right”, i thought. “there has to be a better way to feel after you eat.”

and that was it.

at this point, almost 20 years later, i honestly have no craving or taste for meat. chicken kinda grosses me out.

Source: theopenpantry.blogspot.com via Shannon on Pinterest

so i guess i’m more of an experimental vegetarian, and then it stuck.

maybe this is my long-winded explanation of why i'm such an awkward vegetarian, then.

when people invite us for dinner, they're all "OH! you're a vegetarian?!? what can i make you?" and i'm all nothing i'm fine i'll just eat the rolls don't worry about it.

when people were bringing us meals during the rough months of my last pregnancy, they'd ask what they could make and i'd be like "oh, just make whatever for the kids and jeremy. i'll figure something out for myself."

fortunately i have wonderful friends and family--who made us things like lasagna and vegetarian shephard's pie and yummy salads--and didn't listen to me.

Source: thinkgeek.com via Shannon on Pinterest

so a couple of weeks ago when i took gigi to her princess party the hostess said "i forgot you are a vegetarian!", and then i did my typical "no don't worry about it i'll just eat the potato chips."

and she said no! look! i made you THIS!

there was corn. and some chopped up radishes. and some tortillas. and some cheese.

::crickets::

cause, really, let's call a spade a spade.

 i'm not so much a vegetarian as a macandcheeseatarian. a frenchfryatarian.

the bean sprouts and the mushrooms and the rabbit food? yeah, not so much.

i like good, warm, hearty meals.

just--without meat.

Source: piccsy.com via Shannon on Pinterest

but i was a good guest.

thank you! yummm!

and i ate it. and you know what???

it was mad good.

so good in fact, that i got the recipe from her and made it for my family and my in-laws.

so there.

i'm a vegetarian. and i'm better than you.

Source: google.com via Shannon on Pinterest

okay then.

i present, for your amusement, ME. as summed up by my oldest.

i’m not sure who scribbled it all out, but i found this paper laying on the counter.

i’ll translate for you:

Realated (sic) – Mom
Hair Color – Red
Eye color – gray
skin – freckled

and then, that bottom part….

Her job: crafting, making babies

okay, then.

and i wasn't even chasing waterfalls.

i might just go with it.
you know, call myself "left eye"...throw a smudge of whatever that inky stuff football players use under it.

of course, with freakishly dilated pupils like these...



i may not need the addition of wacky makeup.

here's the thing--in the words of my friend, we're just going to write off 2011. i got my baby ell out of it, but beyond that, it's kinda been a lousy year. i'm actually tired of telling people about my health problems. i never thought i'd be that person.

so i figure maybe if i say it real real fast it's better somehow?
okay, ready--read this like that micromachines guy used to talk on the commercial:

you can't see it in this picture, but just on the edge of the black part of my eye is a small white dot thingy.
apparently sometimes when you're sitting on the couch nursing your baby and your 2 year old gets excited about the paper that came in the mail that has sesame street characters on it and waves it at you and hits your eyeball, then you can get a corneal abrasion, which is essentially a paper cut on your eyeball and while gross and annoying, you've had one before and really it isn't a huge deal, until the next day when it REALLY HURTS so you go to the eye doctor and she kind of scoffs at you all "it's not very big. i don't know why you're in so much pain. i guess everyone's pain tolerance is different" and you're all "uh, i've given birth naturally four and a half times i'm no pain wimp and i'll cut you girlfriend and then we'll see who's in pain" and then by the next morning when you can't even open your eye because the sun feels like it's shooting flaming arrows directly into your brain and you're nursing your baby and whimpering a little and you're thinking you may need to go to the ER, but the other eye doctor tells you to just come in first thing so you do (holding your hands over your eyes the entire way there like an unsparkly vampire lady because DEAR LORD THE SUN. IT BURNS.) and he all nonchalantly tells your abrasion has become infected and developed a corneal ulcer, which has been described as the equivalent of an abcess or open sore in your eye.
and then you kind of throw up in your mouth a little because, well, that's just gross.

awesome, right?

gigi's little fancy hand manuever with the paper has cost us $140 in doctor's visits co-pays, $100 in prescriptions, and--had it been about 1/8 of an inch to the left--almost cost me my sight.

my 4x a day routine

the ulcer (gag) seems to finally be healing. but because it's healing it's creating a scar. i have a blurry spot on the edge of my vision. the doctor has me on steroid drops to try and control and minimize scarring and prevent permanent vision loss.

i think i'm just going to have super STRONG VISION.

then i really will need my awesome cyclops glasses permanently.

seriously not how i wanted to debut my new hair cut.

the nitty gritty

this is basically the email i sent to a dear friend who, like me, just loves all things birth related—including all the gory details. i’m posting it here for myself—this blog is also a diary of sorts—and for any of you who may also enjoy this sort of thing (i’m lookin’ at you dmcL hehehe)

it’s not necessarily gory—but let’s face it—birth ain’t pretty. i mean, it’s glorious and magical in the whole “bringing a new life into the world” sort of way…but it’s also a very…what’s the word i’m looking for? animalistic process.

at least for me it is. i’m definitely not one of those calm and collected women who does her makeup, drips a single bead of sweat and makes a polite lady-like grunt as the head emerges.

i hate those women.

so i can guarantee you that if you read the following story you will hear about the following things: my cervix, pee, poop, the toilet, and stitches. and you will see some extremely unflattering photos of me. i’m not always the curled and pressed vixen you see there on my sidebar. (but nothing x-rated. i’m not sharing that much)

it may change your opinion of me, it may not. i’m taking the whole “blogger keepin’ it real yo” thing to a whole new level. you’ve seen my dirty laundry, you’ve read about my health issues. it’s really only fair that now you hear about my dilation.

should you chose not to continue, here’s the cliff notes short version: water broke, went to hospital, i’m a-ok…la de da, cracking jokes and hanging out. then, craziness and screaming and within an hour or two there’s a baby.

long version…well, don’t say i didn’t warn ya :0)

(as background: i use a midwife but deliver in a hospital. i also get no epidural, and try to keep it as natural and uncomplicated as possible. my last delivery (little bear) was induced with pitocin, but no epidural or pain meds. i managed okay, but desperately wanted to avoid another induction and/or pitocin with this delivery)

everything went fine. it went the way i was afraid it was going to go--given how this entire pregnancy had been, well, basically miserable long tiring and difficult. so it was no surprise that the labor was also miserable long tiring and difficult, even though it was #5. i guess you can kind of tell from the fact that my water broke around 10:30/11 am and she wasn't born until almost midnight. (actually, we all kind of think it was after midnight, but the nurses were just doing us a solid so we could leave on Saturday! hehehe)

thursday (5/26) i was kind of reaching a whole new level of miserable. wednesday (5/25)afternoon i started having cont about every 4 minutes, i was queasy and shaky and didn't feel good at all. went to bed, they didn't stop. woke up at 3am...still contracting.

jeremy (aka the googiedaddy) stayed home from work to come to my midwife appt./non-stress test with me, and we decided to take the bags and car seat and everything. kind of a premonition i guess? haha...maybe just mommy/daddy intuition. so the midwife could see i was miserable, i was crying—which we agreed was always a good sign.

she did the nonstress test...i was still contracting every 4 minutes. we decided to have a cervical check to see if anything was happening. she said "well, you're OH!" and my water broke--popped really--all over her, her feet, the floor...hehehe. She said she was just about to say "you're a good 3 cm now and the bag of water is bulging right here".

I just started crying because it was FINALLY HAPPENING, and because i wasn't being induced. Yay!

So we went to get some bagels and called everybody and headed to the hospital....everyone thinking this is going to be pretty quick. the nurses set the labor room up for delivery pretty much right after i got there.

about 2 hrs after my water broke, still 3 cm. 2 hrs after that, 4 cm. 2 hrs after that, still 4 cm. my contractions were piddly little things. definitely stronger than the ones i had before my water broke, but i knew i wasn't dilating.

at that point the midwife said it was maybe time for "a mere wisp of pit", just to get things moving. at that point the nurse was saying “ohh, this is all your body needs...you'll probably have this baby in an hour.”

i wasn’t feeling so sure.

i'm telling you, i was soooo exhausted and miserable and just...downhearted. i DIDN'T want pitocin, but at the same time, I WAS DONE. part of me just wanted to get an epidural, crank up the pit, take a nap and wake me when she's crowning. honestly...if they had started talking c-section i may have gone for it. (the blessings of a midwife...no talk of pain meds or c-section...it was all me hehehe)

they started the pitocin low, and kept it low...i only got to 9, whereas by the time i delivered little bear i think it was at 28 or something. high 20's, i know that.

it just took HOURS. every time i changed position contractions would space out or stop for a while. every time i had to pee they would unhook me, and the contractions would just completely stop for 20 minutes. i finally said don't unhook me--just let me take the bag into the bathroom! i felt like all i was doing was sitting there, watching hours tick by on the clock. i handle these contractions well. the pain wasn’t enormous, we watched tv and sat. i couldn’t visit my babies—they weren’t allowed into L&D and i wasn’t allowed out. i was miserable.

early labor. still (sort of) smiling.

 

around 10 pm i asked to be checked because it was getting so late and we weren't sure what to do with the kids, if they should stay or go. (i could only have 4 people in the room for the actual delivery, so it was jeremy, the moms and girlfriend girl. everyone else could come in right after the birth, and i really wanted the other kids to be able to do that rather than wait until the next day) At that point I was still only 5-6 cm, -2 station. and there wasn't even any forewaters or anything that she could maybe break to get the baby to move down a bit more.

we decided to have them wait another hour, and if it still wasn't moving they'd get going for the night.

this is about where i turn the corner—my last 3 labors (including this one) have had a similar pattern. lots of waiting around—but suddenly it’s as if my body goes WHOA! let’s get this thing movin’! within a 1/2 hour or so the cont really picked up some steam. i said i wanted to go to the bathroom, and she said i could, but NO PUSHING. I had about 3 good strong transition contractions (which i did push a little bit through haha) sitting on the potty. it's amazing the difference though--i did about the same thing with little bear--a couple good strong transition cont sitting on the toilet pushed me from like 5-6 to 9 with a lip. but the INTENSITY of the contractions on full-on pitocin vs. just a tiny bit (and even vs. no pit at all if i think back to transition with the boy & tiny tim who were completely natural births—not so much as an iv)--seriously--like night and day. i was even saying to jeremy that they couldn't be transition because they weren't as bad as with little bear (despite my shaking uncontrollably, feeling like i needed to poop and starting to grunt and feel pushy haha)

we walked back out to the room, and I did 2 or 3 contractions standing up, and on the last one i said "I'M PUSHING!!!" (haha..."said"...right. more like yelled/cried/whined)

they got me on the bed and i'm not sure how far i was, but not 10. she said i could do some little pushes, just to get her head down. I asked for the squat bar, because i swear this child was sitting right on my tail bone and I couldn't take it.

I was pushing and pushing and pushing and pushing....everyone was doing the old "you're doing great! she's right there!" and I was all "YOU'RE A BUNCH OF BIG FAT STUPID LIARS I"VE HAD 4 OTHER BABIES AND I KNOW SHE'S STILL HIGH I CAN FEEL IT ALL I'M DOING IS POOPING ON THE BED"

to which they replied “but that has to get out of the way first for the babies head to come down.” yeah, thanks. jerks.

then the midwife got rid of the squat bar because she was coming down pretty quickly in that position and had me go back to the classic pushing position. but I couldn't take the pressure on my tailbone. so she told me to try pushing on my side. i did that for one contraction and i HATED it. I said as much and they said I could lay back again.

sidebar: any of my natural birthin’ mommas out there—do you ever find, even in the midst of the hard core craziness of pushing, when you’re nothing but pain and muscle—there’s a rational little voice inside your head that’s fully aware of what’s happening around you? seeing what’s going on? to the others you’re yelling “GET IT OUT!” but your inside person is saying to you “uh—dummy, only YOU can get it out. so chillax and push dude.” anyone? cause i totally have that. anyway…back to my story…

so then Rational Voice In My Head said "you hate it because it hurts. it hurts because it's working. you can feel her moving down finally. no position is going to be comfortable...just do it. Nike."

kidding...my inner voice isn't really sponsored by Nike.

so it was a couple more minutes of pushing at that point. i gave up waiting for contractions and just pushed like a woman possessed until she came out. they kept telling me to breath and i kept saying no...haha. i'll breath when I'm done.

seriously, when she finally came out i thought to myself "i should turn over and see my baby" and then right after that i thought "i don't even care. i just want to lay here and be NOT PREGNANT and NOT PUSHING and NOT IN PAIN for a minute and know that' it’s finally O.V.E.R.".

so i laid there until they made me turn over...ha :o) i basically had jeremy in a headlock the whole time, so i'm sure he appreciated that. :o)

anyway, 45 minutes of pushing--which i haven't pushed that long since I had #1—and only 8 lbs 7 oz--my smallest since #2 who was 8 lbs. 5 oz...both things completely unexpected.

 

BUTTTTT....NO STITCHES! Pretty much the last coherant thing I said before pushing really got moving was "c---- (my mw), I've never ever had stitches. GOT IT?" After that I degenerated into lots of "why didn't I get an epidural?" "i wish i had an epidural" "i'm never doing this again" "help me" and "get her OUUUUUTTTTT"....

that’s a tired lady. and a tired little bear who really didn’t understand or care when everyone kept saying “look! baby sister is here!”

so there it is, in as much graphic detail as I can remember for you. and for me. an epic reminder of just why it is that i never, ever, EVER want to do this again.

 

under pressure

percentage of the world’s population with red hair— 1-2%

percentage of the world’s population that is left handed— 8-15%

percentage of women experiencing postpartum hypertension— approx. 10%

see? i always knew i was special.

or a freak, some may say. but i know better. i’m spaay-shul.

last week we were over the in-laws, happily showing off five to visiting family.

i was starting to feel okay—my myriad issues seemed to be resolving. sure, i had had a headache for a few days…sure, my vision was a little blurry… but seriously—i’m working on just a few hours sleep with a newborn. normal, right?

and then googiedaddy decided to take his blood pressure. (yeah, that’s what you do for giggles when you’re hanging at the in-laws house) the bp cuff made the rounds of the room, everyone comparing.

then it got to me.

“oh, my blood pressure is always soooo low,” i chortled confidently. “if my diastolic is over 70 that’s high for me!”

famous.last.words.

153/104

huh. take 2—ditto. takes 3, 4 and 5—all about the same.

maybe it’s a fluke?

so tuesday night we checked it again.

151/100

weeeirrrd. so i did what anyone else would do—turned to the internet.

dr. google was not my friend that night: filling my head with words like hypertension and postpartum pre-eclampsia and seizure and…death.

i called my midwife’s office first thing wednesday morning, and when i told the receptionist my numbers her response was immediate: “can you come in today?”

my midwife listened to my story, and checked my blood pressure. yup, it was high. i had earned myself labwork and meds and bedrest and even a big orange jug to save all my pee-pee in for 24 hours! yay!

told you i was special.

so here i am…on bedrest. (i barely escaped readmission to the hospital. guess i’m not that special)

AGAIN.

my labs came back okay on friday, and they took some more blood to check again. i have an appointment with a blood pressure specialist on thursday.

until then, i float between bed and couch…watching yet more tv, playing more boggle on my phone, and reading more useless things on the internet. 

when i lay down my pressure drops as low as 110/60. when i sit up, it shoots up. if i stand? ugh. we won’t go there. it’s not pretty.

so, as usual, my life has a theme song.

It's the terror of knowing
What the world is about
Watching some good friends
Screaming 'Let me out'

and for that brain worm…you’re welcome. :)

 

missing

i spent some time browsing through my google reader this evening.

when your “all items” has a 4 digit number next to it…it tends to get a little overwhelming.

so i began quickly scanning…and boy do i miss it.

i miss the cooking.
i miss the crafting.
i miss the photography.
i miss sewing.
i miss writing posts that make you me laugh.

i’m ready to engage in life again.

i am taking it slow though. as a should-have-been-expected follow up to my miserable and painful pregnancy, i am now enjoying a miserable and painful recovery.
i have not had difficult recoveries with any of my babies. despite all my nurses’ fears (“redheads bleed more!!!”) i’ve generally had uncomplicated deliveries—no drugs, no stitches, no problems.

i seem to have pushed it a bit too far this time: weird and debilitating pains in my belly (most likely a pulled abdomen muscle from pushing, and then exacerbated by my stupidly picking up little bear 5 days post-partum), some extra bleeding, and now a course of antibiotics for a stubbornly swollen uterus and strict instructions from my midwife to STAY IN BED another week…

please…DON’T GET ME WRONG.

i have this:

 

and of course that makes it all worthwhile.

she has fluffy soft hair and kissable lips. everyday i see her getting plumper and filling out with tiny rolls starting on her scrawny chicken legs (did i mention i produce CREAM not milk?). i stare at her and can’t believe i had another baby. i love her smell and her long fingers and her tiny shell-like ears…and the little satisfied happy noises she’s making right now next to me in bed.

who wouldn’t like that?

but i’m more of a doer than a sitter. googiedaddy keeps finding me sneaking a load of laundry in the washer…cleaning bedrooms…making beds…
and pushing me back to the bedroom to SIT. more. and it’s getting old.

slow and steady wins the race. baby steps. i’ll be back.

and now we wait

i'm boring. i know, and i'm sorry.


it's just that pretty much the only thing running through my head right now is "tenmoredaystenmoredaystenmoredays"


tomorrow it will be "ninemoredaysninemoredaysninemoredays".


and really...that just doesn't make for exciting blog posts.


i mean, i do get the occasional "what if my water breaks riiiighhhtt..NOW!" thought. but as suspenseful as that is for me, i'm not sure it really translates well to you.
because, well, my water didn't break.


suspense over.

i'm like the worst m. night shyamalan movie ever. you know, like, worse than the lady in the water or the lady of the lake or whatever that one was.

so, i clean. i "nest". i've washed tiny baby clothes, inhaling their precious scent and marveling over the fact that in mere days there will be a tiny body to fill them.

i've washed and assembled the car seat and it waits by the front door, currently filled with little bear's doll--her "baby sister" she calls it.

we took the kids to "build-a-{overpricedinsanelyexpensive}-bear" to make a present for their baby sister. it has their voices yelling "we love you baby sister" when you squeeze it's belly. ($8 additional)

my mom and i picked five's "coming home" outfit, something that has become our little tradition. (i pick, she buys. gotta love those traditions) it was a painful experience...literally. one that had me sitting on the floor of sears saying "yes. i love it. buy it. WHATEVER."

pretty much any sort of continuous upright movement brings on some fairly heavy duty contractions that start to get downright ouchy after a while. thus my unplanned department store sit-in.

i even went so far as to have googiedaddy get a suitcase from the attic and started putting stuff in it.

"hmmm...nursing bra? check. one pound of sour patch kids? check. whelp, i think i'm done here." (dusts off hands)
that's how you roll when it's #5 my friends. boil it down to the bare essentials.

and while this is all fascinating to me--being as i am a living, breathing incubator at the moment...i'm fairly certain it doesn't hold quite the same magnetism for you.

so, i'll just keep you briefly updated:

tenmoredaystenmoredaystenmoredaystenmoredays.

i think i'll go pull those sour patch kids back out of the suitcase. and maybe netflix a little m. night.

take your protein pills and put your helmet on

this is it.

t minus 30 days.

i'm so close i can feel it.
no, really--i can literally FEEL it.

in every move i make it feels like this child is ready to...ahem...fall out.

fortunately i'm moving a touch easier these days. i had lots of concerned messages...and i want to give everyone an update.
i did a number of sessions with the physical therapist.

the "AHA" moment was when i said to her "i feel like i want someone to grab me by the head and feet and yank."

she said "can you lay flat for a bit?"
then we tried this..

okay, so it wasn't actually the rack. but it was similar. and ya know what? it helped. (those medieval guys were totally whiners. to me--that looks like the best.thing.ever.)

i don't know what it was--maybe it was the baby pressing on some nerve. and maybe pulling me apart a couple times like that jiggled something to move.

whatevs. all i know is i went from excrutiating pain on a constant basis back down to threat level yellow.

(whoa...astronaut mixed with medieval and a little government all mixed in today. keep up with my metaphors people--they move quick)

so thank you for all your well-wishes and concern. i really really appreciate it. more than i can express.

meanwhile i think we're finally beginning to realize that we're going to have a new baby in this house--sooner rather than later. it's probably time to start making some preparations.

if i can say this without jinxing myself--i really don't feel like it's going to be another 30 days. i'm having some serious contractions on a pretty regular basis.  this baby feels HUGE--she IS huge. huge enough that my midwife sent me for another ultrasound.

the verdict? "she's big, but probably your normal." thanks. what that really meant: "yes, you're going to be pushing another giant baby out of your nether regions. maybe next time you won't pick a 6'4" man to marry and father your babies."

so i'm trying to get moving...you know, just without actually moving. thank goodness for amazon.com and the internet. :o)

with a few clicks we had boxes of diapers and wipes and nursing pads and butt cream...technology is good ya'll.

the car seat and tiny girl clothes have come down from the attic.

when they'll get washed?

well...i still have 30 days. no rush.