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Archive for August, 2010

It was July 2001, and I was 9 months pregnant. Due in just weeks, I was as big and round as a cage ball but not as much fun. 

When you’re 9 months pregnant, you shouldn’t do more than sit on the couch in an air-conditioned house and watch “A Baby Story” on TLC. That is unless you have and another child. Who plays baseball. Whom you’re reassuring will be loved and cherished the same even after his new baby brother/sister comes along. 

Therefore, I was 9 months pregnant and sitting on the sideline of a baseball field in July. Watching 11-year-old boys play what can be one of the slowest sports around. 

And the absolute WORST part was not the baseball or the heat. 

They only had porta-potties at the field. 

Inside view of a portable toilet.

Morning sickness ain't got NOTHING on what THIS can do to a pregnant lady!

  

Do you know what a porta-potty smells like in…July heat…to a pregnant woman who sense of smell is on steroids? 

Vomitatstic. 

And what pregnant woman do you know who doesn’t pee every 5 minutes? 

I feared going to the games because I knew exactly what would happen. I wouldn’t drink water, and then I would start having Braxton-Hicks contractions because I was dehydrated. Then I would drink so I didn’t go into early labor, and then I had to pee. 

All I wished for in those moments was a bathroom with toilets whose contents got flushed and not marinated in 90-degree temps. 

So I got resourceful like smart mommies do. I drove to a nearby McDonald’s and peed in their bathrooms. 

And sometimes I got fries with that. 

FOOTNOTE: I actually went into labor at my son’s final all-star baseball game – jumping up during his infield-fly catch. And I stuck it out ‘til the game ended without anyone except my hubby knowing that I was having contractions every 5 minutes. The next morning I had another boy, who still loves to hear the story of how his mommy went into labor at a baseball game! 


 

This post was inspired by MamaKat’s Writer’s Workshop and this prompt: 

What did you wish for most? Write about a time when it was just too hot.

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Acoustic Soul

Image via Wikipedia

We’re getting ready to do some renovations in our house, so everything is being shifted from room-to-room and excess is being purged. That includes my CD collection.

While most of my CDs have been imported to my iTunes music library, I came across one that I forgot.

india.arie – Acoustic Soul

When I got this, I must’ve listened to “Video” a hundred times. If you haven’t heard it, you have to give it a listen. She’s soulful, grounded and smart. Or at least that’s what comes through to me.

Chorus:

I’m not the average girl from your video
and I ain’t built like a supermodel
But, I learned to love myself unconditionally
Because I am a queen

As an annoying self-critic – from a long line of brutal self-critics – I have tried to channel her body confidence without much luck. What is it in my genetics that makes me only see my flaws and not much more? Or could it be environmental? Caused by the unavoidable splash of skinny celebri-moms across every major magazine under headings like “How She Got Her Pre-Baby Body Back in Just One Month – And LOOK – No Stretch Marks!” And why does it all matter so much in the first place?

So, wishing I had Carson Kressly by my side, I did what the courageous women on “How to Look Good Naked” do…I stood in front of the mirror for some self-analysis and a serious lesson in body image improvement. It takes some time to adjust to seeing what’s good, and not what’s gone to hell. But I’m trying to focus.

I start at my head…I have good hair. Sure, it’s dyed. But it’s shiny and red. And red is fun and fiery.

Me and Ev after his dance recital

This is what I'm working with...surely posing hard to make my arms and face look thinner!

My freckles are in full effect from my beach vacation. They’re probably a sign of skin damage, but they make me look young.

My eyes are brown and gold and a little green. They glow when I laugh and smile.

My smile is wide and bright. Most people tell me that’s what they notice first about me.

My hands are rough, wrinkly and blunt – working hands. But they remind me of my grandma’s, and I love that.

My stomach is flat.

My legs are strong and powerful. When I touch them, I can feel the curve of the muscles in my quads, hamstrings and calves.

And that’s all I have to say about that.

I would encourage all women to do this. Especially any of you who also may be hating your muffin-tops, stretched out baby bellies and cellulite.

There’s lots to love about whatever you’re working with. Especially when you let yourself see it.

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