And then there were three...

It's been almost seven months since my last post in this blog but the stories haven't ended.  Much has happened since last October and I thought it only made sense for me to keep sharing my "adventures in motherhood" with my family, friends, and strangers.

As I write this, Roman, my 21 pound, six and a half month old baby has managed to figure out how to open the drawers of my coffee table with his feet...or toes.  I guess child-proofing the house from Baby MacGyver just got bumped up on my to-do list.  In all, motherhood has been the most introspective, inspiring, worth-while, exhausting, emotional, unnerving experience of my life.  If you choose to keep reading, you will see that while it hasn't always been fun, it's certainly one of the best blessings that I have ever received.

So what's next?

By the end of June 2011, I will make this blog private.  Why you ask?  First, although "MOFO" (my boss) is still a mofo, I don't want him to know how many times I came close to killing him during my pregnancy.  Second, if I ever turn this blog into a book, I guess I need to keep my cash cow a little closer to the chest.  Third, I want to focus more on writing on the crazy journey of motherhood in my new blog, "Breastmilk in a Martini Glass."

Why Breastmilk in a Martini Glass?

Motherhood can be nuts.  Nuts. Nuts. Nuts.  As someone who is a self proclaimed "shitty multi-tasker"  there have been many days (as you will read) where I literally haven't had time to eat anything but chocolate chip cookies because my days are jammed packed from 5:00 am - 10:00 pm.   To be fair, my sister would likely say the true source behind my action packed days is my anal retentiveness.  And compulsiveness.  Heck, I admit that I like things done my way.  But for the most part, I have come to realize that in order to keep my sanity and sense of self (while being the best person that I can be for my family) I've had to let go of an unrealistic sense of what being the perfect wife, mother, or woman looked like.  Motherhood is simply the most complicated balancing act anyone could experience and to find that balance, it takes letting go of our conventional ideas of what it means to be "perfect"  and simply doing the best that we can -- even if that means that we end up serving the baby breastmilk in a martini glass or end up drinking a cocktail from a bottle.  At the end of the day, as long as our families are provided for, who cares if the presentation is less than perfect?

Who's MommyJD (and the other writers on the blog)?

One of the best things that I've learned so far is that motherhood works much easier when you have a mental, physical, and spiritual support system.  Husbands are wonderful.  Parents are awesome.  But sometimes you need a girlfriend who will give you unsolicited honest advice, be an ear to listen, give you a "Go Get 'Em Tiger" speech when you need it.  I've been blessed with a handful of people who are all of the above and one of those people in particular, a friend who I will call 'MommyJD', became infamous during my pregnancy for sweeping in with the perfect tid-bit of random advice at the right time.  For that reason, when the time came to create another blog I figured she was the perfect person to drag along for the ride.

I am suddenly surrounded by so many awesome women who are trying to navigate this thing called "motherhood" and my hope is that "Breastmilk in a Martini Glass" will be a safe haven for any woman who has a funny or inspirational story to tell (or even if you just need to vent).   What I have learned is that sometimes it helps simply to know that you aren't the only one or the first person to experience a particular challenge.  In that spirit, I hope that the stories that you read on "Breastmilk in a Martini Glass" make you think, smile, and laugh.

Though the blog is still "under construction", please feel free to take a peek at milkinamartiniglass.blogspot.com and see what MommyJD and I have been up to.  If you are interested in writing an entry of your own, shoot us an email at milkinamartiniglass@gmail.com.

Yours Truly,

KWS

The "Waiting Period"

In one day, I will be 40 weeks pregnant. 

To put it another way, in four days I will have been pregnant for 280 days.

280 days equal approximately 76.7 percent of any given year.

For me this means that I have been pregnant from January through the end of October.

Three seasons have passed -- Winter, Spring, and Summer -- and now, I find myself in the midst of Fall.

Interesting how life happens, how the universe conspires, and how no next phase in our lives can be experienced without first learning the lesson(s) that God would ultimately want for us to master.

Right now I am tired.  I am tired and uncomfortable.  I can't sit comfortably, I can't stand comfortably, and  I can't lay comfortably -- so most of my days now are spent somewhere "in between" feeling elated that this is almost over and miserable because it is not over yet.

The "in between." 

Funny how that's where I find myself physically and mentally.  Somewhere between my sleeping positions and awake positions, somewhere between praying for patience and anxiously awaiting for the manifestation of the past 279 days of hoping and waiting -- I find myself in arm's reach and in line-of-sight of my blessing....

But like so many other times in life, God is saying..."wait".

I could spend my life studying or observing the nature of "God" because I see "Him" flowing in, through, and around all things, actions, and people.  Yet, no matter how much I try to understand myself through God and vice versa...there is one persistent lesson that God has tried to teach me which is how to find the blessing in "waiting".

I've always been told that God can give you three answers to any request, "Yes, No, or Wait."  Unlike the first two options, the true difficulty in accepting an answer of "wait" is that you must resist your own impulse after 1 day, 2 months, or 3 years of waiting to intercede on your own behalf and to move forward under your own devices.

So I've never done well with....waiting.

Yet, after I hadn't gone into labor by week 38 and I realized that all I could do IS wait, I began to reflect a little deeper on this proverbial lesson that continues to pop up time and time again throughout my life. 

I won't sit here and lie and say that the past two - three weeks have been easy -- a time where I have sat by the Lake and reflected on these things with a smile until the revelation of God showered down on me like fruit coming out of the sky.  I've had my moments of rolling my eyes at God, trying to negotiate with him, and choosing to ignore him momentarily for kinder friends called cheesecake, cookies, and "The Office".
Yet, as my mother has reminded me as of late..."God is the perfect gentlemen and will wait for you until you are ready...."

Once I finally gave in and gave God my full attention -- he revealed to me that oftentimes there are three reasons for being in a "waiting period" -- 1) To re-evaluate, 2) To re-affirm, or 3) To re-direct.  After some time to reflect on what this means for my life -- I wanted to share what I have learned.
 
My Re-evaluation:

When we are in periods of "waiting" we must often re-evaluate our current situation not through the lens of our own minds but through the eyes of God.  While this may seem like a predicament since we are not God we must remember that we can petition him to help us see the bigger picture.  It is so easy to see the small picture -- merely because we are limited in our comprehension of life as humans -- however, oftentimes if we allow God to show us the "Gods-eye" view -- then the unlearned lessons, the unfinished tasks/goals, and even the unreleased pain that has kept us from reaching our blessing will be revealed to us.

For me -- I realized that I had to seal the deal on my relationship with God.  Despite my life-long relationship with God, I recognized that I had been ignoring one important question for the past 5-6 months.   This question was "Do I trust God or not?"  Despite my church going, bible-reading, and inspiration seeking ways, a few months ago I realized that I had not truly trusted God is quite some time which was revealed to me in my difficulty to allow myself to "hope' for things.

The truth is that after the death of my closest friend a few days after I turned 21 and after seeing my father have to fight for his life on multiple occasions -- I began to always wait for the other shoe to drop.  Even in the midst of my happiest moments, I felt a pang of anxiety at some point, hoping and praying that something horrible wasn't right around the corner.  So my fear and anxiety sustained my relationship with God for many years as opposed to my faith and hope in "Him".

Had it not been for my experience of being mocked by my church's "Jesus Police" (See Blog Entry: "Jesus Be a Fence - Part III) I would have never been forced to reconsider the level of trust that I had in a God that I believed in for so long.  As much it bothered me,  I realized that the reason that no one in the basement of the church that night believed that I knew Jesus that night was because I no longer did.  I had allowed the real foundation of our relationship - trust and hope to fade.

My Re-affirmation:



Simply put, Romans 8: 24-25 reads: 

"..But hope that is seen is no hope at all. Who hopes for what he already has? 25 But if we hope for what we do not yet have, we wait for it [with perseverance]."

After reading it, I felt like Paul had called me out from over the balconies of heaven.  I practiced "hope" of a boot-leg kind -- one where I didn't have to practice it until the blessing was already in my hands.

"Thank you Lord for getting me this job! I shole was hoping I would get it!"

"Thank you Lord for allowing me to be able to afford these shoes!  I shole was hoping that my debit card wouldn't get rejected!"

All very sad examples of putting "hope" in God.

But as God would have it -- here I find myself in a situation where all I can do is HOPE.  Sure I provided the egg and Pat provided the sperm -- but only by a flash of grace and after 279+ days of HOPING (for what I have not yet seen) can I bring my baby, my blessings, into the world.

My Re-direction:

So my redirection is choosing to walk in hope and not fear.  What I had to realize about the painful things of my past is that each and every time -- God has gotten me through each of them.  Whether death, heartbreak, illness, or loss of a friendship, etc -- each time, I have gotten through it undoubtedly wiser, stronger, and better.  So insofar as that I know that I can make it through the tribulations, in faith - in mind-boggling, makes no sense to the world, unshakable faith - I choose with excitement and anticipation to focus on the hope of the blessings that God has for me.

With Love,

Kirstin, mother of Roman Dean Smith

Give Us Us Free

My last day working with MOFO (for the foreseeable future) was on Friday, October 1, 2010.

When I walked out of that office (an hour earlier than I was supposed to), I experienced a sense of joy and happiness that I had never felt in my entire life.

Part of me was happy to be leaving that experience because it was emotionally, mentally, and physically draining as well as retarding to my overall personal growth. Another part of me was grateful to have completed that particular "assignment" in life's journey and for the first time in a long time, I felt confident that I had learned the lesson that God wanted me to learn. I felt great because as I walked out of that office, I was determined to not ever take a job in government, with politicians, or just for money again.

So the million dollar question was, "what are you going to do now that you are done with work and may never have to see MOFO again?"

While I thought that I would enjoy long, endless, days of lemonade, my down comforter on the couch, and action movies -- the truth is that my first week off of work made me feel like an emancipated slave that didn't realize that she was free.

From Monday through Wednesday, I still checked my work email, took phone calls from the job (unnecessarily), worked on the baby's nursery, exchanged duplicate gifts from the shower, ran errands, and cooked like nothing had even changed.

But by Thursday, I had a long talk with myself regarding the need to slow down and allowing myself to actually relax.  I recognized that if I didn't bring things down a notch that I would burn myself out before the baby even got here and would end up having a nervous breakdown my the time the baby was 1 week old.

So on Thursday I went and got my hair done and on Friday I went to my favorite spa and allowed myself to relax and enjoy peace, quiet, and stillness.

I've even began to host "Hot Chocolate/Chili/Tea Time" socials with friends during the weekends so I won't develop cabin fever.  Today will be Chili Sunday with the Sister Circle and I'm just glad that I'll have some company to keep me from shampooing the apartment again or from thinking too much about my gigantic stomach and swollen ankles.

So there it is family and friends, this is my state of well being as of 10.10.10.  I'll continue to blog as exciting events occur, but its likely that the next time that you hear from me - I'll be blogging through my labor or introducing you to my sweet little boy!

Talk to you soon!

R.I.P My "Wild African Bush"

Week 36

At this point in every woman's pregnancy, I am certain that proper consideration must be given to some of the more intimate details of your labor.

Sure you have to consider whether you are going natural or with an epidural. And you should at least rule out narcotics in the event that you begin to hyperventilate or hallucinate. Vaginal delivery or elective C-Section? All important questions to consider. But the one question that often goes ignored until the last minute is...

..."Should I go with my natural "bush" or should I go Brazilian?"

I, like so many other women (I later realized) pondered this question for weeks. After realizing that I could barely reach my pooch to wipe myself, I ruled out the option of shaving it myself to eliminate the risk of hurting "her". And the thought of waxing  "down there" so close to labor didn't sit completely well with me so I had pretty much decided to go the natural route.

So one day, when my sister asked me to accompany her to a wax place in Rogers Park I was still pretty confident that I wouldn't be partaking in the services. I figured that many slaves and women in underdeveloped countries delivered babies everyday with a fully covered vagina and that if it worked for them, then it would work just fine for me.

When we walked into "Dipsi's Wax Shop", the owner, a beautiful Indian woman named Dipsi asked my sister and I what services we were getting and I told her that I was still considering whether I would get anything but that she could see my sister first while I decided.

As I sat there waiting, I began to lean towards getting a bikini wax so that I didn't look a complete hot mess once I was on the delivery table doing to spread eagle for all of my family and doctor to see.

Five minutes later she came out of the room and asked me what I had a decided to do. I told her that I was going to get a bikini wax and she told me to go into the room where my sister was. Initially, I felt a little awkward because I didn't want to see my sister doing the spread eagle, but to my relief and surprise when I walked in there my sister was already dressed, telling me that she was completely done.

Moments later Dipsi walked back in.

"Oh, you so pregnant!! When are you due?" Dipsi asked

"I'm due October 22, so about four more weeks." I replied

"So you taking all off right?" Dipsi questioned

"Oh no, Miss Dipsi...I'm going to just get a bikini wax and if you could trim the rest that would be great."

"No...no, we don't trim here...you lay down now."

"Oh...okay...well maybe I should just get a bikini wax then...I'll trim when I get home..."

"No, I take it off now..."

(By this time half of my private part was covered with wax)

"But Miss Dipsi...I don't know if..."

RRRRRIIIIIIPPPPP!

(Breathing hard and trying to push my 20 pound stomach up off the table)...

"Wait...wait...Miss Dispi...I don't know if this is right!" I began to shout with a raised voice.

"No you lay down...we take care of this now and no need to trim."

RIIIIIIIIIIPPPPP!

(By this time I am sweating and shaking because of how painful it was and how fast she was taking off all of my hair.)

"Wait! Wait! Ms. Dipsi...I can't take it! No really. I can't take it...just wait! Please.I need a moment!"

"We almost done! Now spread your legs high and pull them close!"

By this time I was scared of her and couldn't believe that she had managed to wax me completely bald in less than 3 minutes flat.

RRRRRIIIIPPPP!

By this time, I was in a combination of shock, pain, and trauma so that last rip of hair didn't even feel so bad...

"So you see...you done. No trimming needed. Baby come and doctor can see. Okay. You happy?"

As I wiped the sweat off my forehead and neck I could only whimper out a "yes, Ms. Dipsi..thank you."

Once we got inside of the car, I told my sister that I didn't know if my vagina would physically or emotionally recover from what just happened. But I must admit, in retrospect, I am going into labor a bit more confident knowing that there isn't a jungle "down there" and that baby's first peek into this world will be obstruction-free and clear.

Finally! Everything is done!

My husband, mother, and sister are convinced that I am nuts.

One day after the baby shower, I had completely unpacked all of the gifts, put everything inside of it's appropriate drawer, and began to sort laundry that needed to be pre-cleaned before the baby can wear it.

Two days after the shower, I had gone through my nursery checklist and ordered all outstanding items from baby Babies R Us.com and Amazon.

Three days after the shower, I was shampooing my carpet for the 15th time. in three weeks.

Four days after the shower, I was putting together the stroller, baby swing, diaper drawers, and animal mobile for the baby's bed.

(Sidenote, now that I am typing all of this out...I guess I do sound a bit crazy...)

Everyone keeps asking me to stop doing stuff, but the truth is that I just can't.

I was a bit neurotic with a touch of anxiety before I got pregnant now I think I just have developed clinically diagnosable OCD, ADD, and I'll throw Turrets in there considering how I used to curse about MOFO.

Eventually, I figure I'll either run out of steam or the baby will just fall out in the middle of me cleaning my bathtub so I try not to worry to much about being "too" active.

Yet, I must admit, that its getting a bit more difficult as the days go by - not because I am exhausted but because my stomach won't allow me to reach up (to organize the cabinets) or down (to reorganize my shoes) for too long without tipping over.

But I really am trying to slow down...I really am. It's just extremely hard when you have nothing to do but wait.
'
I feel like perhaps there is a lesson in this time that I am supposed to learn - a lesson besides how to shampoo a three bedroom apartment in less than 30 minutes. So I am truly going to try to stop and listen and learn from this "waiting period" in my life because I know that one day I'll look back at this time and wish that I would have allowed myself more time to relax and prepare for the multitude of ways that my life is about to change.

Oh no....there's a banana in my tailpipe!

One week after my shower, I officially made nine months (ie  36 weeks). Despite the issues that I had with fluctuating blood pressure and swelling around my feet during the hot weather - I was grateful that I made it nine months without any tremendous health issues. Even my stretch marks were minimal, just two small areas on the sides of my back, so I was feeling confident that the worse of my pregnancy was far behind me.

So one day as I was enjoying my "spa time" in the shower, lathering up with my spearmint eucalyptus bath bar, and getting ready to have a relaxing and awesome time with my warming eucalyptus scrub, you can imagine my surprise when my euphoria was interupted abruptly when I realized that I had hemorrhoids.

I usually wait to wash "down there" last so when I went to wash "back there" and felt the banana in my tailpipe, I was a bit confused at first.

Now what the heck is going on back there? I thought...

(Clearly this was my first time in life ever having this problem.)

I was in denial at first because I couldn't believe that my body would wait until I was in my last and final month to do this to me. I stood there hoping that "my situation" didn't look anything like how I always imagined hemorrhoids to look -- something like the buttocks of an orangutan or maybe a chimpanzee. There was an odd level of shame that I felt about the whole thing, perhaps since this was my first time experiencing this or maybe because I felt like it may appear like I wasn't taking care of myself the best way that I could.
...Funny, I had no idea that I had a prejudice against people with hemorrhoids until that moment.

After about 5 minutes of considering alternatives diagnosis to my "situation" - suddenly, like the pieces of a puzzle, everything started to make sense.

My revelation came slowly....

..."So my anemia led to me taking iron pills which led to the constipation which led to the pressure on my booty which led to the hemorrhoids!...

...and since I have to lift up my stomach when I pee to ensure that everything in my bladder is coming out surely the baby is putting just as much pressure on my intestines and stomach...which is also putting pressure on my butt and causing hemorrhoids!"

My remedial medical diagnosis made me feel alot better although my hemorrhoids did not. So this is a new reality for me...living with hemorrhoids that is, and I'm learning to take it one bathroom visit at a time.  If you are pregnant and suffering like me here are three tips - keep a stash of baby wipes in your bathroom and in your purse, drink plenty of water, and stay away away from the spicy foods and icecream (it's a small sacrifice in exchange for a little peace of mind "back there".)

The Best Shower Ever!!

Ingredients to a great baby shower:

1.) Great Family and Friends
2.) The "Baby Maker" Cocktail (One part fruit punch, two parts Bacardi Rum)
3.) Pin the Sperm on the Egg (the Game)
4.) Fried Chicken, Macaroni, and plenty of other alcohol absorbing food


In retrospect, the weeks leading up to my baby shower weren't very eventful. As my sister drove around town collecting blue onesie picture frames which would act as my favors, and my parents spent days replacing the everything from the carpet in the basement to the yard set, Patrick and I tried not to think too much about it because the truth is that neither of us really wanted to assume that anyone would come.

I know that sounds pessimistic but I think a better way to look at it is that we went into the shower with a pragmatic outlook. 1) It's still a recession - no matter what MSNBC reports, 2) We just got married a year ago and people may be upset that we just sent our thank you cards out a month ago, and 3) In general, neither of us like to bank on others doing stuff for us, so we just thought it would be best to prepare to buy everything that we needed, from the bibs to the bottles to the Baby Einstein play-yard ourselves.

Nevertheless, the one thing that I knew for sure was that the shower would be anything but conventional. There would be no mini tuna sandwiches with the crust cut off here. Instead of ice tea one would likely find liquor, in place of "Baby Jeopardy" or "Don't Say Baby" there would plenty of politically incorrect games, and as an alternative to bruschetta and crab cakes there would be fried chicken, macaroni, and lasagna.

Around 3pm (the time the shower began), no one had arrived. Pat sat on the couch looking at football and around 3:30, he looked at me with a look that obviously said, "Is anyone gonna come?"  I just gave him a quick shrug and went to refill my plate with three more chicken wings as I continued to talk to my sister and godsister. Knowing my family and friends, I wasn't too worried because I know that everyone runs on CP TIME + 2 hours -- but I did hope that people would come moreso for my parents, sister, and husband than for myself.

Sure enough, by 4pm the house began to fill with my mother's friends and as Patrick predicted, by the time my mother came downstairs to make her "Grand(mother) Entrance" around 4:30, the house was filling up fast.

Once 6pm arrived, Patrick and I looked around my parents house and were truly humbled. There we saw family, extended family, pseudo-family, old friends, new friends, co-workers, neighbors, and other loved ones from various times in our life. After three rounds of "Pin the Sperm on the Egg" and a few rounds of "Change the Dirty Diaper", it took us another hour and a half just to go through all of the gifts. Needless to say, we were truly overwhelmed and grateful.

So Teddy is coming into this world very loved and very well-dressed. Yet, after it was all said and done, I truly believe that I would have been just as grateful if people couldn't have brought anything but their love and support. Venturing into parenthood for the first time is scary enough, so to know that you have the love, support, and prayers of people who truly care for you is worth its weight in gold...(But don't get me wrong, the gifts are appreciated as well.)

My big ole' belly!

OH NO! My doctor says that she thinks Teddy is gonna be one big boy! Maybe I shouldn't have eaten all of those turkey sandwiches after all. :(

Keep you posted...

My sister

My guardian angel on this Earth is my sister, Karlisa.

She is my bff, my therapist, my life coach, my cheerleader, and truly one of the most beautiful women - inside and out- that I know.

I wouldn't believe that I could be a good wife, mother, or professional without Karlisa's encouragement and although she's my sister, I'm certain God put her into my life to keep pushing me forward towards the path that God has destined for me.

I thank God for her because she is always there when it feels like no one else is, she continues to encourage me when many people count me out and for that I recognize the true value of her being in my life.

So I love you sister! Thank you for being the awesome, feisty, truly phenomenal woman that God made you to be. Don't change for anyone -- God made you with the perfect measurements of "salt and pepper" -- a created a special type of woman to go out and do great things -- things greater than you could ever imagine!

Love Always,

Your little sis

T-1 month!

Next week I will be 36 weeks into my pregnancy - which means that I only have one more month to go! I've decided, after much prayer, that once I get to 37 weeks (when the baby is fully developed) that I will use everything in God's disposal to help move this pregnancy along. I will eat avocados, I will drink aloe vera juice and cod liver oil, I will have wild and crazy sex, and I will do exotic and challenging yoga poses to help open up my pelvis and encourage Teddy to give a good kick to my uterus so that we can get this party started.

Okay, I'm actually just kidding but I am really over this pregnancy thing. As I look back over the past eight months, I thank God for blessing me with a non-complicated blessed pregnancy. I suspect that God, knowing me better than I know myself, knew that the changing physicality of my body would be enough for me to wrap my mind around and blessed me with a little baby that would take it easy on me.

So I'm grateful to God and I don't want to complain... yet I'm wondering how much more my body can take. I can't imagine how much larger my belly can grow and I'm not quite sure how much longer my spirit can go without a drink.

At times my nerves get so bad that I think I'm about to cry for no reason, but luckily I tell myself that its my hormones before I am inclined to kick Pat and Capone out of the house.

I deep clean my house about 2-3 times a week and I don't know if Capone knows that if he pees one more time on my fern plant that I am going to take him to get euthanized. I've shampooed the carpet in our apartment four times in the past two weeks and like clock-work, by day three Capone will come wagging his tail in front of me, pause, pee in my face, and run into his cage knowing that he has destroyed my sense of a bacteria-free home. He just doesn't know how close he is to becoming a bar of doggie soap.

Although I can't stop cleaning, I have stopped cooking and if Pat doesn't feel like feeding us then I have no problem fixing a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for the night. In fact, I LOVE TOASTED PEANUT BUTTER AND JELLY SANDWICHES now and would kinda prefer if that's all I ate until the baby came regardless of what anyone thinks about it!

My pregnancy brain has made me a complete fool. I forget everything! On several occasions when I've gone to the doctor and had to pee in a cup, I go into the bathroom, pee in the toilet and don't realize until I wash my hands and see the plastic cup on the mirror that I've forgotten to do the most simple task that a pregnant woman could be asked to do.

I'm still losing my car in the parking lot every time I go shopping and now my vocabulary is suffering so bad that in meetings I commonly refer to sayings like, " I guess the...uhm, I guess, the doggies have come home to bark." My current state of affairs is just sad.

I know I sound crazy. I'm sleep deprived, big as an elephant, and unphotographable. I'm just tired so pray that I make it through the rest of this pregnancy in one piece.

There's a reason why you shouldn't travel after 7 months

I have come to the conclusion that most of the time my mother knows EXACTLY what she's talking about and when it comes to some of her old adages like - not traveling after your seventh month -- perhaps I should have taken her advice and stayed at home.

Babymoon #1 and #2 were two of the best times that I had in a long time. It was nice for Patrick and I to get away before having the baby -- to spend time with each other without worrying about who's gonna cook? who's gonna wash the dishes? and who's gonna walk the dog? We spent time just talking and eating and looking at the ocean -- minus the sex, drinks, and adventure sports, our babymoon was reminiscent of our time on St. Lucia just one year before on our honeymoon.

There were only three things that got in the way of these vacations being absolutely perfect: 1) A swollen, gassy stomach, 2) Swollen biscuits as feet, and 3) An inability to walk and talk (while in the sun) at the same time.

Somewhere between when I landed in Orlando (and I was a cute, round, fashionable pregnant woman) and a week and a half later when I was flying back to Chicago from St. Lucia, I became BIG AS H*LL. All of the dresses I had worn just two weeks ago were now tight in odd places and made me look like the pregnant woman that I never wanted to be -- the one whose belly in proportion to her body made people say, "oh no...look at that poooooor pregnant woman. She looks so crazy and tired."

But now that was me - big, tired, and crazy looking with feet that have grown 1 whole shoe size in 8 months.

Add a six hour flight that turned into 16 hours due to numerous delays and as you can imagine I was no happy camper. Between my butt being swore, my feet being swollen, and my stomach being gassy, I was willing to yell "ALL HAIL AL QUEDA!" if that meant I could get out of the Miami airport (where our layover back to Chicago was) into a comfortable chair.

Nevertheless, eventually we got home. After 16 hours of traveling, I was happy to see my apartment, my bed, and my couch. And even though I still couldn't get comfortable enough to go to sleep -- I sat in my chair, put my feet up, and decided to cancel my trip to Boston in two weeks cause home was the only place I wanted to be.

A wonderful story about hope, love, and God

Babymoon #2 was in St. Lucia, where Pat and I had the honor of witnessing a beautiful couple come together as husband and wife.

Their story is truly one of hope, love, and glorifies the greatness of God...so I just wanted to share an email that I sent sharing their beautiful love story. I hope it brings a smile to your face and renews your spirit!

Hello Gals!

Yes, I'm good for a random email out the blue but I hope this one brightens your day! :)

...And if I owe you a phone call from months ago then this should give me some points :)

Okay, so here we go...I am going to give you alot of background on both of them because it adds to their story so forgive me if this email gets long....So I went a wedding last week in St. Lucia and met the loveliest couple who had a love story that was both inspiring and moving. The groom's name was Shannon Allison (he went to Morehouse, was a Q, he was one of Pats groomsmen in our wedding.) and the bride's name was Francesca Danielle....

Part I - A little background...

So anyway -- Shannon was the first person Pat met at Morehouse. He was from Alabama, a linebacker, and the nicest person in the world -- until you made him made. He is the type of person that spells out curse words but (in his day) would not hesitate in whooping your azz if you provoked him. From what I understand, around his sophomore or junior year, Shannon got in a fight and almost died but this event changed his life. Although it was a tough climb, he made it out of Morehouse and eventually became an ordained minister in Birmingham, Alabama working.

(Stop)...so that's Shannon's background...

Okay, so Francesca - who everyone called Danielle, is the cutest little southern girl and about as straight laced as one could be (yes, she was a virgin). She went to Harvard law, graduated top of her class, and went to practice law in Atlanta. After a few years of grinding and working hard - she realized that something was missing and began to pray that God would bring her her husband. After a while, she began to give up and decided that she would focus on living the life that God had blessed her with the best way that she could and decided to go on missionary trips with her church from home (ie Birmingham) so that she could begin to see the world.

(Stop)...so that's Danielle's background...

Part II - Italy

So in November 2009, Danielle goes on a missionary trip to Italy with her pastor. On the trip she meets three important people - a girl named Linda who was her age and who she clicked with immediately and a couple from Miami named David and Ellen. On the 12 day trip they all become good friends and one night in Verona (the city that was the setting for Romeo and Juliet) Danielle lets out her frustration and tells them how she is so sad cause she feels alone and feels like she has been waiting on her husband but maybe God has been on another call. While there - the couple from Miami tell her to go under this terrance in the building, look up at the moon, tell God out loud everything that she wants in her husband. After she does this, they take a picture and say "this is your first picture as a wife." The trip eventually comes to an end, but before it does - Linda tells Danielle that she has a cousin who was supposed to come on the trip but didn't at the last minute, but that he is a nice guy, a minister, and thinks that they should meet. Her cousin was the one who encouraged her to go to Italy in the first place.

So somewhere in Alabama, Shannon was beginning to confide in his mentor (a female minister whose name that I can't remember) that he was starting to believe that he was never going to meet his wife. He'd met alot of women but never felt connected to them so thought that maybe that's not what God wanted for him at this time in his life. His mentor told him to be faithful and said that she was going to start interceding on his behalf. A few weeks later, while talking on her porch, she told him that God had revealed to her that his wife would "be on a camel with a red scarf" (yes crazy). Shannon thinking his mentor was clearly wrong, asked where he was going to see a woman on a camel in Birmingham - but his mentor told him that he believed the image that God showed her and wanted him to stay faithful.

So soon after the missionary trip to Italy concludes, Linda tells Danielle that she is going to give her cousin, Shannon, her phone number. After talking for a few weeks, they realize that there is a genuine connection and Shannon invites her to come by his house for Thanksgiving when she will be in town. But they both agreed that they should meet the day before for coffee -- just to make sure that the other person wasn't crazy or ugly.

So the day before, they meet for coffee and Danielle begins to explain that she's began to travel. She happens to have her camera in her purse where she shows Shannon her pictures from Italy and her first mission trip....Egypt. So there Shannon is, flipping through the pictures when he comes by a image that leaves him speechless. There in the desert was a picture of Danielle on top of a camel....wearing a long red scarf!!

So Shannon is thinking...am I really seeing this?? After a few moments of shock, he collects himself, decides not to tell her because he doesn't want to scare her off.

By the time he feels her in on the revelation that his mentor shared with him, it was two months later and they were already deeply in love.

By April they were engaged.

And on August 22, they were married!

Look at what God can do!

So the reason I am sharing this story is because there were a number of lessons that jumped out to me that I think we could all be reminded off.

1) God is still in the business of answering prayers

2) God is still in the business of performing "miracles" (ie blessings that seem so far-reaching, so unattainable, they we make ourselves believe that are beyond any hope of being realized)

3) There is a such thing as destiny and what God has for you is for you -- and nobody (even you) can mess that up...When Shannon decided not to go to Italy, that could have been the end of the story. Opportunity closed. Destiny changed. But God said "nope, this girl right here --- she is who I have for you" and God worked things out for them to be able to meet.

4) When you encourage someone else to pursue their blessings -- you may be blessing yourself. If Shannon hadn't encouraged his cousin to still go to Italy, she wouldn't have been able to introduce Shannon to his future wife.

5) Believe in the realization of the dreams that God places on your heart. If God places something that seems impossible on your heart....believe that he is working things out in the background to enable you to be able to be able to achieve that desire!

Okay...I'm done..but like I said...when I first heard the story, I just kept asking for more and more details cause it was so beautiful and such a testimony to people who know them. And I don't know every one's situations -- but I do know that we all have our own prayers and things that we hope and long for that sometimes seem so far away -- so I just wanted to share!

Hugs and Kisses,

Kirstin

My last vacation as a little girl...

The best decision that I made in the course of my 7.5 months of pregnancy was to take two "baby moons" - one with my husband and one without him. Well past my seventh month - I decided to spend a few days in Lake Buena Vista, Florida with my parents while they enjoyed their well-deserved annual two week vacation in their timeshare.

While I hate being away from my husband (sometimes), and I know that he wasn't particularly crazy about the idea of me traveling alone, I knew that a few days alone -- just me and my parents would be the last opportunity in my life to worry about nothing but being my parents' child.

So when I left out of the house before going to the airport I yelled "Goodbye Capone - Hope your daddy feeds you! Adios Pat, I hope you can find something to eat while I am gone!" -- and I was on my way.

Just walking through the airport terminal made me feel 10 pounds lighter. I bought myself a slice of pizza, a chocolate brownie, some sweet peach ice tea, and some hot chocolate. "Now this is life!" I thought to myself, taking joy in the fact that there was no one there to tell me to watch my salt or sugar intake.

Despite an uncomfortable airplane ride, my glee continued once I got to the Orlando airport. My brother (who now lives in Tampa) rode with my parents to come pick me up and after plenty of hugs and kisses - we all hopped in my parent's car and headed for the best seafood in town. (Merely stepping out into the fresh southern air began to reinvigorate my soul.)

As I sat around the table with my parents (who assured my brother and I that we could order anything that we wanted to eat) I was reminded of how wonderful the "good ole days were" when my parents provided everything that I needed, chastised me when I made an obviously poor decision, yet always provided me with the assurance that it was nothing that I could do to take change their love for me. Just being there - being loved, being taken care of, being watched over -- I felt a sense of comfort and security that I had almost forgotten existed in the six years I've lived on my own.

The following days were filled with precious simplicity, as we did nothing more than swim in the pool for hours, play cards for quarters, talk about life, and go shopping for souvenirs. They only tested my patience once -- when they spent 35 minutes trying to figure out which pool we should eat at when I bought them Chick Fil A.

Once it was time to go back to Chicago (in order to start baby moon #2) I couldn't let them see it but I almost cried. They had no idea how much the few days that we spent alone meant to me but I was sure that I would remember and relish this time for the rest of my life. In a moment, I will have my own child to care for -- a beautiful blessing who will surely be the prominent focus of my love moving forward. And true to form, I guess this last vacation as my parent's little girl was their way of showing me exactly how this thing called "unconditional love" is supposed to be done.

The Golden Girls...(Godmothers 'Honoris Causa')

Everyone has them -- the friends that you can't stand 90% of the time but love 200% of the time. In most circles, these friends (maybe 4 or 5 of them) all carry a distinct personality - the "nice one", the "mean one", the "crazy one", the "fun one", and the "momma". Unfortunately, these traits are often tied to each friend when they are in 3rd, 4th, or 5th grade and no matter how hard you try or no matter how much they evolve, you will always see them as the same little girl who used to forge signatures, or kiss little boys under the stair way, or beat up little boys during house parties like they did over 20 years ago.

Like many other fortunate women, I have a group of friends like this -- girls who I have known for well over 20 years. Through deaths, love, and fights -- marriage, children, relocation, and life-changing events -- these girls, no...these women are always around, somewhere nearby just in the event that there is a need for a celebration cocktail or one of us are about to have a nervous breakdown.

Time has moved us closer and further apart - physically is some cases and mentally in other cases - yet I am always amazed at the universe's ability to keep us in arm's reach of each other. Like I said, sometimes even when I can't stand them - I love them and I am convinced that after 20+ years, neither time nor space will change that.

Over the years, I've tried very hard to try to understand the ever-changing dynamics of my relationships with these women and just decided that these are complex and dynamic relationships that I may never fully comprehend. However, one day when I least expected it - the complexity of our friendships became overwhelming simple. There around the "cool one" we sang a song that has become a tradition for us at weddings, yet this time the words began to take on a new meaning...

"Thank you for being a friend.
Traveled down the road and back again.
Your heart is true -
Your a pal and a confidante.
And if you threw a party, and invited everyone you knew -
You would see the biggest gift would be from me
And the card attached would say
Thank you for being a friend."

And there it was. I realized while singing that no matter what life brought, no matter where I paths lead, 50 years from now, I'm sure that I will still be singing that song, with the same group of women, celebrating something -- and grateful that the universe knew better than I did and kept us in each other's arm reach for more years than any of us could have ever have imagined we'd be blessed with.

Lamaze Class

Lamaze Class...

When I signed Patrick and I up for Lamaze Class, I had images of floor mats, belly rubbing, and yoga stretches like the "Crouching Tiger" and the "Goddess Pose" in my mind. I imagined that we would learn a few breathing techniques like the slow-deep breathing exercises that Buddhist do ("Breathe innnnnn....HOLD. Breath outttttt. HOLD") or the theatrical "I'm going into labor breathing" ("whew. whew. whew. breathe in. whew. whew. whew. breathe in.")

To my surprise Lamaze was in fact a "Laboring For Dummies" class. As I stated before, I have been scared out of my mind about labor -- and fear of the foreign process called "childbirth" was something that I wasn't looking forward to. I was tired of people telling me about how many hours of labor they endured -- especially without helpful recommendations of drugs, sedatives, or narcotics that I could take.

Yet, during the course of our three-part Lamaze series - I realized that it was much more than a breathing class but it explained EVERYTHING about the labor process from A-Z. And because I am a simple woman -- one who merely seeks to know why and how a watermelon-sized being can come out of a hole the size of a quarter -- understanding the step-by-step process that allowed for this miracle to happen was just what I needed.

I always wondered how in the world a woman could be "in labor" for 24, 32, or 36 hours. I have never done anything that consistently in my life. But to now know that labor consists of four phases: early labor (light cramps), active labor (whoa baby! cramps), transition (why Jesus why? cramps) and pushing (Just get this baby out of me) puts it all in perspective.

I felt so confident after my Lamaze sessions that for a second I had a thought to go..(GULP)..natural! But after a few moments of reflection, I decided that drugs would still be the way for me to go. Nevertheless, I feel fully armed to pop this little monster out. So come on mucus plug, come on amniotic fluid -- let's get this party started.

Painting, Nursery, Baby Shower, YIKES!!!

I have so much to do that its freaking me out. With little over a 1.5 months left to go I wonder how in the starwarsepisodesix am I going to get this all done? We need to paint the baby's room, we need to finish getting the furniture, we need to finish planning the shower, we need to pack our suitcase, we need to shampoo the carpet again, we need to take maternity pictures, and I need to get to the spa -- STAT.

That is all.

Just a vacancy...Sleep don't live here anymore...

I don't sleep anymore.

Well, I guess to be more accurate, I only sleep for about 4-5 hours a night. While this may not seem like a big deal to many of my "night owl" friends, you gotta understand that prior to becoming pregnant, I slept for 8-9 hours a night religiously...since I was about 18 years old.

Initially, I could still sleep in the bed. I would just have to climb over Pat 3-5 times a night to go to the bathroom.

Then, I couldn't lie down directly on my back while in the bed, so I had to use 6-7 pillows to prop me up so I could sleep directly sitting up. I would turn the air conditioner down to 50 degrees and on "high"...and my previously warm and cozy bedroom would turn into "THE NEST" as my husband began to refer to it.

Getting out of the bed for pee breaks became especially cumbersome, so I would end up throwing several pillows on Patrick's head while he slept, and would have to roll over his body, and waddle to the bathroom as fast as I could when Teddy would decide to kick my bladder 3-4 times throughout the night.

Now, I've just given up on the bed. I rest in my one-person lounge chair with my body pillow, my king size pillow, and my fluffy 10 year old head pillow every night. And while it's not perfect setup for a sound night of sleep, at least I can ensure that I will at least be able to get to the bathroom a little faster without waking Pat and Capone up.

But when my stomach and bladder aren't keeping me awake...my mind steps in as the next culprit. I've began to have recurring nightmares that the baby will come and I loose him on bus stops and inside of cabs or random cars, or that I go into labor while I'm sleep and after delivering the baby I freak out because the only place that he can sleep is in Capone's bed.

I don't know what else to say...in fact, I'm writing this very entry because I can't sleep. I would wake my husband up to give me a dose of some "sleep juice" but I'm too afraid that I'd kill him from the weight of my stomach.

Oh well, I guess hot chocolate will have to do for now...

Goodbye Second Trimester, Hello Finish Line!

Praise Jesus, from whom all blessings flow!

I can't believe I made it to my last trimester! How was 2010 everyone? Was it a great year? Since my pregnancy will have gone from January - October, I feel like when I look back on things, 2010 will seem like a dream to me, a dream that was filled with lots of hot turkey sandwiches, plenty of salty chips, gassy nights, and swollen tits. Yet, most importantly, a year where my beautiful sweet son grew from a mustard seed to a watermelon, until he decides to make his big debut in October!

As I enter into my last trimester, I feel like going outside to sing "WOOP, THERE IT IS!" to all my neighbors in my building. While I'm sure that soon enough the anxiety of being a new parent will begin to set in, for now, I am just proud of myself for making it through something that has been both physically and mentally taxing.

It seems like just yesterday when I saw the first sonogram of my little Teddy Graham. With no identifiable body parts outside of his head, tummy, arms, and feet -- there me and Pat saw him floating on top of his lake of amniotic fluid.

Now, 8 months later, I imagine him completely formed, swimming in my belly, kicking his umbilical cord when he doesn't like his meal, and snapping his fingers when we're listening to a song that he particularly approves of.

So my days now are filled with anticipation. I still have so much to do before he arrives but my heart is already completely open to receive him with more love than I have ever known.

Sh*tting in an waffle cone doesn't make it a sundae...(MY ANGRY RANT)

Jesus be a fence...

By now, anyone who knows me knows that I hate my job.

(Sorry Jesus I know "hate" is a strong word but I gotta tell the truth and shame the devil...)

So anyway, as I was saying...I HATE my job. I hate my job recognizing that it is a recession, recognizing that the poor men standing outside of my office would love my job, recognizing that my job is the exact job that I prayed feverishly for 4 years ago when I completed graduate school.

I wanted to help build communities. I wanted to build resources into underserved communities. Heck, I wanted for Black folks in Chicago who make a decent living to be able to shop in their neighborhood instead of have to drive 30, 40, or 50 minutes to the northside, west loop, south loop, north suburbs, west suburbs, or south suburbs for a decent pair of shoes, a healthy meal, or a yoga class.

I wanted to see a diversity of investment in communities on the southside -- commercial investment, residential development, open space, walkable communities, green technology, assessible and safe transportation.

But this job - this stanking little two person non-profit, funded by the premier community development corporation in the country, chaired by an alderman that "GETS THINGS DONE", and "supported" by consultants who supposed advised everyone from Obama to Jesse Jackson - has shown me that most of public service is merely an illusion.

I would elaborate on my evolving thesis of why most, if not all politicians and public servants are full of spoiled mozzarella cheese, but I'll save that for my book, "Bullsh*tters Anonymous: Why Chicago and Illinois Politics Won't Change."

So for now, I focus on the depth of tom-foolery, and coonery that takes place on my job -- for no other reason that to vent into the abyss of words called cyberspace.

For those who may believe I am just complaining, understand that there is simple logical explanation for why I do not like my job -- a phenonmenon that economists would call "a lack of rationale incentives". The one person who works over me, "MOFO", is a person of high aspirations and absolutely little to no competency to achieve anything. As a result, there are over 20 big idea plans that "MOFO" has set as a priority for his two-person organization (ie. everything from fully redeveloping a historic park to mimic Central Park to holding a world-wide architectural competition to set the standard for design in a community that he doesn't live in) -- Yet whenever the rubber hits the road and ish needs to get done, he stalls, redirects the project to me, and moves on to another assinine idea.

But this only makes me dislike my job.

What makes me ashamed to be an employee of this organization is that I have seen how people -- from the most powerful in the State to outside powerhouses with no investment in the community in which we work -- have enabled this fool to operate in a manner that will ensure that the organization where I work will not survive another 1-3 years and where all of these people have no issue community is the last entity to benefit from his initiatives. After almost two years of existence, there are no standard operating procedures for anything, the organization has overspent its budget twice in one year -- yet, like George W. Bush told Mike Brown after Katrina, people continuously look at "MOFO", shake his hand for the cameras and say "I SHOLE THINK YOU ARE DOING A GREAT JOB [MOFO]!"

But that only makes me ashamed -- its not what truly makes me hate this job.

What I hate about this muthasucking, the devilisaliar, stumpthedevilout, sholenuff'niggery filled job is this...

...after doing all the work, taking a $20,000 paycut to "do good in the hood", seeing someone else continuously take credit for my work, and not getting the support, compensation, or assistance that I've been continuously promised - the corrupt, narcistic, sexist, and incompetent "MOFOs" that I must report to continuously sh*t on a big sugary waffle cone, sprinkle it toffee, oreos, and m and m's and try to convince me that this sh*t is a d*mn coldstone chocolate sundae deluxe.

Through poor attempts of munipulation, they try to convince me that I SHOLE SHOULD BE HAPPY THAT I GOT THIS JOB, forgetting or underestimating the value of my past work experience working for people and organizations that knew that the (BLEEP) they were doing. Unfortunately, they misunderstand my politeness (or more honestly my "dontgiveaf*ckness") for naivety and in their ignorance they don't realize that I'm only there to perserve my healthcare, take 3 hour lunch breaks, and only work 3 days a week.

Whew...sorry Jesus and Teddy Graham but momma has been holding that one in for a long time. I'm counting the days until the day that I can submit my resignation, crash the computer, and burn that beyotch down.

On being alone...and vulnerable

I always prided myself on being fairly independent. Correction: I've always prided myself on being extremely independent. I've always liked my share of "me" time and often found relaxation shopping by myself, driving by myself, eating myself, and even drinking by myself after work (although my mother would say that only infers that I was a teetering alcoholic).

So the first time my husband left to travel out of town, you can imagine how surprised I was when I found myself pouting on the couch most of the day because I didn't have my BFF there to eat Chinese food with on Saturday night.

Then, when it was time to go to sleep, I found myself checking the doors three and four times to make sure that no one would come in and try to kidnap me and Capone in the middle of the night.(Yet, when I woke up at 3 o'clock in the morning on my couch I was sure that I there was a shadow of a monster sitting on my couch.)

And finally, when morning came and it was time to eat breakfast, I unconsciously found myself looking at the week's top ten plays on Sports Center because I missed my husband.

Finally, I paused during a commercial and thought, "How in the BEJESUS did this happen?" I wondered. How did I become such a freaking cupcake that didn't like being alone - after 28 years of doing just fine on my own?

What I soon realized is that in the corniest sense, I have come to think of my husband as my teammate, my partner, and the person that I look to for safety, protection, and companionship. Yet, with this understanding of why my husband's absence felt unnatural to me I also was faced with the revelation of my own discomforts with my new found vulnerabilities.

"Hot dammit," I thought...how in the world did I become so vulnerable?

The truth of the matter is that in the loneliness that exist in my house when Patrick isn't around, I've realized that this thing that's become my life doesn't flow as easily without him.

Yet I must admit that being vulnerable does not come easy to me, nor does dependency under any circumstances. And there may always be a struggle between my belief that "what God put together, let no man put asunder" and and insuring my own independence even if that means making sure that I can always stand financially on my own two feet, that I can always kill the spider above my headboard if I need to, and ensuring that the luxury and blessing that I appreciate by having a life partner never supersedes my ability to take care of myself and my child.

I don't believe that this perspective diminishes the faith that I have in my husband, because again -- I realize that this thing called "marriage" "life" and surely "parenthood" will not make sense without him by my side. However, I do think that as a wife, I only strengthen to foundation of my marriage if I work to ensure that I maintain the strength, independence, and sensibility that my husband was attracted to in the first place.