my eyes, they sweat (and a wee TMI).

eye sweatGonna have to ask my doc about this salty discharge that’s been leaking from my eyes.

I’m a bundle of hormones lately. Got my first period since getting pregnant, and it has thrown me into another existential tailspin. I am sweaty. I am ravenous. I am retaining water. But most of all, I am SUPER emotional. I mean really, I can’t stand myself right now; I literally cannot handle all of life’s feels and I find myself busting a #thugcry at anything remotely sweet or touching.

To wit: I was watching Ellen the other day, and she had audience members participate in blindfolded musical chairs. The last girl standing (sitting?) won a great prize package…and then Ellen – with her generous ol’ self – ended up giving the losers the same prize as well. They were elated, jumping up and down, hugging each other, I laughed along with their joy, then all of a sudden someone started cutting onions in the room and I had to change the channel.

Peanut and I were hanging with the boy yesterday, and he reminded me that this May will be the first time I am a Mother’s Day giftee, as opposed to gifter…Totally stoked. Ha! He knows how to spoil a sista when the occasion calls for it, so I. Can’t. Wait. (Listen, he’s totally got the clean end of the stick when it comes to this whole parenthood thing. The one who wipes the poop gets the gift. Rules is rules.)

Speaking of salty discharge and special occasions, a friend of mind posted this link on Facebook and I completely lost it at the end. Here’s the write up and, peep the video after the jump.

Enjoy! Continue reading

down with one.

peanut and meHello, it’s been a while. Have you missed us?

Whew! I’ve been terribly delinquent. Being a new mommy is exhausting. This post has been in the works for over a week now…I sneak in edits while Peanut naps, and I hope I can finally finish before she wakes again for a feeding. I always knew children – babies in particular – required a lot of time and energy, but I had no idea just how much. Like the title of my blog suggests, there isn’t any guide to having kids…I’m learning as I go, and so far, so good.

Aisha will be seven weeks old on Wednesday, and while I missed blogging about the first month mini-celebration her father and I threw for her, I can certainly post some pics. :) My mother teased us for being so treacly, but after what we’d been through with my pregnancy, and then the delivery (I know, I know, I’ll blog about it soon, I promise), it was our way of saying, “hooray, she’s here! Now let’s all drink some beer!” Continue reading

a day for down syndrome.

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A day for gettin’ Down…It’s a celebration, bishes!

Before having Aisha, I never had a cause.

Several friends and loved ones have been affected by, or lost their lives to various illnesses such as depression, cancer, heart disease, HIV/AIDS, Multiple Sclerosis, Parkinson’s or Alzheimer’s. Others have children with autism, cleft palate, juvenile diabetes, ADHD, or seizure-related disorders.

I have sympathized and sent condolences, offered words of support (or in some cases, attended funerals) and on occasion written about the battles won and lost by the people I’ve known. Yet in doing so, I never felt “close” to the situation – even when it was one of my own fighting the good fight.

Aisha’s pre-natal diagnosis of Trisomy 21 changed all of that. Continue reading

then and now.

il_fullxfull.165641151I simply cannot believe she is two weeks old today.

So it’s been just over two weeks since I last wrote, and obviously, quite a bit has happened since then – namely, I had a baby! Me. I gave birth. To a person. It’s amazing how much life can change in the span of fourteen days.

First, I would like to thank everyone for the well-wishes, prayers, thoughts, emails and messages during this time. Even though I was off busy birthin’ a baby, I can’t tell you how much I missed blogging, and how touched I was by the outpouring of support. You all are swell. Seriously.

I admit that I am having some difficulty writing this post. I’m scrolling through my phone looking for pictures to supplement, and I’m overcome with emotion. Aisha’s delivery and birth were difficult – traumatic, even. We almost didn’t make it. And while we’ve both come out of the experience no worse for wear, the enormity of it seeps into my conscience every now and then, and it’s sobering. Sometimes I tear up. Sometimes I cry outright.  Continue reading

the final countdown.

Today’s musical interlude brought to you courtesy of Europe.

Bags are packed. All things baby have been set up, washed, placed and purchased.

Family and friends are all on standby. Camera batteries are fresh. Phones have been charged.

The boy is watching a movie to distract himself. I’m not quite sleepy, so I’m doing some editing work for a client, trying to take my mind off off what is in store for me tomorrow.

I’ve had my final meal of the day; I can’t eat anything after midnight.

I’ve cried. I’ve prayed. I requested that others do the same (pray, not cry).

I’ve done all that there is to do.

By this time tomorrow, I’ll be a mommy.

Un-freaking-believable.

Wish me luck, y’all.

weekend wrap-up: happy to be here.

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Get. Out.

Initial surprise notwithstanding, I have to say I’m pretty freaking happy that li’l miss is coming into the world a good week or so earlier than planned.

At 38w1d, I’m extremely uncomfortable. I know I keep bitching and moaning about it, but as anyone who has made it to this point (and sometimes beyond) can tell you, the last weeks aren’t much fun.

in the nude…
Currently, I don’t like wearing clothes. I haven’t bought a stitch of maternity gear, so the the few loose-fitting items I wore in month six, seven and even eight REALLY don’t fit me now. I’ve resorted to a pair of tights and pajama pants borrowed from mum, and a few stretchy tank tops. When I wear my own clothes, I look as though I’ve been stuffed into them. It’s impossible to look cute now, which is why I’ve pretty much stopped leaving the house. I’ve always been comfortable in the buff, but now that I’ve moved into ginormous territory, I am happiest in just my underwear (and even those feel too constricting at times) with a sheet covering me for modesty.

Continue reading

hearts and hugs day.

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Don’t tell the boy…

As grumpy as I am most of the time, I have to admit that I absolutely love Valentine’s Day. The boy is not a big spoiler/gift-giver, but this is one of the few days in the year where I know he’s going to get me something, and I get so excited in anticipation. He always does well in the presents department; I’m not easy to buy for, and while he agonizes quite a bit before making a decision and/or purchase, he nails it every time.

I spoil him quite a bit the rest of the year. Every month, on the 26th (to commemorate the date that we met), I give him a card to remind him how much I love him. Sometimes he gets a gift (usually clothes or cologne) or I treat him to dinner. Today, in spite of my size and weight, I slaved over a hot stove for literally hours, hoping to pull off a lovely gourmet-inspired meal that was kind of out of my culinary league.

One of the dishes I made was braised beef in a red wine reduction, which required a day of pre-marinating, and about three or four hours of cooking time. Just before the final hours of slow-roasting in the oven, I invited him to taste a little bite of the meat – for flavour, not texture, mind you. He tentatively took a bite, and then replied, “it’s chewy, babe. Can I offer a suggestion? Next time, boil the beef before you cook it…” Continue reading