"It's alright, letting yourself go, as long as you can get yourself back."
- Mick Jagger (The Rolling Stones)
In my last post, I'm Not Going To Let Myself Go!, I took you back to my two prior pregnancies and started to tell you about when I very suddenly found out I was expecting a third baby when my sons were aged 8 and 6.
|Yes...that's what I said.|
And now the saga continues...
And so I got myself through that seemingly never-ending meeting that day, probably looking like an electrocuted zombie, in shock and staring into space, up on that 46th floor, feeling like I had jumped out the window...falling without a net.
|I don't think anyone noticed.|
And speaking of a net, what had happened? I mean, my husband has always had a good shot, but we didn't pull the goalie. OK, well, maybe for a few days...because I had gone on vacation and had not taken a few of my pills...but come on! I was 37 years old. But I went to the doctor for a blood test which are 100% accurate and sure enough, we had scored a goal. We were gonna have another baby. Just after we had finally gotten rid of all our baby stuff that was taking up too much storage space. Just when our youngest was about to enter full-time school - grade one. One evening of intoxicated Russian Roulette and our lives would be drastically changed forever. Now it was time to tell Rob.
So home I went after confirming the news with the doctor at the walk-in clinic and there he was asking how my day was. "Ummm...well....rather interesting", I said with a little hesitant smile. Was he gonna be happy? Was he gonna be mad? I wasn't sure what his reaction would be.
"Oh yeah?" he asked. "Yeah...well...I actually just went to the doctor cause I was feeling kinda funky." Then I turned and looked at him with that 'I have something to tell you' look.
"Are you pregnant?" he asked.
"Yes sir." I said, looking for his reaction.
"Holy shit!" said he.
Like...come on! That is the most ambiguous thing he could have said! Was that a "Holy shit I am about to freak out!" or a "Holy shit I am so happy I am gonna shit myself!" ?
|Kind of what my husband looked like.|
Except a little scruffier.
And no suit.
And he didn't call me 'dude'.
And he would not have abbreviated.
Otherwise...kind of the same.
Then he could not help himself. He smiled that smile. He smiled that "Holy shit I am gonna have another baby" smile I have seen before. And then I knew it was a mix of shock and delight I was witnessing.
"I know. Crazy eh? Wha-da-ya-think? I am still in shock" I said. But I was also feeling something else. When I saw his happy face, I felt a shift; a shift from shock to one of anticipation. I am pretty sure my heart started to glow. And my belly started to grow.
He hugged me then and all he could say was "wow!". And all I could do was agree with him.
So much for my new and improved figure. I knew that I would get huge...if only because of the size of my baby. Rob is 6'6" tall and my other boys were and are tall for their age and came out that way. I knew I would be facing my third c-section and that I would be going through a long, probably hot summer looking like a house. Lovely.
Little did I know just how lovely that summer would be.
In early July I passed out at the GO Train station on the concrete because my blood pressure dropped suddenly in the extreme heat. Luckily, some kind people called for help and I was fine. Work continued to get more and more stressful and let's just say certain individuals did not take too kindly to me getting pregnant unexpectedly. So much so that I was advised by my doctor to stop working and so I did.
In mid July - only a week later - when I was about 6 months along and looking more like a mansion than a house, I tripped on a single step I didn't know was in front of me because of my massive belly and consequently broke one foot in three places and very badly sprained the other ankle. In short, I was screwed.
I could not do anything for myself that required moving from my bed and there I was, stuck for over 2 months. I watched too much bad reality TV, read too many trashy tabloid celebrity gossip magazines and developed a serious addiction to Tim Horton's Iced Caps. Yes...those yummy coffee drinks with enough calories to provide energy to a small city for a year.
Yes...I was looking sexy by the time I gave birth to my third little guy Drew - three weeks early on my mom's birthday. The section was a little rough and he ended up in the NICU for 10 days. It was a stressful time. All that and my older son decided to ask me why my feet looked like Homer Simpson's.
Very true. But like I frickin needed that.
I mean, I know I had just been to hell and back...within my life, relatively speaking of course...but even then I cried about the fact that I had obviously "let myself go." I was fat, my hair looked worse than I am sure Donald Trump's looks first thing in the morning and "yay!" my feel looked like Homer Simpson's. Very frickin attractive.
|My son was right. |
This is EXACTLY what my feet looked like.
And, come to think of it...pretty much the rest of me.
At least there were two Tim Horton's inside the hospital.
And I know you want to find out what happened next...so stay tuned!
I'm Not Going To Let Myself Go! (Part 1)
Moms I Frickin' Admire
You continue to make me laugh out loud Lora. You always manage to capture the realities many of us deal with but with tidbits of humour that are so funny! I love your writing and hope you keep it up because I will follow! You should have a column somewhere. Really! I can't wait to see how the saga unfolds...especially since this is your life. Thanks for the glimpse inside. Best! Nadia G.ReplyDelete
You blog had me laugh out loud! I love your style of writing and I can not wait to read more. Oh yeah I am following your blog!ReplyDelete