Eight Years Ago...pt 8...the Grand Finale

~*~*~*~*~....if you're reading this and are thinking that parts 5, 6, & 7 are missing, they are, I just haven't finished them fully and wanted to get this final part done today...I'll backdate the other parts once I finish getting them typed up to make them fall in proper order.~*~*~*~*~



I was awakened at 5:30am for another blood pressure test, that showed normal; another cervical check, that showed no progress; and a new IV order, one for pitocin...again. This made my third round, in just as many Monday mornings, of pitocin. I was convinced that I was just going to stay pregnant forever!

Around 6am the pitocin started. Except this time, instead of dozing back to sleep I was in PAIN! I'd had contractions and such with the other rounds of pitocin, I'd get a shot of darvocet and all would be well again. I wanted to walk. I wanted out of that bed. I wanted to be held. I wanted someone there to talk to, at least!

Alas, I was alone. The dead-beat was still out 'celebrating' his last night that he was ever going to drink...for the umpteenth time just this month. I was 12 hours from family. After after two weekends of all of this already under my belt my new friends in the area were no longer all that interested in hanging out at the hospital with me, again. I was feeling quite dejected and alone.

6:30am...I decided I was no longer going to be able to sleep, so I might as well as watch some TV....I semi-sat up...and then it happened.....

I sat there for a few minutes, completely unsure of what was going on. I was quite sure I didn't have to pee prior to trying to sit up, but at that far along, in such a position, accidents do happen. Such as the week before when I'd made a similar motion, of attempting to sit upright, and freaked out thinking my water had broke, only to be sorely disappointed by the nurse confirming it was urine and not my water breaking. So this time, instead of instantly hitting the call button, I waited.

A contraction hit me...and I could of sworn I was actually going to rip in half this time.

Now, I have a VERY high tolerance for pain. I live with a high level of pain on a daily basis. This new set of contractions made every other contraction I'd had over the past month look like comparing a finger prick to cutting off your finger with a butter knife.

After four of such contractions in about 15 minutes I was finally able to get to my call button.

My contractions were one right on top of another, I felt like I was dying, and by the time a nurse came in to assist another 20 minutes had passed.

7am...two things happened. First...the deadbeat finally showed up. Of course he was drunk and ready to sleep, so that's what he did. Handed me a box of food - once again *drum roll please* it was a cold grilled cheese sandwich and tater tots. Now where this asshole determined I liked cold grilled cheese and cold tater tots, I'll have no idea, especially when I asked him to SNEAK me in some TacoBell, during the night, when the nurses weren't as in and out all the time...but whatever. The second thing to happen - the nurse finally came in. She confirmed my suspicions:

~*~*~*~MY WATER HAD BROKE!~*~*~*~

I was dilated to 1cm...that was it...and she told me that 1cm was 'stretching' it.

I never wanted to be up and walking so badly at that point! Sitting was uncomfortable and laying down was worse!

I cried for pain medications as I watched my contraction monitor go up the chart...then off the chart...and 45-60 seconds later the marks would be back on the chart.

I BEGGED for more pain medications as this pattern repeated every 7 minutes for over an hour.

I called my mother numerous times, in between contractions, mainly just crying, sobbing, just pitiful.

8am...The doctor came in. He ordered that the pitocin dose be lowered. Almost instantly my contractions eased up in frequency.

8:30...I had my epidural ...and the pitocin was increased, I'm sure of it. My doctor jokingly asked me if sleeping was all that the deadbeat did, seeing as every time he came in the deadbeat was passed out. Unfortunately the doctor wasn't there to see the harassment to the nurses and the screaming he did at me prior to him leaving out to get drunk again.

The hours passed by slowly. At one point the deadbeat left out to take care of work, since I wasn't able to go into the offices for him, AGAIN.

Noon...the doctor came back and checked me again. I was still at 1cm dilated...two if he really tried to stretch me.

I was completely helpless. Stuck there, medically paralyzed from the waist down. Nothing to read, nothing of interest on television, no one to talk to, unless I called them. At least until the battery died on the phone.

I wept. This was in no way how I had planned on giving birth. I had envisioned going Au naturale, as I'd done with Alonna. Four hours with her and it was all done and over with. Here I was sitting at week 3 of inductions, hooked up to pain meds, no one around.

3pm...The dead beat returned, as well as did the doctor. The doctor chatted with the deadbeat for a few minutes before checking on my progress. My progress: I was at a 2...maybe a 3...but he wouldn't confirm the 3 part. That's when he dropped the bombshell. He told me that I had 3 hours to make some progress or he was going to order a cesarean. I was PISSED! If I wasn't completely drained, starved, weak, and unable to move I would of jumped off that bed and slugged him square in his smug mug! I wanted the drugs all stopped. I wanted to be unhooked from all the monitors. I wanted to go home and just finish it all on my own. I didn't want to go back to the apartment I shared with the deadbeat. I wanted to go back home, to Oklahoma. I figured a 12 hour drive from Indianapolis would do me some mental good and physical good. Driving had always been my release. Driving and fishing. I wanted to be on White River, just down the mountain from Eureka Springs. The absolute last place I wanted to be was right there in that hospital room with these 'men' looking at me like I had somehow screwed up my own son's birth. I don't think I ever wanted to hit somebody so badly as I did at that very moment!

I wept some more. I tried pushing, thinking if I can't stand up and let gravity help me than I was going to induce some 'artificial' gravity of my own...I WAS going to make some progress if it was the last thing I did!

4pm...a nurse came in and checked me. She confirmed 3cm dilated. But was also worried about the drop in Mikeal's heartbeat when I'd have a contraction. I PLEADED with her to just unhook me, remove me from the meds, and just let me be. She of course refused.

4:30pm...the doc came back in. I hated him, but I was defeated. I was helpless. And for the last 20 minutes I was forced to listen to the dead beat screaming at me about how worthless I was as a woman. He ordered the cesarean and preparations were made. The pitocin was stopped and I was wheeled into the operating room.

I watched as they prepped me for surgery in my reflection in the overhead light...completely frightened and overwhelmed. My arms were strapped down. I just laid there and cried.

5pm...prep work was done, deadbeat was allowed in the room in full scrub suit. Surgery was to begin. The deadbeat left the camera in the room and it was too late to go back for it.

5:17...I heard it. The most beautiful sound in the world. Mikeal Alan Paul had made his entrance into the world. He was cleaned up, weighed, measured, scored, wrapped up tightly, and then handed to the hungover deadbeat. What I saw of him when I finally got to actually see him was a tiny little face inside several layers of blanket.

Mikeal weighed in at 9lbs 5oz. He was 22in long. With a head circumference of 18cm. We had found the root of the reason why he was not descending...that lovely head of his, that even after multiple ultrasound attempts they were still unable to get a measurement of, was not able to squeeze itself into the birth canal. I felt better after wards about having a cesarean...chances were fairly high that a natural birth would not of fared as well.

His first Apgar score was a 9, immediately at birth, improving to a 10 5 minutes later. I was quite adamant that he not get a bottle or pacifier, but that too was ignored. They gave him sugar water in a bottle because they claimed his blood sugar level was low. Seriously! What the hell is up with that?! I hadn't had anything at all to eat in over 24 hours, of course his blood sugar is going to be low you dimwits! Seriously, I think the medical community often lacks basic common sense. Any idiot can be a doctor, it takes a special sort of genius to have some common sense!

After what seemed like forever the nurse finally brought him to me. I was in complete love. Everything that had happened over the course of the previous 20 years of my life no longer mattered. All that mattered is the man of my dreams was right there in my arms, nursing.

I have completely enjoyed the last eight years of his life and I can't see that ever changing.

I love you my dear Monkey Mikeal!! Happy 8th birthday!

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Moments I'll Miss the Most

*~*Cuddling in the Princess's toddler bed with her for just ONE more story, puh-leeeeaaaaaaasssssseeeeee*~*

*~*Her attempts to convince me that it's 'no nigh nighs' time because the full moon is shining into her room*~*

*~*Laying there with the Princess until she is good and asleep, then lingering just a little longer to smell her sweet smell, listen to her tiny snores, and feel her snuggle into my chest just a little closer when she feels me stir.*~*

*~*Knowing that by 4am she'll be in our already crowded queen sized bed, where at some point Brian or I end up sleeping the last few hours on the couch.*~*

*~*Hearing her squeals of happiness when she wakes up, as if the day holds the most magnificent treasures...I think she's wiser than most in this aspect.*~*

*~*The way every morning that I'm not as energetic as she is to start the day she'll bring me an assortment of clothing to put on, and try to dress me, even in my half-sleep.*~*

*~*The way she squeals again in delight when my feet are finally on the floor and my glasses are properly on my face.*~*

*~*How she guides me towards the shelf with the coffee pot, then runs to grab her spoon for cereal or a frying pan from the cupboard if she wants eggs.*~*

*~*Enjoying my first cup of coffee, as she cleverly sneaks a sip once in a while, with a mischievous grin on her face when I've caught her red-handed...that she follows up with the most adorable 'begging' please you've ever seen...or maybe just me cause I'm biased...in which I oblige to her having, just one more sip.*~*

*~*The way she hurries to be the first sitting at the dinner table after the plates have been set and the way she'll even attempt to help with setting the table when she hears the 'command'.*~*

*~*The way she just ADORES her veggies--the more colorful they are the better! I couldn't be more proud!*~*

*~*I love the way her little nose bunches up when she realizes that you're enjoying a beer or glass of wine late in the evening, then follows that with a resounding: "'YUCK!"*~*

*~*Her preference and dislike of different creatures is just astounding! Frogs (or 'Rib-its') are a steadfast love! Rib-it toys, live rib-its, rib-it socks, just a trip down into the basement ensures a squeal of excitement over the possibility of finding a 'rib-it'.*~*

*~*I love the ways that she's learning her words and word sounds, finally...compared to just 6 months ago it's just astounding.*~*

*~*I love the way that as soon as there's a yellow school bus sighting, across the field even, with 5 more minutes to go she squeals in delight over 'Mi-mul' being home, finally.*~*

*~*It breaks my heart a little when she wakes up and wants to play with him and a search of the house turns up empty of her 'Mi-mul'.*~*

*~*I love the way she runs and greets him if we've been playing outside. It delays the bus a little because the driver won't drive off until I've caught up with her again, but it's worth it!*~*

*~*I love the way she greets Brian when he opens the door, squeals of utter delight, jumps for joy, and pure excitement of daddy being home! Most of the time she even helps him with taking off his socks and shoes, rubs most of the lint from his feet and gives them a small gentle peck!*~*


*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Oh how many more things I can list...she just amazes me everyday!

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I am a HORRID mother

My children ought to be banned from me!

My son is circumcised, my daughter has had her adenoids removed & tubes put in her ears.

Both my children are exposed to cigarette smoke.

I refer to either of them by their name, title, or individual pet name, as opposed to 'It' or 'Thing'.

I get a bit irritated with some of their normal for their age behaviors, but I work to help correct undesirable ones. I would never consider a child I was raising as evil, retched, ...or other condescending adjective that makes their behaviors a fault of theirs as opposed to a lack of attention on my part.

I let them play in dirt and other 'natural' things, to help them explore some of their likes and dislikes.

My house is no where near perfectly neat and organized, but it is child friendly.

My children know their manners - and USE them, even with complete strangers.

I allow my children freedom to be responsible. Either by allowing them to ride their bike without my hawk-eye on them every moment and by assigning them chores around the house.

My first child was exclusively breastfed, even though I worked on and off for that first 13 months, my second child was only partially breastfed for the first couple of months before I gave in to just giving her a bottle, thus ensuring greater peace for both of us at feeding times, even though I haven't held a job outside of the home since I was 7 months pregnant with her.

I have a husband who has medical problems, so I take on the bulk of the 'man' chores around the house, not because he can't do them, but because it's only fair after he's worked 40+ hours that week to provide for us and deserves a 'break'. He in turn keeps up with the kiddos - that is my break.

I'm not in the greatest of physical health myself, but I don't make excuses, I make allowances and then find a way to accomplish what needs to be done anyways. This could entail 'ignoring' the fact that something is out of place or just working in spurts.

I don't judge others because their choices for their families are different than mine, because I believe we all have that freedom to decide. There's also this clause about let 'he [she] without fault cast the first stone' and 'don't judge lest ye be judged'.

My children have a 'minimal' number of toys to play with, thus ensuring I don't have closets and closets and shelves and shelves of things to constantly have to be cleaning up.

If I don't want my child to get into something I either put it out of their climbing reach or behind a latch that they're unable to master until they're older. If they happen to get into something they shouldn't then it was my fault for leaving it out where they could get it. It doesn't make them an evil child, they're just learning. If I'm at someone else's home I am *mostly* diligent about keeping a close eye on them if I know they're prone to getting into things.

If my child needs some comforting in the middle of the night, whether that means crawling in my bed, a rub on their back in their bed, or even a super late night movie and snack, that's fine. They do know just what they need, it's my job to nurture that.

I, ALONE, (with the partnership of my husband) am responsible for the behaviors and actions of my children, if they behave in an unacceptable manner you can best believe I will do whatever the situation calls for to correct the behavior. If I find one of my actions to redirect ...or reteach their actions does not work I try something else, until I find something that DOES work. Yes, I have spanked on occasion and proud of it.

I have also found that 'do unto others' is a great rule to go by, within reason, with children. If they like to hit, kick, bite, pull hair the only way they will really understand the implications is if they've experienced such things.

It is in NO WAY up to me to determine what is right for another family. This is what works for mine. If I decide that in the middle of the grocery store, when my child starts throwing a fit about being hungry or thirsty, to serve my child a snack or drink that I plan on purchasing and letting her eat/drink throughout the store, that's MY choice. I'd rather have a satisfied child than a screaming one. Other times I deem it necessary to just ignore their fit and let them scream as they see fit.

I cook 98% of our meals, at home. Dinner is served AT the dinner table, with EVERYONE at the table (on the nights Brian isn't working). We all sit at the table together, with the TV turned off or placed in such a way that it is not viewable from the dinner table.

If someone decides they don't want something that is served a small effort is made to get them to at least eat a few bites, otherwise a leftover substitution is made or they just do without.

If they leave the table hungry because they didn't want to eat that's on them, I refuse to force them to sit there and eat if they truly are not interested in eating...this to me is an ACCEPTABLE natural consequence. I will put their leftovers in a container, into the fridge, then will reheat it later if they decide they are hungry. Afterall, I'm not always hungry at mealtimes, why should I expect them to be ready to eat right then. But they will sit there until either myself or Brian are done eating.

I do NOT deny my children sweets and 'junk' food. I simply limit what is available and make sure to have better alternatives on hand, at all times.

Stories are read every night before bed and bedtime routines are modified to fit the individual child to ensure that everyone is able to get some sleep (especially now that sleeping is no longer painful for Mikaila).

Rules at home are fairly lax, but rules away from home are strictly enforced, learned, and respected.

I use 'real' plates, silverware, etc and wash them over and over again, unless of course I'm going to have more people over than I have 'real' plates. My kitchen may be hot, my AC may be broke, and my dishwasher may not exist, but I refuse to be so lazy as to not be willing...or have my child, who is learning lifelong skills...to do the dishes on a daily basis. In the very least I own a $10 box fan.

I send my child to public school, without his own packed lunch on most days.

I do laundry on an every 3rd day-ish basis, therefore no one HAS to have 500 articles of clothing to have strung out everywhere. I put a limit of roughly 10-15 of each item (unless you count my shoes). Whatever is not worn & loved or has been outgrown just I give away.

I don't 'ban' my children from knowing their families because we have a difference of opinion, but I will limit their interaction with ones who are physically, mentally, and/or emotionally abusive. This even holds true for the dead beat sperm donor. He IS allowed, per MY decision, to have two hours of court SUPERVISED visits on the second Saturday of each month. HE chooses not to take advantage of this, not me. It is up to me to teach my children how to be respectful of EVERYONE, not just those that kiss my ass or bend to my desires.

I vaccinate my children, on the pediatric recommended schedule, just like I was, my siblings were, and likely my parents, as well as at least my cousins were and their children - the ONLY ones to have anything mentally or physically wrong with them are the ones that are afflicted with ailments completely unrelated to anything supposedly caused by vaccines.

I also had both my living children via cesarean - the first one because the doctor became impatient with me being in there for a THIRD weekend to have him, then I didn't progress quick enough for him to be home for dinner. Second one because it just wasn't feasible to attempt to drive 3 hrs to the nearest hospital that allowed VBACs, and because I picked her birthdate she was born at 37w3d - weighed in at 8lbs 4.5oz, with me smoking my whole pregnancy (yea, not terribly proud of that, but its done and over with and if 8lbs+ is going to be considered a low-weight newborn, born early, then so be it!)

For all of these choices and more I am PROUD of my parenting job. What I feel works for me, or what I'm learning doesn't work for me doesn't hold true for everyone, but that's their choice. At the end of the day all that matters is that myself and my children are happy and healthy about the choices I make (with my husband's help) about how to raise children. We may not see eye to eye but I can RESPECT that and withhold rude judgment, because who knows...in a few years I may change my mind about some things.

I also felt the need to add some more....

This was a 'response' to someone ALWAYS HARSHLY judging others' parenting decisions.

THEN takes and acts completely calloused about a motorist who, yes, was not wearing his seatbelt, but was killed in a car wreck. Calling it a 'natural consequence' and such. Just kinda pushed me over the edge of keeping my mouth shut and just looking past her judgments.

I seriously pray that she doesn't wind up with such a 'natural consequence' of her own...say loses a child because she wasn't able to keep all 3 from bolting from her and ending up getting hit by a car in a parking lot. I mean, in that case that would be considered a natural consequence, right? She should of kept better control of what her children did.

Or because she refuses to take one of her children in for allergy testing because they break out in hives on a regular basis from a food of some sort, that she's been unable to absolutely pin down and eliminate from the diet, that child winds up going into shock and medical personnel are too long in coming to her aid and she loses her child over it. I mean, that would be a natural consequence, right?

Then her 'pet' names for her children are Thing 1, 2, & 3...while referring to Thing 2 (the one also always breaking out in hives) as an evil, naughty, retched being...a gal who only happens to be a couple months older than Mikaila...when in reality it could be that her behaviors are related to her allergies, where many of Mikaila's were related to her ears...or in the very least related to the fact she's TWO, almost three.

Then other instances where she brow beat folks over choosing to have their young daughter's ears pierced, then turns around a month or so later and pierces her own not even (then) 1 year old's ears.

Or goes on and on and on about how HORRIBLE it is to send your child to public school...and has now signed her own child up for public school.

Or she goes recently and gets in her own wreck because she didn't pay attention and pulled out in front of someone, putting the lives of her children at risk, as well as the other persons in the other vehicle in jeopardy. Regardless of her "superior" car seat rules, if the other car had been going a bit quicker or been a bigger vehicle, besides a 2 door car vs her mini van, it could of been a completely different story.

Just CONSISTENT bullshit ALL THE TIME because she's so much better than everyone else.

THERE...now I think I feel better having gotten all of that off my chest. ☺

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Eight Years Ago...pt 4

~*~*~*~Part One~*~*~*~Part Two~*~*~*~Part Three~*~*~*~

Tuesday morning the doc decided that I wasn't dilating, my contractions went away when they stopped the pitocin, etc so he sent me home. I felt devastated and defeated. I was now 4 days overdue, had spent 48 hours in the hospital, and no baby to show for it. Follow-up appointment scheduled for Thursday, if I didn't go into labor on my own. The doc was sure the drugs of the previous two days would help get things started.

I no sooner was dropped off at the door of our apartment complex and the dead-beat left out to go to work. He came home "early" that night. Early meaning he didn't go to the bar after he got done with work....instead he made the silly attempt to hide the alcohol he had brought home. He had a pint of tequila and it was obvious that the two or three shots he had already drank out of the bottle were not the only drinks he had that night - he'd likely drank at least a 6pk while driving home, throwing the bottles at random signs along the road. I attempted to go to bed early - meaning around midnight. I picked up around the apartment, got dressed for bed, went pee for the 900th time that hour, crawled into bed.

About an hour later I decided that I needed some Tylenol for my pounding headache, so walked into the kitchen where I kept it.

The dead-beat followed me in there. He screamed, yelled, and cussed at me about my utter incompetency at being a woman. There were water spots on the faucets, therefore I hadn't actually cleaned the apartment. There were lines in the carpet going every which way, indicating that I did a rushed sloppy job of vacuuming. And the real kicker, he'd wasted a lot of time having to go up to the hospital for me and I didn't even have the baby.

He attacked me with a knife before I was able to get out of the corner he had backed me into. It wasn't the first time he had threatened me, hit me, or come at me, but it was the first time blood was drawn.

I managed to fight my way out of the apartment. Not too terribly easy of a task being overdue, but the deadbeat's inebriated state made it easier. I have a scar now on my upper left shoulder from the ordeal. Back when it was more pronounced I used to tell people that it was a scar from either surgery, a fall, who knows what I told people. That's the glorious thing about a lie...give it enough time and you'll forget what the lie was you told.

I made my way down to the pay phone in the lobby. I called the cops...again. Once again they talked me out of pressing charges..."because of my condition"...once again they denied making the dead-beat give me the keys to one of the two vehicles and $100 for gas - yea, ironic that 8 years ago $100 for gas would get you halfway across the country in a gas guzzler. Once again I was told by the officers that it wasn't advisable under my condition to be driving 600 miles to my mother's place. And yet, once again the officers told me to just not bother him while he was drinking, to let him sleep it off, and everything would be alright in the morning.

So once again I stood there absolutely, utterly defeated. Blood oozing out of my shoulder, five days overdue, and my "prince charming" being nothing more than an abusive prick who can smooth talk anyone, even those who had sworn to protect and serve.

I went in to pee...once again...this time though I caught sight of the small bottle of tequila that was nearly empty...it was tucked up behind the bathroom trashcan. I dumped out the tequila and refilled the bottle with urine. The next day while I was cleaning the bathroom I noticed it still behind the trashcan, but empty this time, the dumbass oblivious to what I had done, drank my urine. I kept up this new "habit" for the next few months...I don't think he ever noticed...I at least never heard about it and I know had he noticed I would of known...

Somethings I found out over the next 6-8 months: Toilet water mixed with some rubbing alcohol worked for vodka. Tea with some rubbing alcohol worked for whiskey. These were just some of my personal secret 'victories' during our last year living together.

The next few days were uneventful. More harassment from the dead-beat, Thursday's doctor's appt again showed no signs of progress. My doctor scheduled me for another induction for the following Sunday, the 18th, unless I went into labor on my own before then. Which I did not. I was 8 days overdue when I went back to the hospital....

~*~*~*~*~There's still more to come~*~*~*~*~

Hey...at least you're just waiting for the rest of the story...I was the one pregnant waiting on the baby. ♥

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I dyed...

My hair. :-) I started at 1am because everyone was sleeping, I was bored, I had some Algebra homework to finish up, and because everyone was sleeping there would be no 'assistance'. I have now gone from an ashy dishwater sun bleach streaked blonde to a Merlot looking color...I'll post some pictures when it's dry and I have all the pictures. ☺

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Eight Years Ago...pt 3

~*~*~*~*~ Part One ~*~*~*~*~ Part Two ~*~*~*~*~

Monday....Noon came and went, I was still on the pitocin, having contractions, but the contractions were manageable with some drugs...the dead-beat had passed out around 8am...he left for work around 3pm. I didn't see him again until about 2am. I still wasn't allowed food or drink. I was utterly miserable.

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Eight Years Ago...pt 2

~*~*~*~*~This is part two of an ongoing series. Part one can be found here. ~*~*~*~*~

....today I waddled into the hospital for my first attempt at an induction. They put this nasty jelly type stuff up in me to help soften my cervix. -Don't ask me the name...I honestly don't remember.- This required me to lay there, hooked up to a few different machines, flat on my back. I was not allowed to eat anything. I was not allowed to drink anything. The best I could hope for was ice chips and I'm not terribly fond of ice. So I laid there, bored out of my mind, blood pressure machine going off every 20 minutes, other monitors beeping and carrying on. It was a Sunday night that I had checked into at 6pm.

My family was 12 hours away. I had a few friends in the area that I had met through the meetings of the religious organization I identify with, but they sleep at night and it wasn't quite like we were super close. The dead-beat had a great way of running people off by going on about how terribly immoral I apparently was. Where was the dead-beat you ask? I'd sent him out to sneak me in some food at 8pm that night...I didn't see him again until about 5am. At that time he was terribly drunk, brought me a COLD grilled cheese sandwich that looked disgusting, and proceeded to harass the nurses who came in and put me on the pitocin. He then cussed me out again because I was not yet dilated, no progress whatsoever was being made in regards to birthing Mikeal, and apparently while he was gone I was getting busy with my attractive doctor. I didn't find him all that terribly attractive but the dead-beat considered him to be, so of course I thought the same way as he.

~*~*~*~*~Stay tuned for the continuation....~*~*~*~*~

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Eight Years Ago...pt 1

...on this day was my due date. I went in for my regular check-up. I was measuring two weeks ahead by this time, so had another ultrasound. My ultrasound showed him to be weighing about 7lbs 8oz. My doctor was going to give me another three days to go into labor on my own before he induced me. None of us expected that it would take another 2 inductions - for a total of 3 - over the course of the next 18 days before I would get to hold my little big man with the help of a cesarean.

Edited to add the ugly side...because I promised myself I would quit hiding all the details....

The dead-beat that I was married to at the time started in on his criticism and degrading of me for this. Told me that real women go into labor on their own, that I was being lazy and the like. He went out that afternoon to go to work, did not get home until almost 5am, drunker than snot. During that evening I spent a lot of time walking the staircases and halls- we lived on the 3rd floor of an apartment building, that was designed like a nice hotel- so there were plenty of stairs and halls. I missed one of his phone calls during my walk, so when he finally got home, three hours after last call, I was apparently the one screwing around on him.

I ended up thankful that night that he was extremely drunk when he walked in. He passed out while in the middle of his outburst, crashed through a wall, and slept there all night... The next morning I moved the large solid oak entertainment center over to cover the hole in the wall, as well as the rest of the furniture in the living room to make it less obvious. I was 12 hours from friends and family that had already turned their back on me...believing me to be as immoral as the dead-beat had made me out to be.

Stay tuned over the next few weeks for the rest of the story....

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Short & Simple - A List of Some Truths

I have been married 3 times.
~*~Johnathan East - married 2/16/00; widowed 2/19/00
~*~Bryan Gilliam - married (I thought) 12/17/01; found out we were not legally married because he didn't sign the paper until 5/02; legally married 6/27/02. Separated 9/22/03 after finding out he actually attempted to rape a 5(five) year old and wasn't just peeing and she walked in on him. Divorce was final 6/13/06.
~*~Brian Bonds - married 10/31/07 until death do we part.

I have only been pregnant 5 times.
~*~Alonna - born 12/13/00; died due to misdiagnosis of everything BUT pregnancy, was on several different medications that are not safe for pregnancy, others that have since even been recalled.
~*~Mikeal - born 8/26/02
~*~Bridgett - still born 6/25/03 at 23weeks gestation because my ex threw a 27" TV at me in a drunken rage, after HE was out all night.
~*~early miscarriage - 10/2004
~*~Mikaila - born 12/13/07

I used to be quite the drunk.
I used to smoke marijuana.
I went through quite the self-destructive period of time, in which I did hope to be just taken out of everyone's misery.
I have been homeless with a young child, with NO ONE to turn to for any sort of support or their idea of support was to spread rumors, fuel indignation, or tell me good luck and that I needed more help than they were qualified to provide. Thanks *family members whom I actually looked up to and respected*.
My divorce was UGLY and continues to be ugly.

I'm also triumphant over all of these things. I have a wonderful, supportive husband, two beautiful intelligent children, and a life I wouldn't trade anyone for. I don't envy anyone, if anything I pity those whom I am told I should strive to be most like.

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Truth & Dirty Little Secrets

secret

adj.

1. Kept hidden from knowledge or view; concealed.

2. Dependably discreet.

3. Operating in a hidden or confidential manner: a secret agent.

4. Not expressed; inward: their secret thoughts.

5. Not frequented; secluded: wandered about the secret byways of Paris.

6. Known or shared only by the initiated: secret rites.

7. Beyond ordinary understanding; mysterious.

8. Containing information, the unauthorized disclosure of which poses a grave threat to national security.

n.

1. Something kept hidden from others or known only to oneself or to a few.

2. Something that remains beyond understanding or explanation; a mystery.

3. A method or formula on which success is based: The secret of this dish is in the sauce.

4. Secret A variable prayer said after the Offertory and before the Preface in the Mass.

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truth

n. pl. truths

1. Conformity to fact or actuality.

2. A statement proven to be or accepted as true.

3. Sincerity; integrity.

4. Fidelity to an original or standard.

5.

a. Reality; actuality.

b. often Truth That which is considered to be the supreme reality and to have the ultimate meaning and value of existence.

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The history of my life really isn't a secret. I just choose not to talk about it much, but then again, the definition of secret is to be kept hidden from others or known only to oneself or to a few, so I suppose then I have been keeping a secret. I gloss things over in an attempt to keep from hearing "oh that's so horrible" or other sympathetic type remarks. Also, if I don't get into the reality of it all I save the face of others, because after all, I'm strong enough to know and live the truth; others aren't that fortunate.

But, you see, Truth is two-fold. Truth is a statement that has been proven OR accepted to be true. The truth doesn't doesn't have to be true to be accepted as the truth. So long as I play my part in the lie than others believe it to be the truth, but that's just not honorable. That's not what I was taught as a "Christian"...I was taught, as a Christian, that the truth is the truth, not an accepted lie. So then, if the truth is actually the accepted lie as truth then is Christianity a lie? Is Judaism the truth? Islam? Buddhism? You'll find whole masses of persons in each denomination that believes they have the truth, otherwise, if they didn't believe they had the truth they'd seek out truth elsewhere, because no one likes to be lied to. Also, no one likes to be lied about, unless of course that lie makes them out to be better than what they are - that my friend is the truth.

So, having said that, I'm left in a precarious spot. Do I tell the truth and free myself of the burden, anger, & hurt? Do I keep the secret, thus perpetuate the lie? See, telling the truth would shatter some people's idea of what they think to be the truth. Reputations would be tarnished. In the end I always come off as sounding like a bitter bitch, but then again, maybe I am. These secret truths - otherwise known as lies - ruined my life, my relationships, and cost me the lives of some children whom never got the chance to breath fresh air. So that what? Some high-minded, well respected persons didn't get their dirt exposed?

I could go with the attitude that I don't give a flying fuck about their feelings and their image, but where that's not entirely false, it's also not entirely true. Why should I stoop to their level? By not stooping to their mudslinging, snobbery, and exclusivity I am triumphant in proving myself to be the better person. Will anyone really know it? Not here, not now.

It really doesn't matter what my fellow man thinks of me, nor what I think of them. It doesn't matter what the accepted truth is amongst my peers - my fellow, imperfect humans. The only truth is the one that I'm judged by upon my personal Judgment Day. Now, whether I find myself burning to all eternity or living in heavenly splendor, reincarnated back into the form of a rat or a queen, or even just simply die knowing nothing more or live forever in a perfect earthly paradise, either way I won't know until it happens, granted I know that I got there when I get there.

All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players:
They have their exits and their entrances;
And one man in his time plays many parts,
-Shakesphere, As you Like It, Act II, Scene VII

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