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I'll never get this detailed |
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or personal again. Sorry in advance. |
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The last time I sat down here and attempted to write something, all that would flow out were words about how anxious I was, because time was ticking. I was writing about my fears, and how in just a few weeks, I was going to have something that was completely mine. Something that would be mine forever, and that once it came, there was no going back on it. No, there was no buyer's remorse on what I was going to get. I was nervous, anxious, sometimes sick over it. However, I'd easily reverse those feelings and suddenly feel myself fill with excitement, good anxiety, and good nausea. I'll only attribute half of that to those hormones that I was so generously being given. So, I write and write and figure a break wouldn't hurt. I could go back to it another day, maybe even a week later. Lo and behold, that entry was never unveiled. I still find it so amusing how I spent all that time practically coaxing and assuring myself that everything would be okay; that I still had plenty of time to get everything done. And then what does the little hell-raiser decide to do? Show up two weeks early.
Denial is what I remember most about that day. I was convinced it wasn't happening. How could it, it just wasn't time. I wasn't prepared, not mentally nor physically. In fact, I was at first blaming what I was feeling on some food I'd eaten a few hours ahead of time. But when I realized it wasn't that, my mind switched into panic mode, wondering why the fuck she wanted to get out early. I didn't know if she something was wrong, if she was okay, or if she was simply bored of being in there. All I know is that in the five minute mad dash it took to get everything ready and leave, I never regretted not taking advice more. Ladies, when other women tell you to pack your hospital bag at least a month in advance, listen to them. I wasn't happy with myself at that moment, but I had little time to beat myself up over it. The ride was pretty much a blur. A blur full of panic, of course. Had Billie not been there by my side, struggling to keep me sane, I'm not sure I would've made it without going into a full blown panic attack. I don't know that he was all too calm himself, but I fucking know he wasn't where I was. I don't think I'd ever wanted to trade places with him more than I did at that moment.
I feel like I still need to be schooled on why the kids will warn you that they're ready to leave and rip this joint, but they do it hours in advance. Not for a second did I think I'd have time to check my e-mail, make some phone calls, and watch a movie or two. Not that I did those things, but fuck I would have had time for that and more. However, I gotta get it out there that those weren't the most peaceful six hours of my life, nor were they the most comfortable. I tried to go in there with a positive attitude, even trying to convince myself that I wouldn't need anything for the pain. I got by the first hour or so but she was really kicking my ass after that. The hours rolled on as more shit got injected into my I.V. I couldn't tell you what any of it was, but I do know that I wouldn't mind having some of that shit at home once in a while. Just on occasion. Now, the real fun part comes when they tell you, "Sorry, it's too late for anything more. It's time to start." That really brightens up your day, I'll tell you that right now. Sparing you all the details, I will just say that I have never felt anything like that in my life. I was not prepared for what I was feeling and it definitely made it harder to get through. I'm just so grateful I had such a great team of people with me, namely Billie and my mother. Would not have been able to do that without them. It was hard, and painful, and almost made me question why I was doing it. But that all just faded the moment they placed her on my chest; that wrinkly, bloody, screaming, eight pounds of love. I never thought I'd be able to switch so quickly from tears of pain to tears of joy. She was there and she was so real. I couldn't believe that I did that. I just looked at her, wondering how the fuck I was able to do that. And then there's that moment where all these strangers snatch her away, and in your exhausted, post-labor haze all you can think is, "Where are they taking my baby? Where'd she go?" I'm sure I passed out shortly after. But I vividly remember waking up and asking for her right away. That was my baby, man. I needed to see what she looked like all calm and cleaned up. I swear, I saw a goddamn halo over her head the minute they walked her over to me. I couldn't fathom how this tiny thing in my arms was mine. She was there because of me. Well, half of her was, anyway. I couldn't get over it and two months later, I'm still finding it hard to believe. I was getting to a point where I wasn't sure I was cut out to be a mother. There was a time I was convinced it'd never happen, and part of me was adjusting to that. However, I wouldn't change a damn thing right now.
Each day brings something new, thanks to her. I've completely become an over-observant person. I'll notice the tiniest movement she makes, even if it's out of the corner of my eye. I'll be in another room, yet, I'll somehow hear the tiniest sigh. You bet your asses. I can smell the girl from a mile away. And if sitting around waiting for her to make a noise or a sudden movement is all I do the entire day, I'm fine with that. There are still nights where I spend too much time watching her sleep. I think that's something every mother does, and I didn't even expect myself to be any different. I tell her just as many stories as I did when she was inside, only now it's even better because I can watch her eyes follow my lips as I talk. I love how alert she is. It's as if she's really listening. I swear, she's the best listener I've ever encountered. It honestly seems like she's listening, maybe even taking notes in her head, when in reality she's just listening to mommy's voice because it's there. Either way, I love it. Our special bonding time is usually when I bathe her. That's when I really get into my hardcore story-telling, or when I just ramble about how much daddy's pissing me off, or how much shit I have to do the next day. All said in a sweet, high pitched, baby-friendly voice, of course. She appreciates my stories, I know she does. And I have to work as hard as I can for that because this one is a definite daddy's girl. The minute she heard his voice and started kicking my stomach I knew it was all over for me. There are times where she'll only stop crying if he's holding her or singing to her. She gets so giddy when he walks into the room and says something. If she had it her way, I'd be out of the picture, I'm sure. Well, maybe everything about me but my tits. She'd survive though. As long as she had her daddy. I swear, there is no jealousy over here from Drea. Nope, none whatsoever.
In a way, I think her early arrival was a good thing on a few levels. It was unexpected and it put me in a position where it was all up to me to make sure my child would be okay. Isn't that what parenting is all about, anyway? You can't expect anything, you just need to be prepared for the worst. One day your fifteen-year-old is hugging you and telling you how much she loves you. The next day? Door slammed in your face with a few, "fuck you"s thrown in there. That was me at least, anyway. You just never know what's going to come next. Anything is possible. Her entrance on November 28th proved that to me. I can only hope that this means she'll be early for everything. If so, I'll be fucking glad because that's one thing she certainly didn't get from her mother.
I'd be lying if I said that my feelings about Billie haven't changed, because they have, and in the best way possible. I never realized I could love him so much more than I did before Allie came into the world, but I do. Just the fact that he's the father to my child would be enough to make me love him even more. But it's more than that. It's his constant effort to make sure we both have everything we need. It's the time he takes to spend with her, which is also the time he gives me to rest or do what I have to do. It's just Billie being Billie, and that in itself is pretty great. I am just so head over heels and I didn't think I would ever get any higher. He was my entire world, and now that's shared with Alabama. He doesn't mind a bit. My favorite part of the day is probably watching him interact with her. I love the moments where I get super stalker and just watch them through the doorway. There is just something about those moments that make my stomach flop in an amazing way. The fact that he can soothe her with his voice alone is a miracle in itself. That comes in handy more than anything. Like I said, she is such a daddy's girl, and in more ways than one. I already see tons of Billie in her. She totally got his eyes and I hope once it grows she'll have his hair too. I see him in her facial expressions all the time, too. People have said she's a good mixture but I see more of him than I do of myself. She's pure perfection, clearly she didn't get it from me.
Two months down, dozens and dozens more to go and I'm absolutely ready for it. I can only pray the journey goes as smoothly as it's gone so far. There are going to be hundreds of things popping up in the future, but I'm ready and willing. I'm ready to catch each tear, clean each wound, soothe each fear, and kick any ass that dare break her heart. My baby isn't going to take shit from anybody, I'll tell you that right now. Alabama Gypsy Rose is one little firecracker already. I'm still learning and admittedly still fucking up as I go along, but I'm trying. I have help, which was my personal choice, but I still play my motherly role to her life, in every way possible. I can personally say that she's my favorite person in the world, and I would lay my life on the line in a second if it would help her. I didn't think I'd find anyone else I'd so willingly die for but I did, and she's right here in my lap. I didn't know I could love something so tiny as much as I do. And you know, she knows she's loved and that's the most important thing. Hell, she knows just from the fact that her momma's first post-pregnancy drink was an Alabama Slammer, in honor of her. It's all for you, babe. Here's to you.
Side-note, in reference to my subject line, everyone go here, if you haven't heard about Ricki Lake's documentary on this fucked up medical system. Seeing it now from a mother's perspective has really opened my eyes and I intend on seeing this ASAP. I hope you all do the same.
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