Some frosted wear for the face. Makeup so old that even the glue for the mirror peaced out.
Today I decided to get myself done up real good. My in-laws are in town and diffusion of responsibility is running rampant. Where are the kids?! No one knows, we’re all assuming an adult is watching them when in reality no one is, but it’s the only time I can get glam.
Since having children, putting on makeup is low on the priority list but sometimes it just feels so good to put on a made face and remind myself that I still got stuff to rock. The dilemma is that my make up is hella old. I have stuff in there during the “frost is boss” phase, you know, early 2000s when the Olsen twins were pumping out movies like New York Minute and Mariah Carey was putting out Glitter. You couldn’t get enough frost on and in your face. I could just toss the frost, but then that would mean I would have to find time to buy make up and ain’t no mommy got time for that!
So for now, while I’m stuck in kid crazy town, I’ll be a walking frosting billboard for an era when we hailed the halter and donned on all things denim. Fo’shizzle.
Little did I know I was about 12 weeks pregnant on my birthday. I had gotten a Thai massage and had started drinking at noon.
Let me tell you a story that happened in late May of 2014. It all started with a sentence. “I think you should go pee on something,” my husband suggested as I was changing into my blue Bluth’s Banana Stand t-shirt for the night. Earlier I had been complaining about how I couldn’t seem to lose weight after the in-laws left a month ago. I had started being more active and eating somewhat healthier. But I didn’t think I needed to go pee on something. I didn’t have the typical pregnancy signs, only the ambiguous ones that in hindsight might seem obvious. Missed monthly visitor? She’d been finicky since I gave birth to my girl. Fatigue? I’m always tired, I’m a SAHM. Glowing? Never without bronzer. Hair? My hair has the ability to remain consistently flat and greasy. Weight gain? Yes, but my in-laws were with us for three months, they’re from the mid-west so most of our meals consisted of meat, potatoes, cream, liquified cheese, and butter. Cravings? I’m a terrible eater, I’ll satiate any craving, pregnant or not! Nausea? Never. The one thing that seemed a bit different was that I had the olfactory Spidey Sense. I would mention a funky stench in the house to my husband, but he couldn’t smell it. I just thought, ‘He’s a guy, they’re desensitized to most smells.’
A few days later I did pee on a stick. Lo and behold, double blue lines. I waited a few hours and peed on another stick. Double blue lines again. My husband came home while I was putting our daughter to sleep. I came out with the pee stick in my hand, “I’m pregnant.” He smiled, “How far along do you think you are?” I told him I couldn’t remember when I had my last period. Maybe February, perhaps March. April was fuzzy. I estimated that I must be about eight or nine weeks along.
Two weeks later we went to the OBGYN. The doctor does an ultrasound and starts off by saying, “Hmmmm, the baby has a big head.” My husband tells him “Bobbleheads run in the family.” The doctor measured the stomach and leg then says, “It looks like a 20 week baby in there and measures like one, too. I’m estimating the due date around the third week of October. Get ready, in four months you guys are going to have a baby.” Silence. I look at my husband and he’s Busey-ing. He looks at me; I automatically mirror his face. Now we’re both Busey-ing.
When we got home I neglected my first born to spend an hour Googling stories of how other women didn’t know they were pregnant until their second trimester. I wanted affirmation and validation. ‘See, this woman didn’t know she was six months pregnant and she’s studying biology on a graduate level!’ I started feeling good about myself. I told myself that it could have been worse, I could have been one of those ladies on TLC’s I Didn’t Know I Was Pregnant or found myself writing a confessional blog spot on XO Jane’s It Happened to Me, crying over my computer in the middle of the night reading nasty DISQUS comments. But thank goodness I caught it just in time.
When we started telling people, many would say “How did you not know you were pregnant?!” And I’d go through everything mentioned above. Then they would point out the positives like, “It’ll be great to have them so close in age so they could play with each other.” Or “It’s nice to get all the ‘having kids’ out of the way.” Or, my favorite, “Hey it’s awesome you skipped through the whole first trimester!” Yes it’s awesome but I didn’t “skip” through my first trimester, I still went through it – albeit rather obliviously, if not also rather recklessly (rock climbing, imbibing, caffeinating – to name just a few). Some of the people I have told are still incredulous about my not knowing. I’m still incredulous about my not knowing.
Now it’s been 18 months since Ellis came out of my vagina crying bloody murder. Luckily he was a big ol’ healthy baby and so far he seems “normal.” It was pretty insane to hastily add a new person to our bobblehead clan. Occasionally people ask if we want a third. I politely reply, f*ck no.
Last night I was laying in bed with a big stupid smile across my face and tears streaming off to the side of my crows feet. Why? Because I was thinking about my kids sleeping. You may think it’s completely banal but what you don’t know was the sequence of events that led up to my mania. I had just peeked into their room and stalker stared at each one of them for what felt like a minute but was really more like 10. Then I went into my room to try to sleep but all I did was replay the image of them sleeping that I had burnt into my brain. It was like the internet froze in my mind and nothing was loading for a whole hour. Isn’t that insane? I don’t know how to handle mom brain.