Date Night Fail

Friday night, after a rough week, I thought date night would be nice.  We haven’t done much lately just the two of us that doesn’t have something to do with prepping for the coming baby. 

I wore a new shirt.  I had and my jean jacket.  I looked in the mirror and thought, ”I look cute pregnant today.” I was about to walk out of my house when I realized my leggings were on inside out.  I laughed and changed quickly before my husband picked me up. 

We enjoyed a nice dinner.  I was careful to only eat half my food so I wouldn’t be uncomfortable full.  After dinner, morning (all the time) sickness kicked in and I had to run to the bathroom.  Needless to say I vomited on myself.  The pregnancy hormones kicked in and I wanted to cry, I was so upset.  I made my husband stop so I could get a new shirt.  I didn’t want to ruin date night (any more than I already had), but I wasn’t going to sit through a movie smelling vomit. 

I found a cheap maternity shirt, changed and was ready to resume date night.  For some reason, we thought it would be a good idea to see Riddick…in IMAX.  Of course we thought it was a good idea, baby not so much.  She had no problem telling me she wasn’t happy either.  As the violence in the movie progressed so did the violence in my tummy.  Eventually, I had to walk out and calm my baby down.  The hubby got to watch the rest of the movie alone.  On the way home, we enjoyed contractions mixed in with lots of movement in between.  At 4am baby was still reacting. 

Afterwards, I felt like such a horrible mom.  Of course the noise was too loud and the vibrations too much.  How did I not think of this?  It is good preparation for being a mom, there is a lot I will have to learn, and I will only learn as we go along. 

It is official, date nights have changed and life will never be the same, but neither will the love.  The love is so much stronger.  In retrospect, I can’t help but to laugh.  This is the stuff sitcoms are made of.

From now on, date nights will just have to wait until the baby’s Aunties K²  are ready to babysit. 

"Life is full of barbaric customs." --Vada Sultanfuss

With so much serious stuff going on, I’d like to take the time to think about something a little more normal.  You know, a good controversy to debate.  No one loves a good debate more than me.  Are you ready for this one? …EAR PIERCING.  I know who would have thought.  As a Latina, ear piercing my baby seemed like the natural thing to do.  It’s just what you do in my culture and in my family.  But, now as an educated Latina, I’m learning it isn’t that simple. 

My husband is against ear piercing.  He feels like it is a body mutilation that should be our baby’s choice, when she is old enough and ready to make that decision.  He does not understand why anyone would want to put his or her baby through any unnecessary pain.  He also feels like you are permanently changing her body, and that is not a choice we should make for her.   I have to say, this is a very feminist view.  One that I completely understand, and wish I could agree with, but just can’t seem to get passed my cultural upbringing. 

Ear piercing is just something that happens when a baby girl is born in my family.  For many years in my life I thought it was normal until I saw my friends in school who didn’t have their ears pierced.  All girls in my family got their ears pierced as babies and little baby diamonds for their ears.  I assume the same is true in my husband’s family, because his aunt already bought the baby little earrings.  My husband says he will let our daughter pierce her ears when she asks for it.  But I think, of course she will ask for it.  Her mama has pierced ears, her aunties, and her cousins do too.  She will ask and then she will remember the pain.  If she doesn’t like earrings when she’s older, she doesn’t have to wear them. 

I compare it to baptism.  I don’t think a baby is born with original sin.  I don’t think a baby has sin, but baptism is more a cultural thing you do.  You get your baby blessed.  You pour a little cold water on them, and they cry.  It isn't nice, but it is tradition.  I know that there is nothing that lasts forever in this ceremony, but it was the closest example I could come up with. 

All I keep thinking of is the movie “My Girl 2.”   “It’s a totally barbaric custom.” But I love it! What do you think?  Piercing a baby’s ears, mutilation or a tradition?  

Pre E

During this pregnancy I have read everything I can.  I have eaten healthy. I have watched my weight to make sure I’m gaining just the right amount.  I have stayed hydrated.  I have remained active, but stepped back when I was doing too much.  I have done everything I was supposed to do.  In spite of my dedication and my doctor’s A+ report card during visits (I’m an over achiever), I was diagnosed with preeclampsia. 

There are risk factors, but the actual cause of preeclampsia is unknown.  It can lead to premature birth, low birth weight and death in the fetus.  For the mother it can lead to liver or kidney problems, seizures, stroke and death.  Obviously, hearing this news was nerve wrecking.  Especially when the cure is delivering the baby and the placenta.  At 31 weeks, we weren’t quite ready for that.  The hospital doctor suggested we just take things day by day and monitor baby and me as closely as possible.  I count kicks (they haven’t slowed, she’s an active little one).  I take my blood pressure twice a day.  I try to make sure I rest when my body tells me to.  We also go to the hospital every three to four days for a non-stress test, where they monitor the baby and her heartbeats with movements and contractions.  They do ultrasounds once a week and we have doctor visits once a week.  This experience has reminded me, I can’t control everything, but I sure will do everything I can to make sure my baby is safe. 

Today, I left the hospital tired.  We got there at 5pm, right after work, and left around 8pm.  I was hungry and tired, and I complained about having to go back in a few days.  My husband reminded me how blessed we are.  We were leaving, and the results showed a healthy baby.  He said, “We can come here as often as they want us to, as long as we keep getting results like that.”  He was so right.  We are grateful for the great care I am getting and that so far a diagnosis has been the worst we have experienced.  As I said in my last post, “It’s going to take a lot of love, faith, and humor” to get through the coming weeks.  And when I lose my way, when I am too tired and hungry to be positive and up beat, on those days, I have my husband to remind me of what is important, and an active baby to remind me to have faith.   

Love, Faith & Humor

It has been a rough couple of days of unexpected hospital visits, high blood pressure, medical exams and the first Braxton Hicks contractions (at least I think that’s what they were).  Needless to say mommy and daddy are a bit freaked out.  We are in uncharted territory here. 

My husband is worried about his baby.  He said it is such a new feeling to worry this much about someone.  I tell him not to worry, she’s my daughter so she is a fighter by nature.   I tell her, “Daddy doesn’t love anyone more than he loves you.”  To which my husband says, “Don’t tell her that, she will use it against me someday.”  I respond, “Again, she’s my daughter she’s intuitive by nature, she already knows.”

I foresee that it is going to take a lot of love, faith and humor to get through the next two months, but I would want my baby to be made of nothing less!

My backup husband,
Mr. Sanchez

He Held Her First

The three of us had fun together

As I go through this pregnancy, there is someone very important missing from my life.  The lack of my mom’s presence is obvious, and it is natural for me to miss her.  But I less often speak of my other missing piece.  My heart, my soulmate, my cousin Mikey, his absence is a lot more difficult for me to discuss.  Maybe it is because it is more recent; I just lost him two years ago.  Maybe it is because his absence is harder to process; I lost him to suicide.  He was only 17 years old. Nonetheless, I miss him everyday.  I used to tell him I loved him so much, that I didn’t think I would be able to love my own kids more.  And now, I’m here and I’m going to be a mom and in part of my heart there is a big empty hole that will never be filled. 

I was leaving from the hospital the other day, feeling all mommy-powered up, and I reached for my phone to call him.  Two years and I still have the habit of wanting to call him.  I know he would have loved my baby.  I know he would have loved to see my hubby and me as parents.  I know he would have been like a big brother or uncle to my baby.  And I’m sad that I won’t get to see that.

But as crazy as it sounds, I believe he held her first.  I believe he helped pick out my baby.  I imagine him chatting with God and my mom and saying, “she should have a girl,” knowing that a boy couldn’t replace him, and shouldn’t be expected to.  I imagine him holding her, and looking at her the way he looked at Isabella (our cousin).  I imagine him grinning and thinking “yes, this is Cristy’s baby.”   I imagine him thinking, a girl would give my husband more trouble and be more amusing.  It is no small coincidence that she is due the day after his birthday.  I know it sounds 100% crazy, but I have to believe it.  He won’t hold her on earth, but he held her first.  

Michael D. Hartman
October 23, 1993-May 18, 2011