Turn the Page

Most people will be watching the Superbowl this weekend. Those of us who are die-hard fans for either the Arizona Cardinals or the PITTSBURGH STEELERS will be watching avidly, cheering and jeering for about four hours. Some will look at the statistics and choose a team to root on based on who has the best defense, the better quarterback, or maybe someone like Fast Willie Parker or Troy Polamalu who's just everywhere. I'm just sayin'.

I'll be right alongside my husband and brother-in-law cheering the Steelers on. But we have a very important event around here that will transpire the day prior to the big game. A smart, funny, and whimsical little girl is turning four.

Her Yaya (pronounced yeah-yeah) will be taking Beth, Bubba, myself, her daughters and two other grandsons out to lunch at McDonald's where we'll also have cupcakes. Then we'll spend the afternoon at the house until the guys get back from the midday golf outing - originally meant to be an afternoon with my husband and his dad, sort of a final father-son outing, but it turned into my husband tagging along as my father-in-law goes golfing with his stepson-in-law and some other guy we don't know. Whatever. After they get back, we'll have the real cake and open presents.

I just can't believe four years have passed since I had my first baby. Is she really turning four? How is that possible? I was looking at old pictures when we were packing up the old place, just a couple of weeks ago, and when she was born we still didn't have a digital camera, so all her baby pictures are actually in photo albums. There's one picture of her sleeping on my chest, just a wee newborn, all curled up, mouth hanging open, and looking like the coziest baby on earth. Now, if I stretch her out to lay her head on my chest, it's like hugging a German Shepherd. She's huge in comparison to four years ago.

Her hair is thick and gorgeous and hangs down to the middle of her back. When she was three months old, all her baby hair fell out and she looked like an 80-year-old man. Her eyes were so dark when she was born, they were almost purple. Now she's big ol' doe eyes that shine a caramel-coffee color. She has really fair skin with a rosy glow and a smile that lights up a room. She's overcome a speech delay, having barely said three words by the time she was two. Now we can't pay her to be quiet. She's become such an integral and vibrant part of our life that we can't imagine life without her.

So in case I get wrapped up in something else tomorrow, forget to blog, or decide to hack out a Friday Chronicles post, happy birthday, Beth. You're an awesome little girl who's going to take over the world someday. We love you.

A Year Ago Today...

Let's see...what was I doing one year ago today? I was running errands. We were living in a town about 45 miles from where we were running all our errands but since I was due - to give birth to my son - any day and the hospital I was delivering it was in the vicinity, we figured it was safe enough. Around noon, we stopped at Hell-Mart Wal-Mart and I noticed things felt a little different. I mentioned it in passing to my husband but brushed it off as wishful thinking.

Then, for lunch we went to China Cook - a fanTAStic Chinese take-out place in Hayward. Because I was a gestational diabetic, I had to go with egg foo yong and a medium hot & sour soup. I love hot & sour soup. I was trying all the old wives' tales to induce labor: sex, castor oil (Yes, I really did try it. Nothing happened. NOTHING.), rides on bumpy roads, walking, and spicy food, which is what landed me at the hot & sour soup. Two nights before, I'd had the Prego Pizza from Skipolini's. I had high hopes...but nothing had happened.

We got home around 4 p.m. and I made dinner which, if memory serves, was kielbasa. I started feeling contractions around that time. By 7 p.m. they were pretty bad, so I took a shower and called the hospital. We took off around 8 p.m. and I endured a hellish ride to the hospital. It only took about half an hour but it felt like three hours because we were on 580 west, possibly the bumpiest, crappiest road in the east bay. We got to the hospital around 9 p.m.

They checked me in and put me on Skid Row in the observation room - just click on "Observation Room" to the right - to make sure I was truly in labor. Yeah, I KNOW. I can barely stand up, I'm hollering for an epidural, but they need to be sure I'm in labor. 'Kay.

Turns out, I was about 7 centimeters. Transition time. They had me in the L&D room - just click on "Birthing Suite" - within minutes and I was going through an awfully quick labor. Despite my begging and pleading for an epidural, the nurse anesthetist took her sweet-ass time, asking me the same series of questions at least three times, and finally tried to administer it when I was NINE CENTIMETERS. Who waits that long?

The epi never took and about five minutes later, I started pushing. I was in horrible, shiver-inducing pain. Most of the pain centered around my left hip and lower back. Terrible. At 12:10 a.m. on October 28, eight short hours after my contractions began, my son was born. I posted this today because I spent the 27th in labor. Seemed fitting. Just after midnight tonight, I'll tiptoe into my son's room and stroke his hair and cheek and whisper "Happy birthday, Budda-Boy."

That's right: Budda-Boy. My nickname for him.

The day before I went into labor.

The Birthday Tally

So today was my 29th birthday. In and of itself, not a big deal. But I'm a firm believer that whenever possible, the birthday girl/boy should be treated a little nicer, have an easier day, on that particular day. Here's the numerical rundown of my special day:

- Thirteen. The number of online greetings I received from friends and family via MySpace and Facebook. Yes, I'm a social networking whore. So?

- Three. The number of actual birthday cards I received in the mail. One was from our leasing office. It read, "Darcie, Hope you have a great 1." Edumacated people they have working in there.

- Two. Number of well-wishing phone calls I got today. One was a nice call this evening from my brother-in-law. The other was my stepmother-in-law who wished me a happy birthday and then proceeded to tell me that she and my father-in-law, whose birthday is this coming Sunday, were having her oldest daughter's family down to have cake and ice cream for my father-in-law's birthday. Every year since I've been out here, we've always celebrated my birthday in conjunction with his, except for last year when he turned 50. This year: not so much invited and in fact, getting my nose rubbed in it. I guess this'll teach me to forget HER birthday in times of massive amounts of personal stress and chaos.

- One. One gift, received via UPS from my mom by way of The Cracker Barrel, which is her place of employment. It was actually a huge box with a bunch of culinary goodies for all of us and then my gift: a Pepto-Bismol-pink t-shirt that was very telling of either my mom's memory slipping or her complete misunderstanding of the inherent joke of the shirt:



**By the way, if you actually know my mom and happen to see her, please don't mention this. I don't want her feelings hurt, I do appreciate her gesture with the gift, and if you know my mom, you know this isn't a can of worms that needs opening.

-----------------------------------------------------

To be fair to my husband, we'd already discussed that I'd celebrate my birthday proper this weekend, after payday. With that in mind, I wasn't expecting anything on the homefront, other than a little R&R...which didn't really happen for me. I had to work, so Boy was here, and Bubba was a screamin' Mimi today, he just wouldn't stop yelling and crying! I think it's his next set of teeth coming up.

When I ran to the store this evening, Rob had Beth make me what turned out to be the best card I've ever received.


For those that aren't familiar with a three-year-old's script: Happy Birthday Mom"

My little family unit? Yeah, we're not quite as refined as the upper echelons of society. We like our music loud, we tell crude jokes, and we'll eat our dinners on the couch with "Seinfeld" on...but we got a lot of love and no amount of shit from the universe can destroy that. I could prattle on about the negative points in my day but with a birthday card like that, who can complain?

Quick Note of Gratitude

Some of you may remember my post from earlier this month regarding my my time travel to the 1940s. I mentioned therein that I was going to subtly suggest to my husband that he buy me the Magic Bullet for Christmas.

Move over, Christmas, my 29th birthday just walked in the door!!!

Thank you so much, D, for the early birthday present. Seriously, I was floored when I opened the box! I thought maybe you had a Magic Bullet and had packaged something for the kids in it. But no no, never one to disappoint, you had sent the real deal. You kick ass. I'll try to not be broke after Christmas so I can send you a rockin' birthday present too! Oh, and a present for your munchkin as well!

Have a nice weekend everyone! I'll be mixing smoothies, grinding coffee grounds, and chopping vegetables...in 10 seconds or less!

***Clarification: "D" is my best friend's first initial. I wasn't sure if she'd want to be mentioned by name in my blog, so I kept it at the first initial. 'Twasn't Hubby who gave it to me, 'twas my friend. :)


A picture of the Most Excellent Gift on my groovy orange couch