I’ve Moved! February 26, 2008
Posted by Kymberli in Not the mama. Just the oven..add a comment
To the many searchers who’ve ended up here, thanks for stopping by. I’ve changed locations to my new blog at www.smartone.typepad.com. I hope to see you there!
Kym (not quite so mindless, anymore!)
Time and Love… March 26, 2007
Posted by Kymberli in Not the mama. Just the oven..5 comments
It’s 5:54, and the TV is set to come on at 6:05. Frank, my first love, will wake, then go awaken our oldest children, Kyra and Jaiden. We’ll spend these early morning minutes laughing and goofing off like we usually do as we get them ready for school. At some point in time, Jordan and Kaelyn will wake up, just in time to watch the Wiggles. Kyra will squirm a little too much as I style her hair, Jaiden will move a little too slowly and will likely do a few somersaults or something equally silly to get us all laughing, Jordan will start his day with a customary whine about some vague body part hurting, and Kaelyn will chatter away, climb in and out of our bed and dance. There is a particular normalcy to the start of this morning.
And then, after all of the kids have been properly smothered in kisses and hugs, after the twins have been escorted to the bus stop, and the youngest two have been entrusted to the care of my sister (who is currently depleting the volume of oxygen in the house with her deep snoring), it will be time for Frank and I to head to Savannah to deliver a baby - who will not become a part of our normal morning routine.
Time…I woke up this morning with different dates and events rolling around haphazardly in my brain, like little spheres of marbleized memories of the past ten years sliding around the landscape of my mind.
I think of our slight struggle with infertility. Perhaps sub-fertility would be a better term in our case. The 2.5 years of trying to get pregnant gave Frank and me a better appreciation for couple on the opposite end of the fertilty continuum.
Halloween 2000- first finding out we were pregnant.
June 18, 2001- the morning we went to deliver Kyra and Jaiden, the day when “normal” first took an entirely different spin.
February, 2002 – I discovered SMO and started a journey that would last the next five years.
September, 2002 – finding out we’re pregnant again
May 22, 2003 – Jordan arrives. Becky is here to greet him with Faith on her shoulder
March, 2004 – Surrogacy again, this time, I’m matched and headed for transfer
July, 2004 – transfer failed, downward spiral starts
September/October 2004 – gearing for second transfer, possible cancer diagnosis, no cancer found, D&C for wonky lining, unfortunate end to a beautiful surrogacy relationship, which was really the birth of a stronger, deeper relationship
January 2005 – we’re pregnant again
March 2005 – Sarah’s finally expecting her baby via surrogacy
July 2005 – Sarah discovers she’s having a girl and we see each other again for the first time since our transfer, though we’ve continued to talk nearly all day every day
September 30, 2005 – Kaelyn is born, this time with both Becky and Sarah here to welcome my little one into th world
November 30, 2005 – Sarah’s Ella is born
February, 2006 – surrogacy starts again
March, 2006 – matched with Stephanie and Terry
July, 2006 – transferred, BFP at 5dp5dt, we’re pregnant, and now…
March 26, 2007 – Samuel Anthony G. aka “Ducky” aka “The Meatball” (who is gleefully getting in his last few bladder stomps and rib rubbing) will be born.
It’s time.
I think of these events and realize that that they’re all propelled by love. And now think of all the different degrees and types of love that it’s taken to bring me to this day. Without the support of my family, my very short list of friends who I now consider family, and the many people that I’ve met in one way or another through this journey…I’m quite sure that I would have given up long ago. Time and love; that’s all it takes to overcome any obstacle. The deeper understanding of this concept, I realize now, is the greatest lesson that I have learned in these 5 years.
Trying to explain the different ways I love the people who’ve contributed to my journey would be nearly impossible for me. From my family, to the people whose names I’ve already mentioned, to the people involved in the many journeys that I’ve watched unfold over the years, and to the people who taught me “the ropes” (Kitty, MEG, Holly); there’s a special kind-of love that I have for all of you. I can’t help but think of my favorite song to perfectly express this “time and love” theme. It’s not your standard love song because it speaks of all degrees of love.
Stevie says it best in the song “As” from the 2-album “Songs in the Key of Life”.
As
As around the sun the earth knows she’s revolving
And the rosebuds know to bloom in early May
Just as hate knows love’s the cure
You can rest your mind assured
That I’ll be loving you always
As now can’t reveal the mystery of tomorrow
But in passing will grow older every day
Just as all is born is new
Do know what I say is true
That I’ll be loving you always
Did you know that true love asks for nothing
Her acceptance is the way we pay
Did you know that life has given love a guarantee
To last through forever and another day
Just as time knew to move on since the beginning
And the seasons know exactly when to change
Just as kindness knows no shame
Know through all your joy and pain
That I’ll be loving you always
As today I know I’m living but tomorrow
Could make me the past but that I mustn’t fear
For I’ll know deep in my mind
The love of me I’ve left behind ’cause I’ll be loving you always
We all know sometimes lifes hates and troubles
Can make you wish you were born in another time and space
But you can bet you life times that and twice its double
That God knew exactly where he wanted you to be placed
so make sure when you say you’re in it but not of it
You’re not helping to make this Earth a place sometimes called Hell
Change your words into truths and then change that truth into love
And maybe our children’s grandchildren
And their great-great grandchildren will tell
I’ll be loving you
Until the rainbow burns the stars out in the sky–Loving you
Until the ocean covers every mountain high–Loving you
Until the dolphin flies and parrots live at sea–Loving you
Until we dream of life and life becomes a dream–Be loving you
Until the day is night and night becomes the day–Loving you
Until the trees and seas up, up and fly away–Loving you
Until the day that 8×8x8×8 is 4–Loving you
Until the day that is the day that are no more–Loving you
Until the day the Earth starts turning right to left–Be loving you
Until the Earth just for the sun denies itself–Loving you
Until dear Mother Nature says her work is through–Loving you
Until the day that you are me and I am you–
Now ain’t that loving you?
And I’ve got to say always…
“Just as time knew to move on since the beginning, and the seasons know exactly when to change, just as kindness knows no shame, know through all your joy and pain, that I’ll be loving you always.”
Who’s Your Daddy? March 11, 2007
Posted by Kymberli in Not the mama. Just the oven..9 comments
The day of Terry’s birthday just happened to be the first day I made contact with Stephanie and Terry. It was late January 2006, and at the time, we had no way of knowing that that those first emails would lead to the creation of the Meatball.
We spent a couple of weeks getting to know each other, and because Stephanie is an open book (as she says), it didn’t take very long for me to get a fairly comprehensive view of who they were and the nature of their relationship. In fact, it took only one phone call.
Stephanie was 36 and had been a teen mom. At the time, her son was 17 and her daughter was 14. Without going into too much detail, her young marriage wasn’t the most comfortable of situations. The fact that Stephanie was able to overcome that at such a young age spoke volumes of her and I knew that she was not one to be defeated life’s challenges.
As told by Stephanie during that first phone call, I learned that Terry was 34, had never been married, and had no children. They met through work; Terry is a property manager for several high-end apartment/condo communities and his firm hired Stephanie’s self-made maid business to handle cleaning matters. Terry is Stephanie’s boss by virtue of the fact that he’s in charge of anything that falls under the maintenance umbrella.
Through the months, I’ve come to know that Terry is more of the quiet, teddy bear type. So when Stephanie says that her first words to him were, “I’m into whips and chains; wanna go out for a date?” I can just envision his face blossoming into his characteristic shade of embarrasment-induced crimson. Of course, Stephanie was just joking; it’s in her nature to be very open and introduce herself with a “shock and awe” strategy, but she’d determined that Terry seemed to be enough of a nice guy (read – complete opposite of her ex-husband) to make him worth her pursuit.
It didn’t take long for her to win him over. On their first date, they discussed their common desire of not wanting to waste time on frivilous relationships. They discussed Stephanie’s inability to carry children due to the emergency hysterectomy that followed her last delivery but of her desire to have more. They discussed Terry’s desire to someday settle down and have children of his own. Before too long, they were in love.
Eventually, Terry wanted to marry and Stephanie did too, but she was too scared to make the plunge official. They wore rings and lived together for three years, but Stephanie still had to overcome the last of the emotional scarring that remained from her first marriage. Terry never prodded, never urged, never pressured. He only wanted to make her happy and was beyond willing to give her as much time as she needed.
What impressed me from what I’d heard about Terry during that first phone call was his obvious love for and nurturing of Stephanie. His patience and quiet support of her was apparent. He wanted children, and at the time thinking that the only way he’d be able to have them with Stephanie was via adoption, he still chose to dedicate his life to her. One can easily translate that into his love for her being so great that he was willing to forego having genetic children. They later learned that gestational surrogacy was an attainable option for them to have genetic children together and spent about a year waiting for their lives to be in the right place before actively beginning their journey. He knew that they would have to move mountains to have children together and that it would be a long road. He could have chosen anyone to wed and make that road easier, but Terry was willing to move those mountains to be with Stephanie.
Yes, I think that it is fair to say that I adored Terry before I had even spoken a word with him.
Stephanie and Terry were married on Valentine’s Day 2006. Too fitting.
Now that we’re just two weeks shy of delivery, it’s hard for me to believe that a year ago, Stephanie, Terry, Frank and I were just beginning to go through the testing phase. It was in early March when we had our first meetings with Dr. Blohm as a team and our psych consult.
I remember very clearly that at the psych consult, the one question Terry asked of the psychologist while all four of us were in session together was, “Once it works, how do IPs deal with the anticipation of waiting for all that time?” He asked it in an expectant, slightly coy tone that a young child might use to ask if Santa is really real.
I’ve seen that same innocent, childlike anticipation each and every time we’ve been together through the past year.
In the days leading up to the transfer, Stephanie swung through emotional highs and lows as she teetered somewhere between crazed excitement and nail-biting nerves, depending on the nature of the appointment. Through it all, Terry remained very level-headed with his expectations and hopes set high but his feet still planted firmly on the ground.
Santa might be real, but just in case, Terry seemed to be steeling himself for the possibility that a jovial fat man in a red suit was really just a bunch of fairy tale hoopla.
When we were leaving the clinic after the transfer, the weight of concern over the past few weeks had almost visibly been lifted from his shoulders. But even with that, I could tell that Terry had traded that burden in for the one of holding his breath while waiting to see if the transfer worked.
I called Stephanie and Terry the afternoon of 5dp5dt while they were in New York for their wedding reception/family reunion to let them know that we were pregnant. While I could hear Stephanie and her mom screaming with joy (in the middle of a store, no less), Terry’s level-headedness lead him to say, “We still have to hear it from the doctor.” Surprise – I’d been to the doctor that morning to sneak an early beta so I had the clinical proof that I was, indeed, pregnant with his baby.
I could hear a smile in his voice. Yes, Terry dear, there is a Santa Claus. He was starting to believe because someone said it, but it wasn’t until the first few times he saw Baby Ducky on the screen with his little heartbeat flickering away before he really began to let it sink in. I could see his eyes become glassy with tears the first few times he saw his baby, his son, on the screen.
The past few appointments have been lots of fun, because now Terry can feel his baby stirring within me. While the three of us wait in the exam room for Dr. Edwards to come in, I lie back, bare my mountainous belly, and let Steph and Terry prod and poke at baby Tony so that they can feel and watch him kick and poke back. It’s not hard to miss the “That’s my boy” prideful look on Terry’s face when he sees how much more my tummy has grown or when he feels Tony respond to him from inside of me.
I talk to Stephanie once a day and if I happen to call while she’s with Terry she’ll put me on speakerphone so that I can talk to the two of them at once. Usually Steph gives Terry “the daily Kym and Ducky” report when they both make it home from work. The next day, Steph will tell me about some cute comment that Terry has made or some adorable “expectant daddy” thing he’s done.
Like when he learned that the carseat faces the rear, he was appalled because he wouldn’t be able to see Tony easily.
Or earlier this week when Stephanie told him that I’d had seven or eight fairly strong Braxton-Hicks contractions that day. Not understanding that BH ctx are just “practice” and that they don’t really mean much when they’re spaced out and not very strong, Terry nearly had a heart attack with excitement and thought that I might need to call Dr. Edwards in the morning to be checked, as if a few contractions had Tony on the brink of getting ready to fall out or something.
Or how now that the bassinette is set up in their room, Terry spends time each day just looking at it trying to picture Tony in it while expressing how much he can’t wait for him to get here. The same goes for the Pack-n-Play, three car seats, swings, bouncers, and various other “place baby here” items that are scattered throughout the house.
Or how when he told Stephanie she’d better be lucky that she’s going to breastfeed (more on that later) because otherwise, she’d probably never get the chance to hold Tony because he was never going to put him down.
Now, the reserved Terry has transformed into that anxious child who on the days before Christmas finally believes that Santa is real, and that his Christmas wish list mailed off long ago will be answered with a stack of well-deserved presents under the tree because he has been a good boy.
Little Tony, as I cherish these last few days that I’ll spend with you nestled beneath my heart, I spend a lot of time imagining the day ahead when I’ll get to see your mommy and daddy have all their prayers answered. Your daddy…he’s definitely one of the good guys. He’s been waiting a long time for you and with arms wide open, I know he’ll always be there for you. You’re a lucky little ducky, Baby Tony.
Want Some Cheese with that Whine? February 19, 2007
Posted by Kymberli in Not the mama. Just the oven..4 comments
*This baby is large.
*This large baby feels like he’s everywhere at once.
*This la rge baby who feels like he’s everywhere at once especially likes to use my bladder as a trampoline.
*This everywhere at once large baby who tramples my bladder also likes to hang out under my right rib cage.
*The omnipresent large baby who tramples my bladder while doing pull-ups from my bottom right rib also sometimes likes to poke other body parts straight out from my rapidly-disappearing navel.
*The gargantuan baby who bounces gleefully from my bladder and swings from my rib cage while poking various assorted limbs from my navel also likes to shift around quite a bit, causing some fairly uncomfortable round ligament pains.
*This 97th percentile, humongo, bladder-bouncing, rib-swinging, navel-poking, round ligament pain-causing, Italian meatball of a baby will be delivered 5 weeks from today. I’m trying to figure out where approximately 2.5 more pounds of baby is going to fit inside ever-expanding tummy.
On a slighty different note…
*I have gas.
*I have gas caused by those awful iron pills.
*I have gas caused by those awful iron pills, but I hate farting.
*Because of the horrid iron pills, I not only have gas but I have to fart, because not to do so would cause undue gastric distress from said gas.
*Because I have to fart but hate farting, I choose to do this in private, distant places.
*Choosing to fart in private because I have to fart but hate farting, last week I farted in the confines of my closet. I damn near killed myself.
*I have damn near lethal iron pill-induced gas which is actually a symptom of the larger problem, which is constipation.
*The iron pills cause the constipation which causes the lethal gas. Are you following me?
*The Italian Meatball has squished my intestines into spaghetti, which no doubt only adds to the constipation, thereby giving way to the lethal gas.
*I think perhaps maybe I should look into taking out stock in Glade Air Infusions Clean Linen scent air freshener. I have cans of it strategically placed throughout the house. I even keep a can of it in the van.
BUT …. those aren’t the things I’m whining about. I’m whining about the fact that Frank went out to get the roast beef sub and grilled cheese sandwich that I was craving….and he FORGOT my freakin’ grilled cheese. There aren’t many things more whine-worthy during pregnancy than coming within an inch of getting your craving and not getting it. I WANT MY DANGED GRILLED CHEESE SANDWICH (which no doubt would have caused more constipation and gas in my Italian Meatball-squished intestines).
Whine done. Over and out.
Damned that iron… January 20, 2007
Posted by Kymberli in Not the mama. Just the oven., TMI.1 comment so far
I’ll repeat myself; iron pills do not agree with me.
2:30 a.m.
Awoken by third trimester insomnia
My ribs – one expansion away from cracking
The cause – digestive discomfort
Lots of it
Obviously too uncomfortable to try to go back to sleep, I gave in and went to the bathroom to attempt to resolve the situation before it got any worse. I will not go into detail. I think I had every digestive problem known to gastroenterolical medicine. And every form of gastric output you could imagine. The best visual image and description of what I felt can best be summed up as…
Need I say more?
The Twelve Days of Christmas January 1, 2007
Posted by Kymberli in Don't look at me; I just live here, Not the mama. Just the oven..add a comment
Here’s my utterly mindless recap of the past couple of weeks sung to the tune of “The Twelve Days of Christmas.” So what if the quantities of all the items don’t go along with the all of the corresponding days of Christmas with the song (the 7th day of Christmas = 7 ladies dancing and all that jazz). I did my best. I’m sure you’ll all get the point. And another warning – this is painfully long. You might wanna go take that potty break or get something to drink before you start reading.
On the twelfth day of Christmas my true love gave to meeee…one football player drumming.
Jaiden has been football crazy the past few months and in addition, the only thing he really specifically asked for this year was a drum set. Put the two together and you get:
On the eleventh day of Christmas my true love gave to meeee…tachycardia and a night’s stay in L&D.
Is there some unwritten rule somewhere that at least once in their pregnancies surrogates have to spend at least one unexpected night in Labor and Delivery? On December 15 I stayed late at work for a retirement party for one of my assistant principals. As I was casually walking from the office to the cafeteria, my heart just took off as if I had been running sprints down the hallways. I eventually had the nurse take my blood pressure and pulse. My pressure was slightly elevated and my pulse was racing at 140 for no apparent reason. I had Leticia drive me home, and on the way I spoke with a clueless on-call nurse from my doctor’s office and made the decision to just go to the ER to be safe. Frank and I then made the 45-minute drive into Savannah. By then, I could tell that my heart rate was starting to go down even though it was still rapid.
I called Steph and Terry right as we got on the road. I hated having to call and worry them. They were getting ready to go to a Christmas party, and instead they had to meet me at the hospital. I did my best to reassure them that everything felt okay with Tony; he was squirming around and I didn’t feel anything that could even remotely be described as contractions. Though I know she had to have felt some concern for her baby, Stephanie almost refused to hear about that- she wanted know how I was doing and was concerned about me.
The four of us arrived at the hospital at the same time. Steph and Terry were all decked out in their festive party clothes and believe it or not, I was as bubbly as I usually am and really wasn’t all that worried. They sent us straight up to L&D. Only one person was allowed back in triage with me and I chose for Stephanie to come. The guys hung out in the waiting area snoozing and watching TV, interrupted only by either me or Steph calling to give them updates.
We spent three hours in triage with me hooked up to the monitors, which showed no contractions and a very active Ducky. My blood pressure and heart rate gradually decreased into perfectly acceptable levels. The on-call doctor, a colleague of Dr. Edwards, decided to keep me for observation for two reasons – Tony showed some slight heart decelerations for about 20 minutes (which seemed to stop after I drank some water), and she wanted me to have a consult in the morning with a cardiologist. We were also supposed to have an ultrasound in the morning. We made the decision that Stephanie would stay with me that night (on the oh-so-cozy pull-out chair/bed), and our menfolk would go home, get some rest, and make it back to the hospital in the morning in time for the 8 am ultrasound. To try to make what’s turning into a long story shorter, here’s a mindless ramble about the rest of the visit:
*Tony wouldn’t sit still and kept hiding from the monitor; therefore, every 30-40 minutes the nurse had to come readjust the straps. This meant two things – I got nearly no sleep, and Stephanie managed to see nearly every body part that has never seen the light of sun.
*At midnight an ultrasound tech came in to do the Level II ultrasound. We were upset that they came so early and Terry had to miss it, but it was still fun to get such a long look at Tony. The ultrasound lasted an hour and though it was fun, both Steph and I had a hard time staying awake for it throughout the duration. He seems to have Terry’s Italian nose. 
*Dr. Blohm (our RE) has a nurse named Bridget who works part-time assisting with his egg retrievals. Stephanie vaguely remembers Bridget from her egg retrieval and I had never met her. Her full-time job is as an L&D nurse, so my OB, Dr. Edwards, has worked with her many times over the years and are good friends. As we’ve heard several times through Edwards, Bridget is VERY excited about our journey and has already “claimed” us as hers when we deliver in March. Well, our morning nurse turned out to be Bridget. When she came in at 7 am to introduce herself (and readjust the monitor yet again), I once again had to “identify” who was who when she said to me, “Your baby just won’t sit still, I’ve heard.” I said, pointing, “That’s Stephanie and SHE’S the mom – I’m just the babysitter.” Bridget stopped, turned around and looked at Steph and said, “Stephanie S****?),” as the realization of who we were dawned on her. It dawned on Steph and I at the same time who Bridget was. That was pretty fun. She’s a great nurse and I know I’ll feel very comfortable with her as I’m being hacked into on March 26. Steph and I were somewhat celebrities. All the nurses came in to see how we were and asked us all sorts of questions about surrogacy in general and our journey specifically. And ALL of them said they want to be sure that they’re on staff the day we deliver.
*Okay for real- this is the end VERY short. The guys arrived at the same time around 8am. We hung out for a while eating donuts and laughing. The nurses said I could finally come off of the monitors and take a shower. Steph and Terry left the room for a bit to get some air and walk around while I got cleaned up. I called them back (and they returned with a basket of flowers and a little statue of an angel holding a baby for me)when the cardiologist came in, who just happened to be Dr. Edwards’ fathers’ cardiologist. He was completely enthralled about the surrogacy and I think we spent more time talking about that than we did about my heart! He said that there really was no explanation for my heart racing the way it did and that it’s common in pregnant women. He didn’t feel that it was anything to be overly concerned about, and that if it was to happen again, I just needed to lie down and rest then call his office for an appointment, where he would give me an event monitor to try to catch and record the next episode if there was one. We were discharged (finally), and aside from being very tired from the lack of sleep, I felt wonderful.
*The best part of the whole thing was that Stephanie got to feel Tony move for the first time. The week before, Steph, Terry, and Lauren all made a trip out to my house in the hopes that they’d feel their baby move. Tony the Turd decided that he wasn’t going to cooperate through the whole three hours. Not one thump was felt on the outside. In the hospital, Steph and I joked that Tony made my heart race in effort to see his Mom and Dad again so that he could make his presence known to them. We were still in triage when he started his nightly active phase at 9pm. I called Stephanie over to my side and wedged her fingers between the straps of the monitors. After a moment, Tony let out a mighty thump and several smaller ones right behind it. If only I had the words to describe the sheer joy and surprise when Stephanie’s big blue eyes welled up with tears as she exclaimed, “Oh my God! That’s my baby in there! We’re really having a baby!” as if after all these months and ultrasounds and belly growth she really, finally just realized that in a few short months, she’ll be a mom again and Terry will be a father for the first time. That look on her face and the excitement and joy and happy tears shed as she called Terry in the waiting room – those are the things that makes this all worth it and make surrogacy the beautiful thing that it is.
Okay…back to the song (finally)…
On the tenth day of Christmas my true love gave to meee…23 strangers hovering over me.
While we’re on the topic of freak pregnancy health events, we may as well discuss my passing out on the 23rd. I took the twins and Jordan with me to buy Frank’s Christmas gifts. I didn’t do a lot of walking because I knew exactly which two gifts to purchase in two different stores that were on the same strip in the shopping plaza. The kids and I were in Rhino video game store waiting in a ridiculously long, slow-moving line to get the one game that Frank asked for. It was a sweltering 80 degrees outside that day and I’m sure it was even hotter in the crowded store. Despite the wait, the kids were doing exceptionally well behavior-wise. Suddenly, I began to sweat and felt very dizzy and had a general feeling of unease. Other people in line (that went to the back of the small, sardine-packed store) were fanning themselves so I felt somewhat relieved that it wasn’t just me.
After another five minutes we were third in line, but close enough to reach the end of the long checkout counter. I leaned against the end of it for support because that hot and flushed feeling started to increase. I began to think crazy thoughts like “Please God, don’t let me embarrass myself by passing out, and should you find it necessary to make me take an involuntary nap, please keep my shirt firmly secure around the girth of my belly so as not to be further embarrassed by my boobs being on vulgar display in this way-too-small bra… If I pass out, hopefully the kids won’t get squashed under me because they’ll never be able to escape the gravitational pull force of my ginormous body holding them firmly to the ground.” Obviously I wasn’t thinking too rationally but somewhere inside I knew I was going down. I squatted down for a minute, and when I stood up the room started spinning. The last semi-rational thought I remember having was “TIMBEEEEEERRR!!!” and the next thing I knew, I could hear a cacophony of simultaneous yells coming from what seemed to be a distant, dark cave:
SOMEONE CALL 911! HOLY SHIT, SHE’S PREGNANT!!! IS SHE IN LABOR??? IS SHE BREATHING??? I HEARD HER SAY SHE WAS HOT! SOMEONE GET A CHAIR!!! SHOULD I GO GET HER SOME WATER? YEAH, GO GET SOME WATER!!! SHE’S BREATHING, THANK GOD!
And in small, non-panicked, mature, matter-of-fact voices, I heard Kyra, Jaiden, and Jordan have this conversation:
Kyra: I think she’s just too hot. What do you think, brothers?
Jaiden: Perhaps we should fan her.
Jordan: Yeah, let’s use the candy.
The kids had each picked out a tube of candy or gum to give to Frank, and when I opened my eyes, I could see the three of them standing over me madly waving the plastic, candy-filled cylinders over me in an attempt to cool me off. God bless them.
Also hovering over me seemed to be every store patron and employee. It’s funny; you’d think that with all those eyes staring down at me (with blessedly unexposed boobs), I’d be overcome with that embarrassment that I had previously anticipated. The reality is that I was more embarrassed before I hit the deck and was oddly relaxed afterwards. Once I was down there I thought to myself, “Well hell, I’m down here now and I can’t do anything about it, so I might as well just stay here and take a little rest because I was quite tired any-damned-way. Your boobs are still on lockdown – be thankful for that.” A couple of minutes later I felt stable enough to sit up. Several people helped me up, then helped me sit in the folding chair that had been brought out for me. Just then, a teenage skater kid ran back inside with a cool bottle of water that he’d purchased for me from an adjoining restaurant. We checked out a few minutes later (from the safety of my trusty folding chair), then noticed that just as I was getting my change, EMS arrived.
The EMT’s escorted me and the kids outside as I thanked everyone in the store for their help and concern. The kids thought it was cool to see the inside of an ambulance and only looked mildy worried when the techs suggested that they take me to the hospital. My pulse, blood pressure, heart rate, and blood sugar were all normal and nothing funny was going on with Tony (other than the fact that he was trying to kick the freshly-consumed water from my bladder). Adding that to the fact that I had my kids with me, I declined being whisked away back to Savannah, but promised to call my doctor and if he suggested I go, then I would have Frank take me. And I promised not to drive home. I signed the “acting against medical advise” consent forms gathered the tribe, then walked back to the van to wait for my sister to come pick us up.
I called the on-call nurse with Edwards’ office and got Patty, a nurse whose capabilities I trust a whole lot more than the clueless one I’d spoken to the week before. She said that passing out is just “one of those pregnancy things” and happens from time to time and since all of my stats were normal, I was free to go home and she did not think that a trip back to L&D was necessary. I was given strict instructions to do nothing but rest for the remainder of the day and to eat every two hours just in case the culprit of my passing out was low blood sugar, and was also instructed to call her back and head to the hospital if anything with my heart happened or if I passed out again.
Chanel came to pick us up shortly thereafter and I spent the rest of the day in bed working the preggo card like nobody’s business. Passing out while under the influence of pregnancy apparently has positive perks. Say that five times fast.
On the ninth day of Christmas my true love gave to meee…two twinners dancing.
The week before school got out for Winter Break, I took the twins to their first school dance:
Jaiden busting a funky move….
and Kyra getting her unadulturated groove on…
and no dance would be complete without the Funky Chicken:
On the eighth day of Christmas my true love gave to meee…a trip to see the other Rainbow Baby.
Okay, so this really happened late November. I finally managed to make it to an Atlanta Peach Meet. Peach Meets are when members of the Georgia surrogacy community (or anyone who happens to be in the area) get together just to hang out. Most of us are online acquaintances, but we manage to get together every few months or so.
Catherine, my surro-buddy who lives in the Savannah area and I (with Kaelyn in tow) made the trip up to Atlanta. I was so excited to see Sarah and the family again. Ella is so HUGE in comparison to Kaelyn, who is two months her senior. Katie was hilarious with her toothless “pumpkin” grin. Here are a few pics from the Peach Meet lunch at the Olive Garden:
Ella: They call me Moo-shoo. I know the Zen secret of the Silent Hand of Stealth. Wanna fight? Fight me!
Kaelyn: Oh no you DIDN’T! There ain’t nothin’ between us but space and opportunity, so STEP!
Ella: I was just kidding. These are really the Confucian Fingers of Friendship.
Kaelyn: Mmmmhmmm…I knew you were really just a softie…
…and I apologize for sticking my tongue out at your mom.
Ella: That’s okay, you’re still my Rainbow buddy!
Kaeyln: Yeah, you’re pretty okay, too!
On the seventh day of Christmas my true love gave to meee…the girls in matching pj’s and a three-year old in tighty Spideys.
Leticia and Terry (the kids’ Godparents) came over Christmas Eve to give the kids their yearly Christmas pj’s. The girls got adorable matching pj’s, complete with robes and slippers, Jordan got his favorite Spiderman, and Jaiden got Superman pj’s with a detachable cape. I didn’t manage to snap a picture of him, probably because he was flying around somewhere trying to save the world.
On the sixth day of Christmas my true love gave to meee…six collections of bath and shower soaps.
Between my students and a coworker at school and gifts from family, I received six complete sets of bath and shower stuff. Either they all want me to slow down and relax, or they’re trying to drop some serious hints.
On the fifth day of Christmas my true love gave to meee…FIIIIIIIIIVVE BELLY PIIIIIIICS!
Okay, so these belly pics are really for you, but one hint that I have picked up on from Stephanie is that I need to put a few belly pics up here. Ugly 7am pics and stretch marks ahead – proceed with caution:
23 weeks, 1 day pregnant
I sent these to Stephanie and Terry on Christmas morning, and they’ve now made the circuit among their family and friends:
My sister Danielle did the writing and my Mom drew the Christmas tree. Everyone had a whack at drawing that tree and we went through a ton of baby wipes trying to see who had the best one. When it was determined that Mom’s was the best, she drew it for a second time, but only after I kissed butt and apologized profusely for talking so bad about the first one.
On the fourth day of Christmas my true love gave to meee…a zillion loads of dirty laundry.
Honestly – I stopped counting after I got to the eleventeenth load. Frank is good at a lot of things house-related, but laundry is just not one of them. He does enough to keep us afloat and enough to keep the kids out of outfits that repeat every three days, but laundry has a way of magically appearing faster than he manages to keep up with it. The result- mountains of dirty clothes that don’t get washed until I have a block of time off to devote the time and energy required to go on a washing marathon. I washed clothes for five days straight, day in and day out. The very last two loads were nothing but white socks – that’s how much freakin’ laundry there was. Once everything was washed, dried, folded, and put away, I couldn’t help but feel a bit like Zelda Rubenstein, who played the chubby little psychic named Tangina who had exorcised the demons from the poltergeist-ridden house built upon the ancient Indian burial grounds: “This house….is clee-ah”. From here on out, Frank should only have to do one measly load of laundry per day to keep my house “clear” from haunting dirty laundry. I’ve already told him that by the time I get home from work, the laundry from the day before should already be folded and put away. If not, I’ll be the one who turns into a possessed demon and there will be much hell to pay. A bucket of holy water, a stack of Bibles blessed by the Pope himself, and all the Navajo peyote-induced hoo-doo in the world won’t stop the ungodly wrath that will befall Frank should he not be a good boy and do as he was instructed. Amen.
On the third day of Christmas my true love gave to meee…a crate of projects waiting to be graded.
I brought them home with the intent to have them graded well before it was time to return to work on January 2nd, which is tomorrow. As of yet, they’re still in the van, having never left the back seat where they were placed. Damned that damned laundry. I guess you know what will keep me busy once I get finished with this epic journal entry.
On the second day of Christmas my true love gave to meee…two fuzzy kittens,
who we’ve named Rex-Kwan-Do, AKA Rex (Napoleon Dynamite fans will understand – “Bow to your sensai!!!”), because Rex started off as an ornery little booger who wanted nothing more than to scratch the living daylights out of my poor dog Spunky, and the other is Hermione (there are more Harry Potter fans than Napoleon Dynamite fans so that one should be easy). They’re identical grey tabbies from the same inbred litter, courtesy of my mom’s Feline Reproductive Firm present in her apartment. Rex and Hermione brought the cat population in her apartment up to 9, thereby prompting her to give away our two and five others to other families. Rex and Hermione have made welcome additions, and spend their days either terrorizing each other or snuggled up on whichever person is sitting or laying still enough for them to cozy up to.
On the first day of Christmas my true love gave to meee…a pair of awesome IP’s (intended parents for you non-surrogacy people).
It’s the first day of 2007 and the countdown is on…just 84 days to go until you’re really holding your baby. I hope these last three months go by just as fast as the past year has!
Eat Your Wheaties December 20, 2006
Posted by Kymberli in Simple (mindless) pleasures.add a comment
And now we pause for this Public Service Announcement:
Breakfast is good. Especially cereal and milk. Dancing dishes and a couple of cool Asian dudes say so.
Shit Happens… December 12, 2006
Posted by Kymberli in Don't look at me; I just live here.1 comment so far
Name: Jordan Malik Vincent
DOB: May 22, 2003
Age: 3 years, 6 months, 20 days
Height: 3′4″
Weight: 37 lbs
Offense: assault with a deadly diaper
In other words, this genteel, pointy-eared, gnome-looking child of mine has had his father and me in complete and utter potty-training hell. We’ve tried every trick in the book: standing back and waiting until he showed signs of readiness (which never came), giving firm, but gentle pressure, and much later, firm, but even more firm pressure. We tried potty training books, videos, award charts, and toys.
When Kaelyn was born, Frank and I bought gifts for the older three kids which we said were from the baby. In the hospital, the kids happily ripped the paper from their presents. Kyra gushed over her new princess dress-up costume. Jaiden couldn’t wait to get home to watch his new movie. And Jordan – he shouted with glee when the unwrapped corner of his present revealed a new Elmo toy, but he immediately retreated into a melodramatic, dour pout, complete with severely furrowed eyebrows and puckered, protruding lips once he realized that Elmo was *gasp* using the potty. 
I’m sure he was thinking to himself, ”Elmo, you damned traitor!”
He took one look at that Elmo-with-the-big-monster-underwear and toilet (with REAL flushing sounds!), almost casually cast it aside, then not-so casually cast Frank and me the evil eye, as if we should have been burned alive at the stake or taken to the guillotine for having dared to grace his anti-toilet presence with a frivolity so insulting as a dumping Muppet. As if. My soft-hearted munchkin had suddenly transformed into a glowering troll.
Until recently, he couldn’t even be bothered with taking off his own clothes. Any act of self-undressing put him dangerously too close to the “next they’ll make me go sit on the potty” possibility. Any suggestion that he should remove his clothing, even if it was just to take a bath with the twins (his favorite part of the day) resulted in another Jekyll and Hyde metamorphasis. Frank and I finally refused to take his clothes off for him, hence, no bath. Three days of stinky feet (which he abhors) and no bubbly fun quickly cured him of that problem.
Still, Frank and I had to endure Jordan’s seething hatred for all other things related to putting his butt on the crapper. He never fussed, or whined, cried, or got insolently disrespectful (he knows far better than to act out or use forbidden tones of voice). But his sudden change in demeanor was enough to make Frank and I begin to doubt our child-rearing skills (“We can’t get the kid to use the toilet, how in the hell are we going to get him to graduate college?”).
Finally, blessedly, after many months of parental consternation and defeat, the tides are beginning to turn. Jordan has peed in the potty at least once every day the past week (after we tell him to go sit on the toilet), and while he has had several accidents, he has even gone for hours at a time in big boy underwear. And he has done this all without making us ponder the possibility that he was headed for homicidal dissociative personality disorder. Gone is the fearsome troll and returned is my magically-delicious leprechaun. Good heavens – maybe we didn’t screw him up after all.
This morning I received a call from Frank while I was in the middle of class. He put Jordan on the phone and in the background I heard him say, “Tell Mommy what you just did.” With an overload of pride, Jordan gleefully exclaimed, “I pooped on the potty!” Right there in class, amid the watchful eyes of 27 8th graders, I jumped around like a blooming idiot and squealed to Jordan how happy I was that he had actually pooped on the potty (which of course sent my kids into peals of laughter).
Frank went on to tell me the story of how Jordan had a pee accident in his underwear. He cleaned him up and gave Jordan a new pair of underwear. Jordan stopped just short of putting his left foot in his new Spiderman undies (I call them “tighty-Spideys”) when he said, “I have to go poop.” He walked to the bathroom, took his seat on the mighty throne of bodily expulsion, and dropped one hefty turd. It was green (what the heck did he eat yesterday?). It was solid. It was slightly curved. I cried tears of toilet-related happiness. Thanks to Frank’s descriptions, I felt like I was there.
Shit happens. Sometimes it’s good shit. I’m so happy that Jordan finally seems to be getting his together.
Interracial Gestational Surrogacy as Explained by an 8th Grade Male Student: December 7, 2006
Posted by Kymberli in Not the mama. Just the oven., You can't scare me; I teach 8th grade.7 comments
This morning while on hall duty during homeroom, a group of my students, who were obviously in the middle of some sort of frantic debate, bombarded me with questions and had this discussion:
Group of discombobulated female students yelling questions at me simultaneously:
Girl A: Isn’t the baby you’re carrying for your friends going to come out mixed?
Girl B: Huh?
Girl C: What’s the baby you’re having going to come out looking like?
Girl D: No, it’s going to be Black, right?
Girl E: I am, like, SOOOOO con-fuh-yoozed!
With an overdramatic sigh of frustration and a haughty roll of the eyes, the one male student in the middle of the conversation said this:
Boy: (roll eyes, SIIIIIGGGHHH) NO, it’s like this – the doctor took the dad’s sperm and the mom’s egg and mixed them in a Petri dish and then stuck them in Mrs. B. So the baby can only be White.
Girls A-E: (silent, blank stares of perplexity)
Me: (listening and watching quietly with amusement) Boy: (Another theatrical sigh) Let’s put it this way – if you mix white milk and vanilla Quik mix, the milk is still gonna be white, even if you put it in a brown pitcher (referring to me with a flourish of his hands). You can only get brown milk if you mix white milk with Chocolate Quik mix.
Girls A-E: (light bulb effect, in unison) Ohhhhhhh!
Boy: (obviously proud of himself) How ‘bout that metaphorical speaking, Mrs. B?
At least I’ll never be able to say that they didn’t learn anything from me this year.
Nothing but a Classic Ramble… November 30, 2006
Posted by Kymberli in Don't look at me; I just live here, Not the mama. Just the oven., Simple (mindless) pleasures, You can't scare me; I teach 8th grade.add a comment
~My student teacher and her husband are having a baby girl! They’re naming her Addyson, but have yet to determine a middle name. The u/s pics were absolutely precious!
~Sam/Tony was kicking so hard last night that I could easily see it. My tummy has stretched so far up that by evening, my ribs hurt. I think he’s going to be a pretty big boy.
~Happy birthday, Ella-girl! I’m sorry that you have the cooties today on your first birthday, but don’t go getting any worse. The last thing we need is a replay of the end of you first month of life when you spent two weeks in the NICU with RSV. Get better, girlie! Be Ellzilla not because you’re sick, but because you’re just being Ella!
~Today was a waste of a perfectly good school day. This year we’ve had to contend with nutcase students writing bomb threats on the bathroom walls – BOMB TODAY AT 2:30 – which has made us teachers feel less like educators and more like security guards beacuse someone has to be stationed at each bathroom every minute of everyday. The poor shmuck on “potty patrol” has to have the students who enter sign in in a notebook, then the teacher has to check the entire bathroom, stalls and all, for messages written after the students leave. When a bomb threat is found, first the school goes on total lockdown. Once all students are out of the halls, we have to evacute into our “evacuation area” which is about 300 yards from the school. These evacuations take at least an hour, but usually 1.5 hrs because the bomb squad has to come out and throroughly check the school. Today, some kid beat the system by writing BOMB TODAY on a sticky note and throwing it in a bathroom on his way down the hall. We went outside around 10:30 and did not make it back inside until shortly before 2:00. We had just enough time to eat lunch and leave. Good fun, man, good fun. At least we teachers earned a jeans day out of it.
~My butt hurts.
~Long-time friend, godmother to the twins, and fellow teacher Leticia was lucky and missed out on today’s festivities because she took the day off to go to a doctor’s appointment with her husband, Terry. I left my cell phone in the van to charge today, and as I was leaving work I noticed that she had left a message for me. She called me just to tell me that finally after three days of constipation, she was able to take a much-wanted poop. Friends don’t hesitate to tell you stuff like that because they know you’ll appreciate it and rejoice with them. So cheers to Leticia! Happy dumping, girl!
~Frank and I are in the process of redecorating the girls’ room. For the past year and a half, Jordan has slept alone in Kyra’s room and the twins have slept in the boys’ room. It’s just been more convenient this way with the different sleeping needs of the twins and Jordan at different ages. Kaelyn has been in the room with us since birth. All of our kids started off in the crib in our room; we just felt more secure watching over them that way.
Well lately, little Miss Kaelyn has been playing us. For a while she was sleeping through the night, but following a really bad flu that kept her (and us) up all night about 6 weeks ago, she learned that if she screamed, chances were good that we’d get up and put her in our bed. Nice try, little girl. Can you say EVICTION NOTICE??? Frank and I moved Jordan into the other room with the twins and repainted the girls’ room. We moved in Kaelyn’s crib, and she got the boot Monday night.
For us, cold turkey cry it out (CIO) got the three older kids used to sleeping on their own within 3 days. Monday, Frank held Kaelyn until she fell asleep, then put her in the crib. He did it again Tuesday night, but she woke up before we made our exit. We went ahead and left, and she screamed for a good 20 minutes before settling down and falling asleep. Last night, I put her in her crib sleepy, but still awake. She screamed and tried to get up. I stood there and tried to soothe her for a few minutes, but after I saw that she went into “I’m playing Mommy” mode, I laid her down again, covered her up, then took off like a bat out of hell out of the room. I kid you not – by the time I got the light off and the door closed behind me, she was instantly quiet.
I think it’s safe to say that she’s fairly accustomed to being on her own at night now. However, it’s now come to our attention that she’s going to have to go through yet another change this weekend – she gets to graduate to a toddler bed. Her crib mattress is already at its lowest setting and Kaelyn is quite the midget to be 14 months old, so how she managed to climb out of her crib today is beyond me. Frank put her down for her nap around noon. Around 15 minutes later, he heard her SCREAMING with a panicked tone. He rushed in to see what was wrong, and she gripping the rails with all her might and her toes precariously perched on the edge of the mattress OUTSIDE the crib. I’m simply amazed because she seems too small even to be walking (she’s barely 18 lbs), much less climbing out of her crib! I think she has part goat genes.
~And just because I think this is hella funny:
