Sometimes a look hurts more than words.

One of the new rules in Iz’s class with her new teacher is, “Keep your hands to yourself.”

It’s a rule to make sure that she doesn’t hurt someone else…or that her actions don’t bother someone who isn’t asking to be touched.

I want to expand on that…

“Keep your face to yourself.”

This past weekend, I’ve been trying to give my family some normal.  I am really trying to venture out into the world for the sake of my best girl and the sanity of my husband.

Luckily, “venturing” out is limited with the weather cooling off and our instructions to stay away from crowds during our recovery time.

So…we venture out on walks in our neighborhood or to the park.

Yesterday, I experienced my first ever, “Stare at the kid with the strange face and thing coming out of his nose and continue staring and making faces until it makes the lady holding the baby so uncomfortable that she leaves.”

Craig was busy chasing Iz on the playground so he didn’t see what happened to me.

I had Evan in the baby carrier facing out so he could see the world.

His little feet kicked.  His mouth would giggle and squeal.  His arms would flap in excitement as he saw this new world we call “outside” like it was the first time.

I was loving it.  I loved that my family was together.  I loved that my boy was enjoying being normal.  I loved it.

A family of 4 – with two twin boys – probably 18 months or so – strolled up to the playground.

My back was turned to them and I turned my head towards the family and gave them the obligatory half smile.

I would give Evan kisses and point out different things – the clouds, the puppies, the birds, the grass.

I finally turned and sat on the bench directly facing the family that was on the slide.

As soon as they saw the baby I was holding…the whole dynamic changed.

Jaws dropped.

Whispers started – between parents.

Staring commenced.

I stood up…decided I would be the better person and ignore their stares.

But, their judgmental eyes followed me.  Their looks of disbelief cut through me.

Apparently – subtly was not their strong suit.

At one point, the Dad forgot to catch his 18 month on the slide because he was staring so hard.

I didn’t say anything because Iz was so close by.

I didn’t say anything because I was near tears.

And my boy was having too much fun…enjoying that moment….for it to be ruined by my tears.

I decided to head home after a few more minutes.  Told Craig it was a bit chilly for Evan and needed to head back.

I thought about how this affected me.  And suddenly became very sad for my boy.

Those people have no idea what he’s been through.

They have no idea that the feeding tube coming out of his nose doesn’t just keep him alive…allows him to thrive.

They have no idea that his “face” they could not stop staring at is a face I kiss daily, almost hourly, in thanksgiving to God.

Because my boy is perfect.

I also don’t know if their stares were meant to be in malice or just out of shear curiosity.

But, the stares, the faces, the expressions, were hurtful.

So, here’s a list friends, to take to heart for you and to perhaps share with your children, on how to react if you see someone who is different than you:

1.  Get the stare out of your system:  I get it.  If something is not of the “norm”, it’s our natural tendency to be curious about it.  If you see a special needs child or person, it’s ok to look at him/her.  But, quickly do it ..and send a smile after the quick second you turn your head.  Because reality of it is, the “abnormal” you may be gazing at, is the nothing but normal for him/her (or the parents that love him/her).  And remember – these are our children – not a car wreck that you bottle neck to see the damage – these little people are not bad in any way….not ever.

2. Only smile:  No other expression is welcome.  No looks of sadness for the person. No pity glances.  No looks of fear.  I guarantee you the person or family you “feel sorry for” feels a million times more blessed to have the special someone in their life than you could ever imagine.  And remember – cleft lips, heart defects, mental shortcomings – aren’t contagious – so please don’t act like breathing the same air as my kid will somehow pass to your perfect offspring.  There’s a better chance your wet coughing, green snotted, “healthy” child can pass something on to mine.

3. If you’re curious, ask:  I’d much rather have someone come up to me, ask me about Evan, than just continue to stare.  I’m all about raising awareness.  I’m all about sharing Evan’s testimony.  He’s one tough dude. Just staring at us, makes me think that you are making judgments about me or my boy.  And, yes, call it paranoia on my part, but I get to be paranoid….someone is staring at me and my boy like we are from another planet.  And to be honest….I’ll probably give you a high five…it takes some cajones to go up to someone and ask, “Sooooo….what’s up with your kid?”

4.  Take a cue from your kid:  Parents tend to be the worst at staring.  Kids, tend to stare for a minute, then go on their way.  Maybe it’s the short attention span of littles, but they lose their interest and move on. Do that…refer to #1.

5.  Teach your kid:  That different is ok. Of course you can’t do this step until you teach yourself – that different is not necessarily a bad thing.  Teach them (or yourself) that blessings come in all sizes, all shapes, all packages.  Sometimes – a baby can have a smile that looks different. Sometimes – a kid has extra scars on them – maybe on their face or on their chest – because they battled through some pretty tough stuff that should be celebrated.  Sometimes – a kid may not be walking or talking or eating like other kids do – but it doesn’t mean that the kid is any different than yours – it just means it may take that kid a little longer to get to those milestones – because they just reached some other pretty big milestones like surviving open heart surgeries, spine surgeries, or other some other medically necessary thing that got that kid to this today.  Sometimes – that baby or kid – got to today because they had parents that wanted to give them a chance at a life – because that sweet baby – no matter what science may say about their genetic makeup (maybe they are rockin’ an extra chromosome) or their condition (I say F* statistics…1 in 10000 or 4 in a million….what-ev)  – was the answer to a prayer whispered to God and the kid before them is a living breathing, testimony of hope.

Take it or leave it….my advice.

I hope you take it, though.  And I hope you share it….because I know that many of us…including myself…need a reminder to,

“Keep our face…to ourselves.”

 

Careful…

…what you pray for!

God is funny.

Seriously – don’t you love it when He does something in your life and in the moment you don’t realize it’s something you actually prayed for?

And have you had times where you feel like He’s telling you “No” to something you’ve prayed for over and over again but later – may be days, months, or even years – you realize His yes in the moment you are struggling through.

Ok – maybe it it’s just me.  Maybe I just don’t have the sense of humor God needs me to have.  Maybe I try to do too much planning and not enough praying.

But, lately, I’ve had quite a bit of time to reflect and really think about the things I’ve prayed for and how God is revealing Himself to me.

Prayer:  God, I want to have another child. I pray that it’s a boy and I hope I can love him as much as I love Isabelle.

Answer:  Well…He answered, huh? Craig and I got pregnant on the first “try.”  We didn’t expect it to happen so soon.  We also didn’t think we’d get the son I prayed for.  But, God has given me both.  A child and the son I desperately wanted for Craig.  And the fear of not loving him as much as Iz….totally ridiculous.  Evan’s diagnosis has shown me something so deep and so real about a parent’s love in a way I haven’t experienced with Isabelle.  It’s been painful to love so deep for a child I haven’t laid eyes on yet.  It’s also given me extreme joy in being a parent – truly counting blessings day to day – for the time I get with Iz and the future I pray for Evan.

Prayer:  I hope I get to spend as much time with Baby #2 as I did with Isabelle.

Answer:  Ummm…well looks like me and E will be best buds!  I was able to stay at home with Isabelle full time until she turned 18 months and the bakery business my sister and I started took off.  I told my sister/business partner that I would take 3 – 4 months after Evan’s birth and come back full time.  I started working full time with Isabelle and suddenly had to stop working because of placenta previa and bleeding when I was 14 weeks pregnant with Evan.  Then, we got the diagnosis about E’s heart and realized my life for the next few years would be full of doctor’s appointments and taking care of him.  Funny, huh?

Prayer:  I don’t feel close to you anymore, God.

Answer:  You get pretty intimate with God when you are in pit of hopelessness.  I suddenly found myself hungry to know Him – in hopes of getting answers to the “why’s” that were plaguing my mind.  I also found myself praising Him for so much I took for granted.  I praised Him in the darkest moments – the moments where you are begging for a glimmer of hope – then you realize – the hope and His faithfulness has always been there you just were blinded by the Earthly pain of the problem to see it.  At times I feel far from Him still, only because I can’t “feel” Him near.  And it’s not Him – He reveals His goodness in my everyday.  I am just so wrapped up in my fear of what is to be (and fear is NOT of God) that I surround myself with that fear instead of the peace and comfort of Him.

Prayer:  I feel guilty for the time that will be taken away from Isabelle.  I hope I get to spend some one on one time with her.

Answer:  Iz has been sick and I can’t bring her to daycare.  She is also scheduled for surgery for tubes for her ears so Craig and I decided to keep her home until her surgery on the 20th.  So, it’s been me and Iz.  Me and a two year old that is trying to be independent but still wears Dora jammies.  I love her…but I have forgotten how hard being a stay at home mom is and how challenging it is to keep a toddler busy.  Thank God for Nick, Jr.

God is funny.

Careful what you pray for!  He just might give you exactly what you want…and need.

 

 

All too real

Since being catapulted into the world of Congenital Heart Disease (CHD), I’ve met a community of women from all over the nation who have kids with some form CHD.

To say one form of CHD is more severe than another is like comparing apples to oranges.  They are all so different – just like each child.

One kid could have all the parts of the heart but a couple of parts may not work correctly.

One kid could have a hole or two…

One kid could only have half a heart…

But, each child faces the long journey of surgery, each parent struggles with the thought that their child may meet God much too soon, and each story is woven with prayer, hope, and faith.

I had the chance to meet another heart mom and her little warrior at the hospital Evan will be at after birth.  Her daughter has been in the hospital for 12 out of the 15 months of her little life.  Sweet Emma has a myriad of challenges that have left doctor’s scratching their heads trying to figure out the best plan of care for her.  But, her daughter is a fighter and she’s still here…laughing and smiling.

I began praying for another little girl who had a heart transplant about a year back.  I only started praying for her the past week or so.  And, today a post on her FB page revealed that she was slipping away.  Another Heart Warrior….who earned her Angel wings last night.

I cried for her and for her family…for all that were praying for her.  You don’t have to have a child with CHD to know the fear of your child dying…and the harsh reality that your child’s eternity is just moments away.

I’ve also met heart mom’s through the internet – whether it’s finding their blog and contacting them and then becoming cross country friends and email pals or from Facebook where there is page dedicated solely to mom’s who have been blessed with heart warriors.

You’ll often see posts of moms asking questions about the process of surgeries.  I’ll see posts about the long lists of medications, feeding tubes, and vents about nurses or doctors.  You’ll often see moms (such as myself) opening up about their fears for their children.  And, you’ll also see posts asking for prayers for their children about to go through a surgery, being in surgery, being ill, or just waiting for the next chapter to unfold.

You’ll often see praises, too.  Praises for healed or healing hearts.  Successful surgeries.  Successful days.  Those posts are my favorites.

You’ll also see posts about Heart Warriors who earned their Angel wings.  And suddenly the Heart Mama you’ve been praying with and praying for suddenly becomes an Angel Mama…I don’t like these posts.

It’s all too real.  All of it is.

I can’t believe I’m a part of this community.   I’m thankful to have found it but find it surreal every.single.day.

When Craig and I made the decision to carry this pregnancy to term – we talked about the possibility of losing Evan.  And yes…we talked about termination.  One thing I have learned is to never judge any one’s decision on anything until you’ve walked in the same path.  I never thought I – we – would every consider abortion.  But we did – because it was presented to us an option.  And after lots of thought and prayer, we knew that we had to give baby – Evan – every chance to fight.  He is our child.  He is my son…and just like Isabelle…I will do whatever it takes to make him well.  But ultimately, it’s God’s will and I’ll have to accept whatever it is….but know…it doesn’t mean I’ll be ok with God’s decision if that means Evan leaving us far too soon.

All too real.  This my reality.

Today, in my heart community, so many babies and children are facing stressful times today.  Whether it’s the painful realization that their child is not going to wake up, the unbelievable task of handing over their baby – some days or weeks old – to have open heart surgery – OPEN HEART SURGERY, some babies who have just gone through their surgery and their parents are waiting to see how they recover….because the worry and the fear aren’t gone when the surgeons are over….the fight starts all over again when their child has to pump his/her newly stitched heart….

All of it…too real.  All of the stories…hit so close to home.  It’s too much for me to even think that in a few weeks and months I’ll be asking – pleading – for the same things – for prayers for my Evan to get through each breath and asking God to guide the doctors, nurses, surgeons, asking Angels to comfort him, asking God to help mine and Craig’s faith to be bigger than our fear..

All too real.

Today, if you are praying for Evan and our family, please say a prayer for the other families and children that are dealing with the reality of having a child with a congenital heart problem.  Pray for healing, for comfort, for Divine intervention.

Today, stop before you raise your voice and lose your patience with your healthy child who is making a mess, making too much noise, or throwing a tantrum – and before you step in to discipline – stop and PRAISE God for that mess, the noise, the tantrum…because your child is here and healthy today.

Today, tell your husband or wife that you love them and that you appreciate them being a good parent to your child. Because you need your other half to hold you up in times of struggle – and be thankful you have someone you can cry with, someone to comfort you, and someone you can rejoice with.

Today, stop and look at the blessing you’ve been given. Stop and reflect on the trials you’ve overcome.  Don’t forget to thank God for both – the blessings and the trials.

It’s all too real – the hardships and the pain.  But, the joy is real.  And that’s what I cling on to everyday – that faith, love, hope and joy…those are real, too.

It’s all surreal so real.

 

Hard lesson learned

There are moments in motherhood where you want to pat yourself on the back.

Yesterday wasn’t one of them.

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We found it.  The imaging center where we were getting the MRI. 

Craig, confident as always, distracted himself with work.  I looked at my phone repeatedly – checking the weather, news, Facebook – trying to keep myself occupied until it was my turn to be called back.

I heard someone getting rolled down the hall.  Turned my head and then immediately wished I hadn’t.  It was like scene from “Grey’s Anatomy” – a man with all sorts of tubes coming out of him – looking like he was knocking on death’s door.

And then Baby kicked.  I rubbed my belly and whispered, “I know…I can’t believe we’re here either.”

My name was called.  The tech asked if my husband would be coming back with me. If he was, he needed to put up the netbook, take off all metal, etc.  I looked at Craig – shrugged my shoulders – and turned back to the tech and said, “No, its alright.  I’ll be fine.”

We moved to a different waiting are which was next to the dressing rooms.  I undressed, still could not believe I was about to go through this…

KNOCK.

It’s the tech.  “Mrs. Hounsel…I think it would be best if your husbands goes with you during the procedure.  It will help keep you calm.”

Ok – now I wasn’t feeling good about things.

Craig put up his things and we were escorted back to the MRI room.

It was cold, there were loud noises, it all seemed so wrong…

“We’ll have you lay down and we’ll lay this over your belly so we can get good pictures of the baby.  Stay as still as you can.  If you need to come out, feel sick, feel claustrophobic, remember that you can squeeze this ball and I’ll come in – or you can crawl out.   You’ll be in there for about an hour.”

Here goes nothing.

With ear plugs in place, I laid down on the MRI machine.  I was strapped down and Baby started to kick.

He wasn’t happy.

The tears started to fall.  I started to panic and cry.

“Mrs. Hounsel  – are you ok?  Are you nervous about the procedure or worried about the baby?”

“I’m worried about the baby.”

“Well – save those tears.  More often than not – we get good results after these things.”

The machine started to move me in the tube.  The suffocating tube.  I closed my eyes but I could feel the machine only inches from my body…all around me.  I couldn’t breathe.

Then, I felt a hand on my head.  A reassuring hand.  And then the voice that has kept me steady through all this.

“Just close your eyes.  Just close your eyes.”

I took deep breaths.  Tried to ignore the sounds.  Tried to ignore Baby moving – constantly wondering if this was hurting him.  But, we needed to do this.

The hand again – smoothing my hair back.  Reminding me – we’re doing this for our son.

About an hour in – we were done.

*********************************************************************************************************

Dr. Drixler – the radiologist – sat us down in her office about 20 minutes after the procedure.

I grabbed Craig’s hand.  She reminded me of a grandmother.  Kind eyes…but cautious at the same time.

“You’ve been through the ringer with this pregnancy?  I’m so sorry.”

I just nodded.  Needed to know – good or bad what they found.

She said they took pictures from different angles, trying to get the best images of the face to investigate the cleft lip and palate.

She started at the top of the of Baby’s head.  Started talking about the brain.

The brain.

Normal.

Breathe.

The eyes.

Normal.

Breathe.

The sinuses, cheeks and nose.

Normal.

Breathe.

The hard palate.

A deformity.

Can’t breathe.

The upper part of the jaw.

A deformity.

Can’t breathe.

The upper lip.

Major deformity.

Can’t breathe.

She went through all the pictures.  Showed us that it would definitely be bilateral – both sides of his face. His dear, sweet face.  And to prepare ourselves for what’s to come – how he will look and the extensive amount of reconstructive surgery, feeding challenges, speech delays…but yet…  reassuring us that it is all fixable.

I was heartbroken.  What else is my boy going to have to go through?

Then the news I was waiting on – the rest of the body – intestines, lungs, kidneys, bladder…

“Say it…say it…” I prayed in my head.

And Dr. Drixler did…

“It all looks good.”

Breathe. Breathe.

We were done after a few questions.  And then she walked us out.  Through my tears, I looked at Dr. Drixler and said, “You may not realize it – but today – you gave me good news.”

Small victories.

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You’d think I’d be ecstatic – knowing that everything else looked good.  Since I’ve asked everyone to pray for that (funny – asking you to pray for JUST a heart problem and cleft problem…).
But, I wasn’t.  I started to cry.  I was ashamed.  I was scared to deliver my son and see his face.  Hate me.  I’m his mother.  I love him but I’m scared of how I’ll react – how Craig will react.
And what’s crazy – is that I am so proud of him at the same time.  He is a fighter – he wouldn’t get to this point if he wasn’t.
You dream about a baby you carry for 9 months and expect to have a bundle of perfection to hold and I know he won’t be that – on the inside or the outside.
What a terrible thing to feel for your own child.  A child that was created out of love.  I child I love to the moon.
I was angry at myself for feeling this way.  Upset about how he would look.  Talk about shallow.  It’s this world we live in – with so many making judgments about who you are based upon how you look – myself included.  What a wake up call.
Sure he’ll have surgery to get his face repaired.  But he’ll carry those scars in a place that’s not hidden – a place for the world to see.  And he may be teased by those who don’t get that those scars are just fraction of what he’s fighting for…little do they know he’ll have scar on his chest…real proof that he’s a warrior.
Craig is upset too.  Sad he’ll have to face more surgeries and worried about how his little heart will handle them.  Worried that the deformity is so great that he’ll have to wait to get the surgeries until he’s older. That his boy will be teased.  Will be bullied.
But, we talked about it.  After the tears.  After the self reflection – realizing we were buying into the world’s perception of beauty – and deemed any scars our boy would have as signs of a fighter.  He’d be tough.  No one would mess with him.  He’d find a wife someday that would love him – look past the scars – and love his soul.
He’d be an example to Iz.  He’d show Iz that appearances aren’t what define you.  That you learn to love the person for who they are – and not what they look like.
Who am I kidding…he’d be an example for me.
Hard lesson learned…I just got schooled by a baby that hasn’t even been born.

Crazy

One thing I’ve realized since we were given all the news about Baby is how different Craig and I really are – or at least how we deal with things.

Back story…

Craig and I are high school sweet hearts.  We’ve beat all the odds – since about 50% of marriages end in divorce and more than that end if you’ve known your partner since adolescence and married young.  (I got that statistic out of my @$$).

We literally have grown up together.  We have evolved into mature (relatively speaking) adults.  We went off to college, lived in different states, reconnected, after a year or so, and married when I was 24 years old.

One thing about us – and I’m proud to say – is that we are disgustingly lovey to each other.  My friends often give me the eye roll and groan when I talk about how much I love my man and how good of husband and Dad he is.

We rarely fight.  I think in the 15 years I’ve known him, we’ve had 3 major fights.  Yelling bouts, tears, the whole enchilada.

Now to today…

If you can imagine, our lives have been rocked with all the news of what’s happening with Baby.  Like a friend said to me – even the strongest of foundations are shaken.

I am the kind of person that has to talk and talk and talk and talk and talk about things over and over and over and over again until I’m exhausted from the tears and the worrying.

He’s the kind of person that internalizes the situation, pushes it back until the situation is ready to be dealt with, then will have an overflow of emotions – yelling, crying, or wanting to deal with it physically – whether it’s working out, pacing, etc.

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It’s just another day in our household.  I’m crying.  I’m needing him to talk to me – tell me his deepest, darkest emotions about how he feels about the Baby and what we are about to deal with.  I need him to cry with me.  I need him to have an hour long conversation – complete with sobbing – about how terrible thing situation is.

And for the billionth time, I ask him the question that every man dreads to hear from his wife (regardless of what’s happening in their lives),

“How are you feeling?”

He looks at me, sighs (yes…this is a daily question I ask him), and says, “Well of course I’m sad – I’m not a robot!  I wouldn’t ever choose this for our family.  I don’t want to see my son go through all of this.  But, it’s the hand we’ve been dealt and we have to deal with it.  But, I don’t want to live everyday for the next two months feeling sad all the time.  We’ll have plenty of sad to deal with when he gets here.”

Then he turns around and goes back to his computer looking up Fantasy Football stats.

Ok – now – reading that – it all seems perfectly fine. Quite nice.  Eloquently stated.

But yet…not enough for me.  Where were the tears?  Where was the fist shaking to the sky?  Where was the chest clasping of his shirt where he grasps his the place over his heart and weeps for his son’s broken heart?  Where was the pleading to God as he lays his hands on his pregnant belly and angrily asks, “Why, God?  Why God!”

Ok…the last part is a stretch…and *maybe* the scene above is something I do once a day week.

I had had it.  I couldn’t believe my husband wasn’t expressing himself how I needed him to express himself.

Blood boiling, tears brimming, I yell,

“DO YOU WISH I WAS A MAN?!?”

He turns around…looks at me like this:

Craig : “WHAT are you talking about?”

Me:  “Well…if I was man – we’d think the same and process stuff the same and I wouldn’t be so upset that you aren’t as upset as me all the time.”

***Uncomfortable silence***

Craig: ” You’re crazy.”

And then…it hit.

I.am.crazy.

**********************************************************************

I apologized a few days later – you know – accusing my husband that he doesn’t feel right – since he feels and processes stuff differently…and that he wishes I was a man.

I realized that I can’t tell him how to feel.  I can’t expect him to express his emotions how I do.

He is patient with me and lets me cry and weep and talk about how I’m feeling – without any judgment, just silently sits and lets me vent, holds me when I need to be held, prays for me and our family, loves me unconditionally.

So today – I will probably cry again.  I will probably be sad about something and text him or call him.  He will tell me that it will be alright.  He will be my rock.

And maybe one day – when we are in the midst of things and our baby boy is here – he will need me, I will hold him, I will be the one reassuring him and I will be his rock – for once.

I only hope and pray he doesn’t ask me if he wishes that HE was a woman..because I there’s no way I can deal with ME!

Weird day

Not really a fume post…but this incident didn’t have a place anywhere on here…it was so weird.

So, I decided this weekend to get my eyebrows waxed.  It had a been a while and I started to look like this guy.

And after being stuck at home most days, sitting in shorts and tshirts, and not getting ready to leave the house…I felt the need for a pick me up.

So, I decided to head to the nail place I normally go to since I had my eyebrows waxed there before.  I walked in – and of course I was lured in by the smell of enamel and acetone.  So when the nice Asian lady asked, “You want pedicure?”  I succumbed to the pressure and said Yes!

I sat in the chair, checked FB on my iPhone, watched the TV – rather – I read subtitles on the TV since the volume wasn’t up.

The lady giving me my pedicure asked, “You like deluxe?”  Knowing that deluxe just meant more money and more time in the chair…I graciously said no.

She said…”Oh ok…It’s ok.”  And proceeded to oil up my legs and give my calves and feet a nice massage.

Erm…

I looked at her and said, “I don’t need the deluxe package – thank you.  Just a regular pedicure.”

She smiled again, and then said, “Oh ok..it’s ok.”

And continued with rubbing my feet.

Well…I guess I’m getting the deluxe.

After the toes had been given their makeover and now a pretty hot pink – I was moved to the “drying” area.  Which meant, I would sit and my feet would be under a little heated lamp to speed up the process of drying.

And nail lady came over – said “Two minutes.” I smiled at her and said, “Ok. Thank you.”

Then…she…

Oh boy…

I watched – almost as in slow motion – her reach over, put lotion on her hands, and start to rub my back.

Not just my shoulders, but my neck and back…and she reached INSIDE my collar.

WTH? I didn’t think it was that kind of Asian salon…

I was faced with a dilemma:

1 – She didn’t speak much English at all.  So, if I told her to stop…she may not understand.

2 – Damn that massage felt nice.

So – after 2 minutes of really awkward nail drying, invasion of my personal space, and getting molested…my toe nails were dry.

The nail lady smiled at me – and directed me to the waxing room.  I didn’t really know if I should acknowledge the massage by a thank you – because then maybe I’d have to pay for it – or just ignore it.  So, I just gave a tight smile and went in to get waxed.

I laid down on the bed and the waxing lady came in.  She smiled at me and said,”It’s been 3 weeks, huh?”  I smiled at her and said shamefully, “Actually, more like 3 months.”

She just smiled and said ok.

Then she proceeded to wax my brows and then asked a question I had never been asked before.

“You like me wax whole face?”

Ummm…I didn’t think I needed my face waxed!!  I know I’m partial to Jacob…but I didn’t think I was growing hair like a werewolf….

I looked at her, with shock, and said, “Do you think I need it?”

She just smiled and started to wax…my face.

If there’s one thing I love about being Asian – besides the fact that I’m really good at math and science, drive really slow in the fast lane, and consider egg rolls as another food group – is that I have very little body hair.

Seriously – ask my friends and my husband.  I only have to shave my legs once a month…and even that is overkill.

So, I wasn’t sure what she was waxing off…but she did.

Now here’s the kicker…

I was expecting to have to pay for a deluxe spa pedicure, an inappropriate massage, and a face transplant at the counter….but now – I paid my normal pedicure and eye brow wax.

What a weird day.

Reserved

I’m having a tough pregnancy.  More on that later.

So getting around is hard for me.

But, I do it anyways – because I’m thankful I’m not in a wheel chair or have a condition that doesn’t allow me to get around

Some places have parking spots reserved for “Expectant Mothers.”  And I rarely parked there with Iz.  Because really, my fat a$$ needed to walk a few more steps to burn off some of the calories I was eating “for the baby.”

Now, though, is a whole nutha ball game.  I’m having a rough pregnancy and supposed to stay off my feet as much as possible.  But I still have a life to live…so I go to the store to get necessities…like milk, bread, Oreos…

I had had a rough morning and I needed to park as close as possible to the store.  So, I was going to bite the bullet and park the “Expectant Mothers” spot.  As I was rounding the corner, a black BMW raced in the spot. Dang.  Too late.

Then it happened.

A guy in his 20’s…we’ll call him Chris Chris…stepped out of his BMW, on his cell phone, with his shades on, with a look on his face that clearly stated “I’m a douche bag.”  I waited for him to walk around to the other side of the car to let his very pregnant wife out of the passenger seat…because SURELY that’s the reason he was parked there.

But nothing. Nada.  Zilch…no pregnant person coming out of that car.

WTH?

I then parked my car, went over to him and told him what an inconsiderate ba$ta&d he was.

Ok not really – but I did walk past him the store and give him a really mean look…from across the aisle.