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Monday, March 20, 2017

I’m 40 Weeks and 4 Days

Chapter I: I’m 40 Weeks and 4 Days

Oh my goodness, this is it.  It’s time!  These are definitely not Braxton Hicks.  
Babe!  
Babe!  
Baby!  
Wake up!  
I’m in labor!!!!!!!!  

It’s 5:30am and the pain is excruciating.   I need to time my contractions.  Breathe.  Ok.  Here comes another one, it’s 5:40am.  Ok, I can deal with this.  I have enough time to get ready.  I have enough time to get Cassidy to my ex-husband’s so he can take her to school.  

Ten minutes is a long time.  

I know that this is it.  Let me call my doctor just to alert her. 


Fuck!! 

Shit!!! 

Damn!!! 

The frigging pain!!!!

Ok, still trying to call my ex. Why the fuck isn’t this dude answering his phone?  He knows I’m due any day now!  He was told that I would bring Cassidy to him.  Answer the damn phone!!!!  One more time… if that asshole doesn’t answer the phone…geeze. Ok, ok... stay calm. Stay f u c k i n g calm.

Fuck me!!!! 

It’s 7:35am and the contractions are now about seven to eight minutes apart.  My hospital bag is packed.  I have my insurance card, my robe, my slippers, the baby’s outfit and my husband.  My husband?  Where is he?  Babe!!!  Wake up! We have to go.  

I’m not sleeping, he mumbled.  Did your water break? 

No, not yet but now my contractions are about five minutes apart.  

What did your doctor say when you called her?  

I didn’t speak to her. No, yes. … I did, I I I did did speak to her. I couldn’t get the words out. The pain was suffocating. She wants me to go to the hospital once my contractions are five minutes apart and once I get there, they will call her.

It’s now 8am. Get my bag babe.  I’m ready! Contractions are five minutes apart.

We get to our car and I can barely fit.  I am huge.  I was 40 weeks, four days ago.  But you can deliver two weeks before or two weeks after your official due date, so I resigned to waiting two more weeks.  But here it was, she was coming…four days after my due date.

We arrived at the hospital around 8:30am.  I had already pre-registered, so I was taken directly up to labor and delivery.  I signed in with the technician, they hooked me up to the machines and began to monitor my contractions. The freaking tech couldn’t get the IV line in my hand. She kept sticking me. It took her about four tries to get the needle placed. Talking some shit about my rolling veins. I wanted to punch her in her fucking face. But, finally the IV was in and my D5 saline fluids were dripping.  I was ready to have this baby.


They transferred me to my private room, my nurse came in to introduce herself, I got hooked up to another machine and the next thing you know it was time to push.


My doctor came in to check on me.  She said I was 7 centimeters dilated.  The contractions were now more frequent.  I don’t know how many minutes or seconds apart, but they hurt like hell.

I felt like I lost consciousness each time. This was a pain I had never experienced before.

I finally asked for drugs.  It was too late.  I couldn’t get any medication, I was now 8 centimeters and the baby’s head was crowning.  

I don’t know what time it was at this point…but I was told that it was time to push, I’m now 10 centimeters.

You’re doing gre…blah blah blah.  
What the hell is he saying, I thought.  
The contractions stopped.  
What did you say babe?  As soon as he started to answer, the contractions were back.  Every 2 minutes.  
Push through the contractions, you can do it, this is it.  

Push!

After 30 minutes, I was still pushing.

Push!
Breathe!! 
Push!!
Breathe!!
Push!!!
Breathe!!!

We have to cut you.
Cut me? CUT ME? No, no, no!!! I can push. I don’t want a cesarean.

No, not a c-section. An episiotomy. 
Snip! I felt it. I was back to pushing again.
Moments passed and I felt the relief and the pressure subside from my womb.

She was finally here. 

They stitched me up and all care turned towards the baby.

My husband had left my side as soon as the umbilical cord was cut.  He was standing next to his daughter, then holding her, then she was on my chest.


Her head full of black silky hair, pale face, eyes closed, and just a little doll.





*The above is excerpts from the first chapter in my book, "Where's My Vagina: what to expect when a diva's expecting," and based on true events of my 3 pregnancies* The artworks are from my 3 girls...

Wednesday, March 8, 2017

I Invite You To Cry

Have you ever awaken in the morning and felt blue?  An overwhelming feeling just takes ahold  and all you want to do is cry. Have you ever awaken and wondered why? Why didn’t I get that job? Is it because I’m a woman? Why did I have kids? Why didn’t I have kids? Why did I get married? Why did I get divorced? Am I crazy for these feelings I feel? Why am I crying? I need to stop crying, because crying makes you feel weak.  Don’t it?

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Well, all these feelings happen to everyone and just because you're female doesn’t mean you're weak. Just because you cry doesn’t mean you're weak.  Crying is the body’s way of expressing sadness, joy, anger or fear.  It’s cathartic. It’s natural.  And because you typically don’t see men crying, doesn’t mean that they are incapable.  It doesn’t mean that they are stronger than you.  It doesn’t mean they can not feel weakness or be vulnerable or express sadness, joy, anger or fear.  A male's response may be different from a female's, simply because of our chemical make-up, plain and simple. Not because they’re stronger. Not because women are weak.  On the contrary, some may say that we are the stronger sex.

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2014/04/21/reasons-women-are-the-stronger-sex_n_5153446.html

So, crying doesn’t make you weak, it makes you human. It makes you more empathetic. It makes you woman and if that is our "only" flaw ;)…I say hell yeah, I will cry any damn day for any damn reason because I am woman. And since today is International Women’s Day and the day without a woman, let’s see who will be crying when we don’t show up to work…or make your dinner…or take care of your loved ones…or hush your babies to sleep. I invite you to cry with us because a day without women, is a sad day indeed.

DAY WITHOUT A WOMAN: 50 COUNTRIES | 400 RALLIES PLANNED

INTERNATIONAL WOMEN'S DAY


#DayWithoutAwoman



Monday, March 6, 2017

Get Out

Oh my fucking goodness, that movie was good. Great. Excellent. Can I start my first movie review blog like that? Well I guess I just did…because that was my reaction when the movie ended. One hour and 44 minutes of laughter, fear, WTF moments, drama, sweating, a few jumps from my seat and a few screams of kill that motherfu**er. Get Out is a modern day thriller that tries to tackle race relations and black stereotypes, the evils of suburbia, the pain of loss and the awkwardness of meeting the girlfriend’s family…  It’s Meet the Parents and Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner meet The Stepford Wives. It’s brilliant. It’s suspenseful. It’s funny. Only the mind of Jordan Peele can come up with this concept. 



Synopsis: a young African-American man travels upstate with his Caucasian girlfriend to meet her parents. At first, you think the discomfort he feels is simply because he’s the "first" black boyfriend she’s taken home. Then the country club friends arrive and you soon begin to realize there’s something sinister at play. But what unfolds is totally mind boggling and it takes you on a ride like no other horror movie has before. The tea cup. The bingo game. The red box. You MUST see this movie…and if the Academy does not nominate this film for an Oscar, they will be terribly remiss in their duties.

#GetOut
#OscarBuzz

DO NOT WATCH IF YOU HAVE NOT SEEN GET OUT, CONTAINS SPOILERS:


Did you read this article?


These perceptions were tied into Get Out and painfully shows how racism is still a major part of our society.  If you’ve ever wondered why cops think black men are more dangerous or older than they are…this article may explain.