Girl Meets BamBam

I just had my second child. We call him BamBam. It's because of a dear sweet friend of ours. We call her Nana. Nana and I met when I was in high school. She was a 5th grade teacher. I volunteered in her class. We became friends. And then family. And she nicknames grand babies. Since we were adopted by Nana, so were our kids. BamBam and Dino (the oldest). Bam Bam was due June 15th. I, a teacher myself, made it through the school year (which may I add was trying, especially with iffy air conditioning)... and I just wasn't feeling good the week after school let out. I was trying to keep up with Dino but quite frankly I kept having contractions that were not consistent. So I went to the doctor for my weekly check up. Peed in a cup (everyone wants urine samples these days). Waited. Went in. My blood pressure was in the triple numbers. Of course I'm an anxious wreck when it comes to the doctors (yaaay anxiety!)... so this isn't really shocking. They always have to do it again after the first reading and it's fine. Which is what happened. But this time they wrote down both results. Which panicked the doctor. She ran in and told me I may have pre-eclampsia (no thanks!). And I told her well I do feel like crap. She asked me if I had headaches. No. Did I see spots. Nope. None of those things. Contractions? Why yes. I told her I had them every few minutes headed to my mom's to drop off the Dino.... but then they went away. She said maybe you are in labor. And I laughed. No way. Oh wait... 3 cm dilated? My doctor said "Holy sh... um, I wasn't expecting that." Neither was I. She sent me to triage to make sure pre-eclampsia was not a thing. It wasn't, by the way. I did wait an hour in triage. When I got there they did lab work and tested my blood pressure (which remained normal). The nurse came in and said they wouldn't keep me because I wasn't 38 weeks (I was 37 weeks and 7 days. I think they use common core math). But then... 5 cm? The midwife said "Oh um I wasn't expecting that." Join the party lady. I was then told to take a 2 hour walk around the hospital because my contractions were weirdly inconsistent. So I walked around for an hour. I toured the hospital. I toured the doctors offices. I went to the bathroom because I had to pee. Then I was scared to pee. Because who wants to have a baby in the toilet? So I walked some more. And then decided this was the worst decision and went back. I told them I know I was supposed to walk for 2 hours but it isn't happening. Back to triage. 6 cm. The midwife looks stunned. I probably did too. I texted my mom. Poor Dino was waiting for me to pick him up from her but that wasn't going to happen that day. 

Bam Bam wasn't in any hurry though. They did let me stay. The doctors weren't in a hurry for me to have Bam Bam either. Oddly enough that night everyone was having their babies. There were emergency c sections all over the place that night. Bam Bam may have not been in a hurry but I was because the only thing I had all day was a bowl of Lucky Charms at 7 in the morning. Delicious but not as a last meal. What made it worse? The room I was in had the perfect view of Taco Cabana. Open 24 hours. All the tacos a girl could want. Delicious. Satisfying. Magical. Tacos. Crunchy. Soft. Cheesy. Greasy. Noms for the taking but nooooo tacos for me. Did Bam Bam come at a reasonable time for tacos? No. 3:40 am. I grudgingly ate a bland turkey and swiss sandwich and some potato chips. Bam Bam was baptized in crumbs a good hour into this world. He didn't mind. I don't think. I also didn't ask him.

So even though life can side swipe you. Even though things don't work out the way you planned... The way you thought. They do work themselves out. Because suddenly you are holding this amazing 7 lb and 3 oz Bam Bam. And life couldn't get better. But then... you get up every few hours because newborns are kind of jerks (really cute jerks) and they demand food. All. The. Time. And they'll pee all over your bed. But hey, momma... you did a pretty good job. And... there are always tacos. 

Hit by a Taco Truck

Life sometimes hits you like a bus. Or a train. Or one of those tankers. Sometimes things happen and you don't want to share anything about it. Sometimes shit just occurs out of no where, but you kind of half expected it because that's what you get when you eat your weight in sketchy tacos from the sketchy food truck. But then you think to yourself if you don't tell anyone, if you don't talk about it, if you continue to act like it's not a big deal... it'll go away. It doesn't. FYI. Your brain will just explode. (That may not be a medical fact but I feel pretty sure in its accuracy). That's where I am currently at. Brain exploding. Sketchy taco. Words piling up, needing to come out but not finding their way (unless it's 1 am and I'm trying to sleep). And so I decided to write. Writing helps me process. I'm much better at writing than I am talking. In fact, that's all I did growing up. I wrote. I filled notebook after notebook with stories and ideas and jokes and concepts and feelings. Because I feel big. No really. I feel everything. I cry with everything (angry tears, sad tears, happy tears). 

I'm a very happy individual (no really, it's true). But sometimes I feel more like Eeyore than Tigger. And that's okay. It's okay not to be happy all the time. It's okay to struggle. It's okay to have life knock you on your ass every now and then. You aren't perfect. Neither am I. 

When we got married we had this picture perfect idea of what our lives would be like. It's easy to imagine life without all the buses and trains and tankers. But life isn't really life without those struggles. The struggles is what makes the victory feel... victorious. It makes the win worth it. So even though, maybe, our life together isn't the picture we imagined.... we painted a pretty damn good one. It's not perfect either. But that's kind of what makes it beautiful.