Part 1 of the Jedi Series~ The Beginning of Maybe

This is a story of a journey, it is not intended to scare or shock. The language used is carefully selected and may be offensive, I make no apologies for it.
I welcome you to share it.This is dedicated to the one I love.

I never really "found out" I was pregnant, in early 2011. It seemed as though I just knew. I could tell you the exact moment I knew was, when I was in my room picking up something off the floor, and I felt a little twinge. It felt it low in my abdomen, but the twinge wasn't what startled me upright, it was the sudden lightness I felt, almost like a ripple growing from the center of a lake and tracing the shore.

 After we had evidence that I was pregnant, I went to a Dr., and although I didn't like him much, he seemed nice enough and from previous experience I knew I could change practitioners at any time, but in the mean time, he was good enough. There was worry from previous blood testing done in a hospitals emergency room (I had been admitted prior to knowing for a fact that I was pregnant, when I had suffered from excruciating cramps and though I might have an infection of sorts) that I had tested positive for something that could harm the pregnancy and cause it to be ectopic. Thankfully, I had tested false positive and after a few blood tests, and an ultra sound we learned the embryo was indeed where it should be, and growing strong.

Early pregnancy symptoms hit me hard. The room was constantly spinning, I threw up countless times, I was exhausted, and it lasted all of 2 weeks. In my previous pregnancies I had been told the stronger your symptoms were, the more likely your baby had strong staying powers and so I may have said a time or two "alright little shrimp thing, you're here, I fucking get it, now ease up a little" and just like that it eased up.

As I approached the second trimester, things were going great. The kids were excited about having a new baby in the house, we were starting to go about our daily lives without the "oh my god we are HAVING A BABY CAN YOU BELIEVE IT!?" shock and my tummy was proof that things seemed to be going swimmingly. A little fuller, but not so big that I couldn't button my pants.
And then everything changed.
I stood outside getting a good dose of oxygen after dying my hair in the bathroom. I remember thinking how surprised my boyfriend was going to be when he saw how dark it was. And then I felt it. I thought at first I must be imagining things, surely I can't be peeing on myself? But something was down there, and I immediately checked, right where I was, standing in my yard. I pulled my hand out of my panties and saw a nightmare. Blood. Completely covering my hand. In shock I looked at my legs, I could see the blood collecting at the crotch of my jeans, and growing towards my thighs.

Everything that followed was a mechanical reaction.
Call mom.
Call boyfriend.
Call boyfriends mom because hes not answering and I'm not fucking leaving a voice message. The worst news ever, on a voicemail? He would die.
Go in shower. Do not take off clothes. There may be a fetus in your panties and I'm not fucking looking. Rinse hair. Decide to take off clothes because now you just look stupid. Close your motherfucking eyes while you do so.
Sit on couch.
Cry.

Actually, I couldn't cry. Not with very much tears anyways. I practically dry heaved my way into my mothers arms when she arrived at my house ready to take me to my doctor's office.
As I held her tight and sobbed without tears, I felt the blood just pouring out of me.I just wanted to be absorbed into her body and disappear.

I wanted her to so badly take it away, make it stop. Like all the times when I was small and scared or hurt, she would tell me something happy to think of, or she would bandage my knees, give each one a kiss and I would carry on with my day. 
She brought me to her car and got my then 3 year old daughter and put her in the car seat.
She took me to the entrance of the building to the doctor's office and left to park the car.  I walked into the building with a towel between my legs. Going up the elevator, trying not to cry and freak out anyone who might be pregnant just leaving or going to an appointment. But also shuddering and gasping as I felt the towel growing warmer between my thighs.

As I lay on the exam bed, and the Dr. turned off the lights to give me an ultrasound, I prepared myself for the absolute worst. That there would be nothing left.

I blinked maybe 50 times as I saw what was displayed on the screen.
A tiny baby, perfectly formed, with long arms and legs, that were kicking and waving as if to say "I'm here! Mama I am here!" my relief was immediately replaced by confusion. I was still bleeding, and there was just no way this baby wasn't in jeopardy. Despite the baby looking okay, this could just be the beginning of the end. I sat up straight at he turned the machine off.
"Give me the facts. How is it that there is still a baby in there, yet I am 2 seconds away from needing a blood transfusion, I don't want hope, I want facts, tell me can this get better?"

He said he has seen this before, it could stop and the pregnancy could be fine. Or it could continue and result in a miscarriage. Either way, I needed to go to the hospital for further testing and to evaluate how much blood I had lost.

The ride to the hospital I hardly remember, but getting out of the car and walking to the E.R. entrance  is something I will never forget. It was emotionally painful. Blood continued to pour with every step and I started to imagine the baby inside of me possibly starting to die.
If someone had told me to stay positive, even I, the most optimistic person I know, whould have punched them square in the face.

They quickly rushed me to a bed in a wheelchair, left me alone to change, and I asked if I could keep my pants on to keep from bleeding everywhere. They placed a pad on my bed and said the blood would be collected there. "Awesome", I thought sarcastically.
After a nurse took my vitals, I was left alone waiting for the doctor.
Every movement caused a small gush of blood to come out. And without my pants on to soak some of it up, I felt every drop. My ass grew numb from trying to hold absolutely still, but when it began to be painful and the skin became completely numb, I would have to turn and switch positions. My body shook in a silent sob as I felt the blood spilling over my thighs.

My mom came and stayed with me after taking my daughter to her house, and when my boyfriend arrived she left to pick my other 3 kids up from school.

The first thing he did was stroke my hair and kiss my forehead. He asked if I was alright.
I breathed a sigh of relief.
I had been worrying the whole time the possibility of my baby being gone, and going through the real terrifying experience of miscarrying it after seeing arms, legs, a heart even.
I had forgotten that I was not alone and when he sat down calmly in the chair next to me, I knew no matter what happened, that it would be okay. Our grief would be shared. We would be going through whatever the hell this was, together.

The Dr had ordered an ultrasound and when she left the room and we waited, I told my boyfriend to be prepared. That there might not be an alive baby any more. He understood, and he held my hand on the way to the X Ray department of the hospital.
I closed my eyes as the u/s technician pressed into my abdomen and turned her head toward the screen.

I have had lots of ultrasounds from my previous pregnancies and was always eager to see what was on the screen. To see a little peek of the face I would soon meet. Marvel at a transparent chest that held a beautifully beating heart. I looked forward to ultrasound appointments and treasured every single one of them. But never had any of them made me cringe. To not want to know what would be shown. And with my eyes closed I just wanted it all to go away. For this moment in time not be happening at all.

"Well... the baby looks okay"
I turned towards the screen with eyes wide open and searched the screen. It was there. Our baby was definitely there, because it was definitely flailing around performing some sort of Cirque de Soliel move, and there was a little flicker of a heart even. 
The ultrasound was over quickly, although the tech was sweet enough to let us watch the baby perform some more fist pumping before printing out some pictures, one for us, and many more for the doctor to look over.

The doctor explained that since the bleeding seemed to be improving, there was really nothing that they could do to stop a threatened miscarriage. There was a small bruise on my placenta, it had also lifted a bit. There was really no known reason or cause, and it could get better. But there was no way to know.
Before I left, a nurse gave me her extra pair of pants she had in her locker.  I had soaked through mine and she gave me a hug and told me I deserved more than a paper gown to wear. I signed a few forms and on my way out they gave me a packet of information on threatened miscarriages, and warning signs. And my ultrasound photo.

When I got home I threw the bag carrying the folder of information, my blood soaked pants and towel, in the back of the closet.

I put my ultrasound photo up on the fridge.

Over a year later, it's still on my fridgeNext post-June 1st

Now this is a story all about how my life got flipped...

So I was being a boss, listening to Kid Cudi uncensored because I was rollin like a G in my van with no baby ears in the back seat.

And I heard a lyric that struck me it goes: "I tried to think of myself as a sacrifice, to just to show the kids they ain't the only ones up at night" (in the next lyric he talks about his pee pee being sucked so be warned if you google that, don't want to be held responsible for wrecking your baby ears, and by pee pee I mean cock)

And then a ninja BOMB exploded in my brain and I thought OMG I MUST WRITE ABOUT THIS. (No not the pee pee sucking part, you sicko)

Here is how it starts: I was told a few times that I am an inspiration. I know, I know. My life of servitude to 5 children and still finding the time to read a book, write on this here blog, and paint my nails gives me like, a Jane Goodall runner up sash or some shit.

But seriously.

I am just like you.

And if you think I am not, or just think I am full of myself, let me tell you a story of how I became Humble.

Two years ago. My life was SHIIIIIIIIIIIT.

I won't go into exact details, to protect my kids and my sanity should someone be blabbing about it the next time I see them in real life, but lets just say the situation I was in was fucked UP.

And even worse, I couldn't seem to get out of it. It was like the same day every day, going through the same motions, but with more bad situations piling up until I couldn't breathe any more. Literally, I couldn't breathe. I had been suffering from what I thought was "I am dying, my throat is closing and I am dying" but really turned out to be major anxiety attacks. The kind that you know, can't fucking breathe through when they are happening.

Picture that for a second.

Now imagine that I had 4 kids with me when these would happen out of no where.

It was the ultimate rock bottom place that I was in, the kind of rock bottom that comes from the inside of your heart and soul and makes its way to your flesh and bones. It affected my every move. My every conversation. My brain. The way my eyes perceived things.

And I wanted it to stop.

I ended up in a hospital in a daze. I still can't recall the exact events before the hospital. I remember crying on a gurney, explaining that I was not suicidal and that I still couldn't breathe. Later, I was taken to rehab. Apparently, you can go even if you are not addicted to anything, you can go if you are just freaking the fuck out. Good to know.

When I came home after living with my parents for a bit in order to help me get back on track with meds and therapies, I came across something that years of watching Oprah never taught me. Or maybe she did except I wasn't paying attention because I was busy folding clothes.

I loved it so much I wrote it on my wall:

And just like that. My life changed.

NOT!

It took me time to realize that I couldn't change everything over night, but I could accept that. What I could no longer accept was that I wasn't taking steps to make it at least gravitate towards the direction of change.

Where did I want to go in life?

Who did I want to be?

What were like, my goals?

Now what the fuck do I have to do to get there?

Okay, can't do all of that in a week, what can I do today?

Nothing?

How bout a smile?

Okay, I can do that.

And that's how it began. I realized I didn't have a lot to work with. But I did have myself, and frankly, that's enough to start with.

It all started with a smile. MY SMILE. Not a smile someone else gave me, not a smile I fake, a real one. Try it, you'll like it.

Take THAT duck face!

And in my method of full disclosure of fantastical honesty, one of the things I most wanted to achieve was to help someone ANYONE find their smile. You know, find their little sumtin sumtin, to feel happy about. JUST ONE PERSON. That was my goal.

And then, I met you. YOU.

xoxox Humble

Oh, Sprite

Sprite's journal entry, for school.
 Read by me.

Her adoring mother.

16? Thats it. No more Little Mermaid.

It's coming....

I have been reminded at least 40 times in the past few weeks exactly how much longer until school is out. At first it was like "Mama, there is exactly 63 days until school is out." And in reality I heard, "Mama, you are going to lose your shit in exactly 63 days" and my response was "What? Why? I love my brain in my head, and I don't wanna die!" and they were all, "Mama I don't know what you just said." because all that was really coming out of my mouth was "hjsshjbdhxbfxfc whaaaa jhdhddhddhgurrgee brains"

Then a few times I heard "Mama, there is 3 weeks left of school" and I was like, "yea prove it, you said that 5 times last week" but really I was thinking "Maybe Jesus could come back and spare me this occurrence, I mean the rapture doesn't sound so bad, maybe they got the wording confused and they meant Raptors. I could totally fight Raptors, I've seen I Am Legend like 73 times" 

And then yesterday I was told there would be an Open House at school this week.

And reality set in.

If there is one clear sign of an impending apocalypse, it is Open House. Open House. Where you go to see all the wonderful things children have been working on through out the year, and be absolutely amazed that more has happened during the 6 hours they spend there aside from "I played at recess and I put my own head in the toilet" (true story)

While the teachers are all whistling while they work because Open House to them means, "SHOTS SHOTS SHOTS SHOTS ERRRYYBODY" (I mean if I was a teacher, that would be my anthem at the end of the school year. Let's be real.)

I am sitting my ass on the couch gnawing my finger nails and searching things on Pinterest that I have been in denial about since last September.

Like "Summer Activities", "Crafts that won't make a mess", "Not losing your shit in 16 days", "Raptor Facts", etc.

So far I have jotted some notes on how to make a routine for kids, and also learned that Raptors are actually the size of large chickens and they don't hunt in packs.

It occurred to me a couple of weeks ago that school nowadays just isn't suited for big families. I have about 5 hours every day to acknowledge the school day, monitor and break up fights (they call it "playing outside") that come with the aggravation of listening and following rules and test test tests for 6 hours, then make dinner, chores chores chores, laundry, homework, showers/baths, and getting prepared for the following school day. With 4 kids and a baby, this is a lot to conquer in 5 hours. Truth be told, they are up until 9 or 10 most nights of the week because we got distracted by having a lengthy dinner where we actually enjoyed each others company, and because they have so much to say to me, and they take turns sitting on my lap having "My Mom ONLY' time. With all the homework and reading they have to do, having actual family time is hard to come by. So sue me if we are up a little late playing with the baby and talking about if we would be a Gryffindor or a Hufflepuff. I mean, that's important shit.

So, Summer, really, isn't all bad.

I look forward to blowing up some 2 liters with a pack of Mentos, and also covering the slip and slide with whipped cream.

Talking to my kids without worrying about what we should really be doing.

Reading stories not because they are going to take a test on it, but because it is fun.

And having it be perfectly acceptable to skip a shower for the day, because running in sprinklers totally counts as bathing.

But just in case, I am keeping the BB gun close to me.

You just never know.