Tara writes at her blog, Adventures in Lapinskas Land. In her words, “I’m just a person, like anyone else, writing down my life for your entertainment. Plus, blogging is cheaper than therapy.” I wholeheartedly agree.
She’s a wife and a working mom to two little girls, a couple of adorable dancers. She’s doing a fantastic (and inspirational) job losing weight, and is a loyal #iPPPer (which, of course, I love). Tara shares great stories and pictures of her family, and I adore following along.
Thank you for sharing here today, Tara!
I was 25 years old. Newly married, freshly graduated from college. Trying to figure out what to do with my life. That was when my doctor told me that I would need fertility drugs to get pregnant. I believe the conversation went something like this: “Are you trying to get pregnant?” Me: “No. Not necessarily trying to stop it, but, not trying either.” Doctor: “Let me know when you want to get pregnant, we’ll get you started on fertility drugs.” This was due to a recent diagnosis of PCOS (poly-cystic ovarian syndrome).
I was surprised, but really not ready for kids yet. So, it was kind of okay. I mean – okay until I was ready to make a decision and really try to get pregnant. Until then, I thought, let’s have some fun! Plus – I still did not have my career path lined up. I had spent the last year of college just trying to graduate and get married. I had not planned for the life I would have of post-graduate wedded bliss.
So, 2 months later I was pregnant.
I had pictured pregnancy as this interesting science experiment type of deal. I mean, how weird is it to have a child growing inside your body? Of course, I knew I would be blissfully happy, making flower wreaths to wear in my hair as the sun shone down on my perfect, yet pregnant body. And I would talk to my baby, and read to my baby, while still in the womb. Play music for the baby. My husband would be just as enamored of the pregnancy and baby as I was. Harps would play, we’d have a hippie-type love circle, birds would sing and mosquitos would never bite again.
And then I found out what pregnancy is really like. And I swear, the older women around me, pointed and laughed at me when they re-canted their earlier comments about pregnancy. Before I was pregnant, they all told me how fun, and great pregnancy was. Then laughed at the torture that I was going through, and told me how much they disliked being pregnant. Liars!! Truth in advertising – I should totally sue them.
Pregnancy started as the most terrifying moment in my life. Seeing those two lines on a stick made me break down in tears. This was really happening! I was going to be responsible for a person. Um, plus, how was this baby supposed to get out of my body again? TERR-IF-IED!
Shortly after I came to terms with my reality, the vomiting set in. Like, guerrilla-style vomiting. I would be sitting, trying to control the nausea, when suddenly, I would be vomiting. I puked in both cars, every part of the bathroom except the toilet, the garbage can, almost tagged the cat once. She had the good sense to run as soon as I moved. Hit the computer, the floor, and even the bed. That one was the best, since it happened after we were home with the baby. That was when morning sickness finally ended for me – at home, with the baby. Those jackasses said morning sickness would only last the first trimester. My cat, rug, and bedspread beg to differ.
Did I mention the anger? I had pictured sunshine and flowers. What I got was an angry woman, always on the verge of a breakdown of yelling, or plotting revenge on everyone. I couldn’t stand to be touched. I hated when people would tell me that based on the way I was carrying, they could determine the sex. Ugh – don’t look at me hard enough to determine how I’m carrying!
My family came over one day, but hadn’t called. I was in the shower. I pretended not to know they were outside because I was that spiteful that they hadn’t called me.
I almost killed the grocery lady when she asked when I was due. “3 days ago.” I growled. She took a step back and said, “Um, ok. Can I help you out then?” Growling again, “No. Maybe carrying all this crap around will get labor started.”
I routinely told my child that she was evicted. Her lease was up. Get out. GET OUT!!
And then she finally decided to move out. I had pictured labor being somewhat easier. I would power through like a champ. I would only labor for about 5 hours, and push like 3 times. The baby would just pop out.
Labor started just after midnight. The contractions so painful, they woke me from sleep. I called the doc, and since I was only a week late, they said, come on in. By the time we got to the hospital, a few hours after it had started, I was dilated to a whopping 1 cm. Whoo hoo!
They ended up breaking my water. I got my first dose of epidural about 9 hours into this ordeal, when I hit 3 cm. After laboring all day and into the night, I finally hit 10 cm about 10 pm. Those sadists at the hospital turned the epidural down, and upped the pitocin, almost as a celebration to start pushing. My contractions were constant. They did not come in waves. I did not get breaks in between. My only memory from this time is my husband holding a tub for me to throw up in, and me being in so much pain I bit him. Oh yeah. I.BIT.HIM.
After about 2.5 hours of pushing, they had decided progress was too slow, the baby was stuck with her head through the cervix, and her shoulders wouldn’t come out. Plus, there seemed to be a lot of blood. I could not sign the c-section agreement fast enough. Finally, my baby was out, about 24 hours after labor had started. She ruptured my uterus, and they had to pull her back through my cervix. So, after they worked on me for about an hour, I got to meet my daughter for the first time. My husband was already feeding her. She was beautiful – exactly as I had pictured. My eyes and nose, his lips and coloring. She was 8 pounds, 7 ounces, 22 inches long. And finally here, which meant pregnancy was OVER!
Even though my expectations for a fun, loving, happy pregnancy never came to fruition, being that unhappy for so long taught me how to truly appreciate my sweet, happy, quiet baby. Plus, after all that, I’ll have to make sure we torture her as a teenager. Payback’s a bitch, right?