I just re-read my last entry and it’s certainly been a minute! Ten months ago, we moved out – and by “we” I mean me and Teagan. We have a cute rental in Vista that’s 3 doors down from one of my best friends and a short 10-minute drive to T’s dad’s house.
I kicked off 2021 with a personal commitment to transition from a contractor to FTE so that I’d be approved to rent. I did that. Then, I drafted my own legal documents (with help from my pal, a paralegal in Wisco), retained an attorney to formalize the custody agreement and took on a side hustle as a wellness educator for the US Border Patrol to make ends meet. Although I am proud that I didn’t let financial fear effect my decision to leave, it’s a struggle now that my expenses have nearly doubled -- well, not a struggle struggle -- just not the same life that I had built for myself and want for me and T. We are still in quarantine (ish) which I doubt I touched on in prior posts. Let's see how this goes.
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I love a good love story. This isn't mine. Any delusions of "happily ever after" dissolved last summer. I want to be respected, heard and loved. I want to share daily experiences and make future plans. There was no "thing," just a series of consistent actions (or non-actions) that led to my realization.
Sure, I hope it's "fixable." Who doesn't to be in a loving relationship? I don't know that it dead dead. I do know that my consistent effort to improve communication and set aside time to connect as a family with and without Teagan has positioned me as a nag. I also have drawn the conclusion that his priorities are to grow weed, have dogs, cuddle with his cat, love Teagan and scold/tolerate me. Mostly in that order. He is a GREAT dad and loves Teagan. However, he is best with a village of people to do the shopping, laundry, cleaning and behind-the-scenes work that makes this possible. I am not implying he doesn't help, he just doesn't do anything without prompting and when I ask for help, he's a dick. It would be great to blame this on COVD-19. We are more than 4 months into stay-at-home and social distancing orders. Many couples are struggling, but, this was in motion well before that. Today, we need some serious social distancing from each other. Luckily, his parents support this and we are invited to stay anytime. I took Teagan there after swimming on Friday. We had a fun night and early trip to the zoo. S tagged in Saturday afternoon. I went home and unfortunately had a few expectations set based on a seemingly productive conversation on Friday. Money, blah, blah, blah. He owes me a bunch and understands my efforts to move out are retarded by his inability to pay me back in a lump sum. Housework, blah, blah, blah. I restated that he needs to help cleaning up after the dogs. We have flies so they are rolling around in the dirt. They track it inside and on the furniture so more work for me. We have a fence that he could put up and keep them out of the dirt. However, he "can't" move the fence because he needs to prevent the dogs from rolling around in his weed. I suggested he get more fencing. He said he would. I figured he'd do it (and clean up the back) as an olive branch to start to mend the relationship. Nope. Several months ago, I did a ceremony with a local group. I didn't go "all-in," meaning I kept my dose light because I didn't want to lose my shit. However, the messages were clear and divinely feminine. In short:
To start, I am grateful for the lessons that emerge from seemingly negative situations. For example, in 2018 when I accepted a part-time role in a company I used to work, I saw it as a step backward. Now, I see that I needed it to learn how to master "working-at-home" with a toddler. Today, I am crushing working full-time at home because I had that experience. I also see that I had to re-engage with building business models supported by training programs. It was "easy" to bring this knowledge to a new industry. And, as I develop training programs and acquisition strategies for my new company, I am falling in love with the positive energy and financial opportunities of this new industry. It's not based on greed. It's based on my need to move on which does mean having my own space for me and Teagan. For her benefit, I need to create a stable home environment and will stay close by S and his parents. It makes sense to buy and not continue to throw away money. Buying means that I have to kick my own ass back into gear and focus on earning money and the future. Now that Teagan doesn't need constant attention, I have the mental space to do this. Eeek! It's a tough pill to swallow to realize that no one will do the work for me. I know that I have the tenacity and brains to do it though. Damn you Universe! On March 1, I left for Hawaii to meet a bunch of women for a yoga retreat. Although I seemingly travel a lot, this was my first extended vacation since 2011 and I needed it. Scott and I have been butting heads (to say the least) and our living arrangement was toxic.
Yes, I missed the shit out of Teagan. And yes, I wanted to return with the clear vision that I was unreasonable, demanding and a shitty partner. I wanted to come back knowing that I had to change and that I could declare my willingness and love would be restored. I wanted to be the problem so that I could also be the solution. That’s not what happened. My attempts to connect with Scott during the trip were rejected. When my return flight was cancelled and I called for his input, I wanted to hear either “Don’t worry about it! Take another day, I got this. You deserve a break.” “Gosh, we miss you. Do you think you can get another flight home today?” Instead, I heard “Umm. Okay. Well, do what you want to do.” Does smashing his head through the phone suffice? Not sure. Instead, I booked a flight for the next day. I got home (at 1 am), and was greeted by 2 pools of dog pee in the living room. I woke up before Teags and discovered that there was just enough food for her breakfast. When Captain Sunshine woke up, after 8, I may have gotten a “hello.” I don’t remember. What I do remember is him being pissed at me that the dog peed inside and a gruff “well, I assume that I have the day off?” Oooph! Not what I was expecting. Or was it? He’s generally cranky in the morning so no real reason that he wouldn’t be just because I was home. It’s also reasonable that he’d need a break. Sure, I was only gone 6 days and she was in daycare 5 of them—but, he’s not a mom. However, this is not the kind of relationship I want. Over the next week, I sketched out my financials, started to look into apartments and found a promising home! A woman with 2 kiddos that just got divorced was looking to share her giant house about 5 miles away. Coming off my week of sisterhood in HI, I was all in. Then. . . we got quarantined. I’m not sure if this is God’s grand gesture that I am supposed to “work it out” with Scott (kidding, I am not that egoic) or simply a glitch in my planning. It's easy to sum up the last 13 months.
I love you. I hate you. You need to move into the garage. I will move into the guest room. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I love you . I hate you. This is not working. Let's make it work. This is not working. I'll change. Why can't you be different. This is not working. Pinterest Mom is back. Turns out, she comes in hot just before my favorite holidays. Halloween leading into Dia de las Muertas has been an exhausting slam dunk. It started sooo innocent. Teagan and I were at the library for “Baby Rhyme Time.” The teacher announced that October 31 would be an “optional” costume parade. Optional my ass. The minute T went down for her nap, I got down to business. A quick scour of the internet weeded out the obvious “cute and fluffy” animal costumes, bugs, TV characters. Next, I dove in to family themes. Cookie Monster + Cookie + Milk. Life Guard + Surfer + Baby Shark. Disney Casts. Finally, I got into the fun family themes. Three’s Company. The Golden Girls. However, since S and I would likely not dress up, I put those in my back pocket and dug into the “DIY” lists. The winner? A cute (and simple) candy corn outfit from The Mom Creative. All I needed to do is buy felt, cut and pin it and send it to work with S. His team of seamstresses would crush this in 10-minutes. Max. Then, an unlikely chain of events transpired.
Halloween morning, I was up early to jog in the dark. Scary! T got up ready to party and so after breakfast, I put on her "under" outfit (an orange long-sleeved onesie and striped pants) and packed her costume in the diaper bag. Wouldn't you know? Another series of unplanned events.
No big deal, we still had all afternoon. Wouldn't you know? She slept until 3:15, ate her snack until 4. We got out the door at 4:02 and met S in Carlsbad where he was meeting a vendor. Apparently, Carlsbad had Halloween on Sunday - - we skipped the outfit and had a fun time tracking T through the Farmer's Market and local stores. We ate nothing. Pinterest Mom had a plan. Spider Web soup and Jack-o-Lantern quesadillas. Teagan didn't notice her quesadilla had a face and S couldn't "see" the webs (to be fair, they looked like spirals) in his soup. BUT, if we are going to have family traditions, we need to make them. It's up to us. At 6:30 (normally bath time), we got T decked out in her costume. She gave "treats" to our dozen or so trick-or-treaters and called the day a win. Well, I am officially part of the “Mom Club.” Baby T (Teagan) is here! The first consistent question has been her “stats” (Born June 27 @ 9:05 am; 6 pounds, 4 ounces; 18.5 inches) and the second is to know her “birth story.” I didn’t know this was a thing—and apparently, it is. So, here you go!
I had a good pregnancy. Sure, I was tired the first trimester and dealt with a ton of emotional “stuff” (read the entire Blog if you’re keen on details). But, I continued to stay active (thanks to the community of support I have at the gym) and chose to build her by increasing the volume of healthy food I already ate. I didn’t use pregnancy as an excuse to eat junk food or to become a sloth, and honestly, don’t understand this mindset. Growing a human is a big responsibility! Around week 36, I got really uncomfortable. I lost sight of my feet, lost my breath doing simple things (like rolling over) and had to pee all the time. I decided to obsessively recalculate her due date using a variety of dates to get something sooner and I did! By using conception date, it bumped up to June 18 (according to my doctor it was June 21 or June 24 {they had two, one by last period and the other as a function of her size in the ultrasound}). Note: This was a colossal waste of time. Babies come when they are ready. On June 18 at 12:04 am, I started having contractions that I thought were strong. They lasted about 4 hours and then stopped. Of course I assumed that something was wrong. I had been vomiting a lot and figured that I had broke the baby. I moved my doctor’s appointment to Monday and luckily, she was still healthy and just not ready to come out. By Tuesday, I had to stop going to the gym. I couldn’t handle any more “where is the baby?” conversations. By Friday, I stopped going to yoga, same deal. On Saturday, S’s parents came to town to “meet the baby.” Instead, we went to lunch and in general, I felt like a big, fat failure. Saturday night (June 24), the contractions started again. Again, I thought they were strong and they lasted all night. I had a few hours of reprieve Sunday afternoon and then they ramped back up. Once they were 5 minutes apart for an hour, we knew it was time to go. We left the house around midnight (after Mr. Casual made himself a coffee and brushed his teeth) and got there fast. My check confirmed that I was not dilated, at all. Our choices were to walk the halls for an hour to try to stimulate ye olde uterus, or to go home. Shuffling the long halls of a sleeping hospital is truly surreal. I was grateful to be there for something that would eventually be joyous. Not tonight. We left with an Ambien. Monday was rough. Contractions started around 11 am. But, this time, I was ready. I had my Contraction Management System “CMS” perfected in some delusion that I could control this. Basically, as soon as one started, I would walk downstairs, outside and around the garage and then land in the kitchen, bend over the counter and shake my booty until it went away. It made the pain a ton more manageable—until it didn’t. Once the contractions were 5 minutes apart for an hour, we went back to the hospital. No deal. I was not dialated, at all. They gave me a shot of Demerol and we went home. During the drive, I decided that I was an idiot and clearly did not understand my body. S didn’t agree. But, did agree that he should just plan “business as usual” on Tuesday and go to work. Heck, he should take my car AND go home and have a few drinks (he stopped drinking since I didn't want any “altered states” in the delivery room. That and “no TV” were my only L + D rules). I dropped in to bed as soon as I started slurring (Demerol is real) and slept for a solid 3 hours until the contractions started back up. I didn’t wake S up, just activated “CMS.” I rolled through this for 2 hours and was getting zero breaks and then “pop!” my water broke. Thank God. We headed back to the hospital and arrived by 5 am. I was still not dilated, but, they had to admit us (I tested positive for GBS and those are the rules). I was put on a drip of something that did not numb the pain and did guarantee that I did not give a fuck about it—until I did. The doctor came in and I was at 8 cm. Score. By now, I was all in for an Epidural. My plan was to have a natural birth and after 2 days of contractions I had surrendered that idea. The nurse went to get the Anesthesiologist and I was next up. The truth in giving birth is that you don’t get to make plans. Baby T was ready. “You’re not getting an Epidural, I need you to start to push. Breathe in and out, then breathe in and push for 10 seconds. I need you to do this 3 times with each contraction. I will tell you when to start.” Stated my super-calm Nurse. She woke up S and by the time he splashed his face and brushed his teeth, he almost missed it! I take direction well. By round 3, the baby was crowning and the Doctor and a second Nurse were in position. “Damn! I am going to braid this baby’s hair right now.” Laughed the Doctor. “Do you want to see her come out?” I did not. I pushed for 2 more rounds and voila! They slid a baby on to my chest. It was all very fast (under 20-minutes). And she was ours! Next, I delivered the placenta (which I did want to see). For the record, it’s rad. I delivered at Scripps Encinitas. They let you keep the baby with you for the first 2 hours. It’s amazing. She’s tiny, healthy and strong. Time somewhat stopped as we admired our little miracle. At some point, they moved us to a recovery room and taught us to swaddle, breast feed and bathe her. S’s brother, Sarah and Jenny came to celebrate with us. We ate sushi and relaxed into our first sleepless night. Discrimination. It’s a loaded word and tough to navigate what qualifies and what is simply people being D-bags.
About a week after I accepted that I was NOT getting the new job, the President of our company was fired. He was a big reason that I wanted this job and left Austin. You see, I had worked in parallel to him at a prior company and thought he was one of the clearest, most articulate and motivating leaders that I had met. I wanted to work for him and learn from him. I did my best to land the role, and did! He (and my direct boss) let me run with strategies and special projects because they trusted that I’d kick ass. I never missed a deadline and never f’d up. My job was super-fun and demanding for nearly 2 years. Then, we ran out of money and it got too stressful to actually feel productive or successful, that’s when I started to look. His replacement (the President’s) started 2 weeks later. I did my best to be proactive. I scheduled time with him to share what I was doing today, the ideas I had to grow the business and what I was “known” for doing well. He was not very interested. Which, I get. He likely had a big agenda and small timeline. My boss resigned within the month. Within 2 weeks of my 4th near-perfect review, I was put on a 30-day “Performance Improvement Plan (PIP)” that included tasks appropriate for an intern and not cascaded from my current role, former role or skill set. It literally included things like “clean out the Marketing Room,” and “find up to 10 bloggers.” I tried to keep a good attitude and layered in my current job for “measurement.” I scheduled time with the new HR Director to review my reviews, show her the unsolicited positive feedback I get from peers and partners and “try to understand” what was happening. I was pretty clear that I understood the team would need to be reorganized and that the timing of my pregnancy was tough. She diverted everything back to the “PIP” and let me know we would review it in 30-days. F that. I documented everything and submitted a formal “statement” that outlined how curious the timing was, identified that every meeting with either the new President or HR Director started with a question about my pregnancy and logged the details of my tenure at the company in contrast to the tasks being asked of me. Needless to say, I also did my part crush the “PIP.” Sure, it was humiliating to be asked to do such dumb work and it was stressful to maintain my real responsibilities and try to prep for maternity leave. BUT, based on the other teammates put on “PIP’s” or demoted, it was clear they want a different kind of company. Less strategy, more short-term wins. I decided to go on leave as soon as I qualified and avoid the hostility. It will be interesting to see what role they offer me in October, and, I don’t have to worry about that now. I did my part to make the transition smooth and to keep Partners informed of who would help them. I did my part to provide information, PTO balances and medical records. I am anxious they didn’t give me any formal paperwork, but will follow-up for my peace of mind. Are they being this way because I am pregnant? Or do we simply not share values? I suppose I don’t need to know. As disappointing as it is, it’s “over” for now. We’ve all heard about the awkward things that people say and do to pregnant women. At 7-months, I am unquestionably pregnant and everyone from the woman in line at Starbucks to the Italian man attending an education course at my work has compliments, enthusiasm or tips on “how-to” raise a child and wrap-up a healthy pregnancy. I know that the intentions are good. But, it is exhausting and sometimes a true “What the F” experience. Here are my top 5 from this weekend: 5. I’m waiting for my half-decaf, short Flat White at Starbucks. I need it. I have been up since 5:15 to take a hike before setting 2 workshops and helping S and his pal pull a bunch of product. I have been a lovely and an amazing host to 60 trainers and 7 coaches for the last 6 hours and need a re-set to get through the next 3. “How far along are you?” Says a petite woman who can’t be over 34. “7 months.” “Oh! You are so tiny.” This bugs the crap out of me. I am not tiny. I am 5’4” and close to 120 when I am not pregnant. I happen to carry well and have not gained an excessive amounts of weight. I don’t respond. “What I meant to say is that I carried just like you. I have three children and was all belly!” Now I am interested. She looks fantastic and I love knowing that she was looking for what we had in common and not being critical. Turns out she has a 21-year old, 17-year old and 6-year old. She got pregnant at 15 -- I was not far off with her age. 4. Après Barre class at the gym. A few fellow instructors are hanging out and I walk over to say “hi.” “Are you even pregnant? You’re way too small.” This is straight from the mouth of the woman who is known for giving back-handed compliments. “Really? I was at the doctor today. It’s a healthy pregnancy and she is just the right size." “When I was pregnant, I gained 60 pounds.” “That sucks.” “I ate whatever I wanted.” “Cool, we must like different food.” “I think you’re too small.” I am over it. Unless she’s a cycling instructor with a PhD, she needs to shut it. “Seems that as fitness professionals and colleague’s, we should celebrate and support each other and model healthy behavior for the members. Daggers shoot from her eyes and I quickly bail. My words are supported by 2 “High-Five” emoji’s from the other gals. 3. Lunch-break on Sunday, the Italian trainer asks how far along I am. “7 months.” “I have a five-year old. This is the only advice I will give you. Sleep when she sleeps. Seriously. Don’t clean up, watch TV, hang out with your partner. Go to sleep. Do not let her sleep in your room. No matter what you do, do not let her sleep in your room. This will destroy your relationship. Decide who will get up each night and stick to it. Put her on a schedule. Food. Naps. Bedtime. Wake-up. Every day. And stick to it. Feed her how you eat. We let our girl try soda when she was three. She thought it was disgusting. When she was four, she had it at a friend’s house and now loves it because they love it. Eat how you eat. She won’t know the difference.” 2. Apres Barre part two. There is a new woman in class. She’s been there a few times and I have decided she is French. She wears white and usually has a scarf. As I am patiently waiting to put my things away -- she’s in my way. I tap her (she has no idea there is a line behind her) and she quickly moves to let the group get on with their days. Outside, she asks how far along I am. And then proceeds to give me a giant hug and cradle my belly. “Do you know what you’re having?” “Yes. A girl.” “Do you have a name?” “Yes, it’s T –Scottish for “Beautiful.” “That is beautiful! I have never heard that before.” And, she hugs me again. 1. It’s Saturday afternoon. I am at work and now that both workshops are in motion and S is gone, I am using the time to get ahead on work. Since I’ve hosted both groups a few times, there are some repeat attendees. A woman walks in who I have met several times. She is very sweet and engaged to one of the educators. She sees me, looks at my belly and shrieks. Here we go. “Ahhhhhhh. You’re pregnant! Are you excited?! Oh my God. I can’t believe it. You must be so happy!” She goes in for the belly. She’s beaming. And, I am working so I need to be nice. But. Then. She kisses it. My stomach. Three times. I am shocked. Who does that? I can’t even react. Next, she tugs my shirt to see my belly. “There’s a BABY in there! I can’t believe it. You must be so excited!” I pull my shirt down and ask her about her upcoming wedding. It’s the right distraction. I am in shock as she babbles away. There you have it. Not only is my body out of my functional control, it’s apparently up for grabs and out of my social control. Although none of it feels sketchy, it is beyond bizarre. It’s nice to hear other people’s excitement and it’s clear that parents love to share their experience. Since it’s not harmful, I will try to enjoy the attention and tactfully protect my belly! Since 2000, I’ve worked within the fitness and training industry. My roles have been diverse—including gym manager, fitness editor, go-to-market manager (for the third largest global footwear company) and today, I am director of partnerships and events for a sporting goods manufacturer.
Needless to say, fitness and activity is part of my daily routine and I am used to living in a predictable body. That’s over! Getting out of the car is hard. Getting out of bed is hard. Picking things up from the floor is hard. Finding a comfortable sleeping position is impossible. I still exercise everyday but, instead of teaching Indoor Cycling, taking Tabata or doing yoga, I hike (well, walk on trails), take Barre class and modify/limit my weight training so that I am not lifting heavy or doing anything rotational. I am happy that I have not lost my fitness-community. I love the support that I get from other women who have had children and applaud my belly—and the men who know I can still “keep pace” with lower loads. My instructor and trainer friends have watched my belly’s progress and I think I am setting a good example for the pre-natal ladies showing them “how-to” scale, modify and stay committed. I just passed 29 weeks and am sporting a sweet little “soccer ball” belly. From the front and behind, I barely look pregnant – the side is another story. My doctor says my weight is fine and that I can expect another 8 to 12 pounds in the next 8 weeks. It’s hard not to want to move this all forward faster. And, if I decide to gain all the weight this week, it won’t make Baby T come any earlier. |
I am:A creative thinker/problem solver/hustler. . . future mother. Archives
December 2021
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