S's First Time (for a few things)

I feel I need no introduction at this point, as most of Elle's followers have read about our entire courtship and relationship from its inception to present. (Well, not really much of a courtship, and when I say entire, I mean ENTIRE). It's quite honestly a little intimidating to post something on her blog (even though she keeps calling it "our" blog) being that I am a huge fan of Elle's story telling, and comedic prose. I've pondered what I could possible say here that would be of interest or intrigue, and I think I've come up with an intelligent and meaningful subject.

P90X.

X is for Xtreme, which is how I'm feeling tonight. Xtremely old, Xtremely out of shape, Xtremely fat, Xtremely sore, Xtremely old.... oh ya, I already said that. I asked Elle today if she thought I was the oldest person that has ever taken on the P90X challenge. I think her reply was "maybe"... bitch. Now I'm feeling Xtremely competitive! You guys just wait. In 90 days I'm going to "allow" Elle to post my "before" pic (which by the way, I refuse to even look at) next to my "after" pic. Oh... and speaking of before pics... a little word of advice for those of you in a relationship with a girl. Never ever offer to take her before pic when talking about starting a new workout routine. It won't go over well even if your offer was well intended. You'll find yourself saying things like "Honey, you look great... I didn't mean you NEEDED a before pic, I just thought it would be fun if we both had one."

So, tonight we have the kids, neither one of us can move due to our new Xtreme soreness and Elle and I are in one of those moods. She's warned me though... the only thing she thinks she'll be able to do is lie on her back and maybe turn over if she can use a pillow for support.

For Motherless, For Me, and For All the Women Who Will Be Heard

This morning I was in the same place I was fourteen years ago when my daughter was born into my arms.  I was at the same exact place, at the same exact time, with the same exact nurse.  It was a bit surreal.  I said to the nurse... "Do you know what we were both doing 14 years ago at about this time in the morning?"

I was 17 years old.  I was at that age in adolescence where one thinks they know so much, they aren't afraid of anything.  I wasn't afraid of labor.  I don't think I was afraid of mothering even.  It was the unknown for me.  No one I knew (really) had any babies yet.  My then boyfriend's sister had a couple kids and one of them was a newborn, but she wasn't especially candid about the entire process.

My water broke sometime in the very early morning of January 27, 1997.  I wasn't quite sure that was what was happening to me, because it didn't seem like what happened in movies.  But, what else could it be?  Also, there was some internal ... voice?... telling me... "your water broke..."

This was my first lesson in trusting my body.  Trusting myself.  Listening to my body.  Listening to WOMEN.

When I arrived at the hospital I did not feel trusted, or listened to.  I believe it was due to many factors... some of them might have been my age or the age of the father of my baby (he was 10 years older than me).  We weren't married at that time, and I felt a shame about that too.  Now that I work in that field, and I hear what is often said about patients in this group (unwed-pregnant-teen)  I guess... well... it has reinforced what I have always perceived was said about me.

When my contractions became harder - stronger - longer there was an instant where I became afraid.  I felt alone.  I wondered how long I could endure such a laborious task (yes I see the pun).  I knew that I had to endure it for however long it was to last.  However long it was meant to be.  However long it needed to be.  There was not to be any time restrictions.  I asked the nurse who came into the room to check on me the fetal monitor, to please take the clock off of the wall.  

This was my second lesson in trusting my body.  Trusting myself.  This was my second lesson in listening to women.

The nurse looked at me very queerly and did not move towards the clock.  I asked again.  I remember having to be very firm, and clear in my wishes to NOT have a clock on my wall in my labor room.  I remember having to fight to be heard.

It wasn't much longer that I felt the indescribable urge to push.  This time the voice inside me wasn't quiet, and I couldn't use a quiet voice either to express my wishes to push either.  I asked my boyfriend to please go get the nurse.  (I really did say please.)  He actually wanted to know why.  When I explained that I felt like it was time to push, he actually said, "But the nurse was just in here."  I don't know if this meant he didn't want to bother her again, or if this meant it couldn't possibly be time to push.  I didn't care.  Bother her.  It's time to push.

This was my third lesson in trusting my body and in listening to women.

I had (apparently) labored and dilated rapidly for a primip (first time mom) and no one was expecting such a quick delivery.  The nurse (who had just gotten on shift for the day) came in and asked what I needed.  I said, "IfeellikeIneedtopush" in that low, grunty, "already pushing voice" that so many of us L&D nurses recognize.

I remember her saying, "Well then push."

Finally.  

Heard.

That morning I became a mother.  Whether or not I wanted to.  Whether or not I was ready.  Whether or not I liked it.  That little baby changed my world.  I won't lie and say it was "the best thing that ever happened to me."  Because I don't understand what those words mean.  I will say, giving birth to her, changed my world.  I got married.  I lived straight.  I had four more babies.  As soon as I held her in my arms, I knew I wanted to be a mother... her mother.

Another thing happened that morning, the morning I became a mother.  It was the beginning of learning to trust my body, to trust myself.  I was heard.  Finally.  As a survivor... this was huge.  That nurse who said those three words has no clue the impact she made on my life... even fourteen years later.  

I became a mother.  But also... I think this was the beginning of becoming a midwife too.

Glorious Birds

Tomorrow, on the 27th day of January, 2011, my daughter... Motherless... will turn 14 years old.

I wanted to take her out for dinner tomorrow, to commemorate the day with her.  She said she couldn't because her father wanted to make her dinner.  I can't help myself.  I'm disappointed.

We are having a date tonight, though.  It's just that I am a sentimental weirdo when it comes to anniversaries... dates... numbers... etc.  Truth be told, I'd like to have breakfast with her, so that way, at 7:43am, the EXACT hour she was born into my arms... I can look into her hazel-green-sometimes-brown-eyes and smile with amazement, then tell her... "I'm proud of you."

That's not going to happen. 

I will think of her, and I will text her at 7:43am.

But I don't know when, after tonight, I'll get to see those beautiful eyes.  Or her soft freckles.  Or that ever changing bright smile.  I don't know when she will let me back in.  

Because I am a stickler for dates... I will write her Birthday Tribute tomorrow.  

Tonight we will have dinner and I will give her the gifts that I spent a lot of thought in picking out.  One is a book that I read when I was around her age that meant a lot to me.  I wish I still had my original copy, I'd give her that... Anyway, she liked Go Ask Alice, when I bought that for her, so I am going to try it again.  This time I am gifting her:  Jonathan Livingston Seagull.  It's a beautiful book.  She's currently very interested in birds as her newest pet is a parakeet.  

The second gift is a DVD copy of Harold and Maude.  I know she loves this cult classic.  (One of) my favorite scenes is with the seagulls... the "glorious birds"... Anyway... I spent a lot of thought figuring out what to do this year.  I didn't want to just go the iTunes gift card route.

I'm putting her gifts in a reusable gift bag that I got from one of my very sweetest friends, Cat.  It has van Gogh's Starry Night on it.  Which happens to be one of her favorite paintings... or at least it used to be.

So, it really feels like a date. 

I'm nervous.

I need to shower.

I'm going to shave.

I'm hoping for a kiss.

A Photo Journal Through my Paris Journey

What. A. Whirlwind.  

Seriously.  We were watching some movie (I can't remember which... and I don't want to waste time trying to remember...) where the setting was France, WW II.  I don't know what it was about the movie, yes I do... it was FRANCE... we were just suddenly inspired .... we HAD to go to France.

S and I had talked about going to Paris several months ago, but the timing with work, school, and kids was never quite right.  With her job at The Company getting a flight there is nearly free and not too difficult at this time of year.  So, it was decided, on Sunday evening around 9pm that we would go to Paris - the next day!  Our flight left Monday evening at 6:30pm.

It seemed okay at first.  I'm an online, distance learner.  As long as we found a place to stay with internet access, I could take my exam that was due on Tuesday at 11pm CST.  That's right, we hadn't had a place to stay.  We were just getting on a flight.  To another country.  With no place to stay.  With no guarantee of internet access.  And I had to take my first exam in nearly 24 hours... with a 7 hour time difference.

I started to freak a little on the ride to the airport.  I got a little queasy.

I was very relieved to have my nausea pills on the ride there.  And after about 18 of them I started to feel better.

S did okay drinking fizzy water - that was so very Parisian of her.

We laughed because we were practicing our French Accents by pronouncing the name of the water: LaCroix.  I don't speak French really... but I speak French Accent.  That's basically English with a really snotty French Accent.  Turns out that S and I travel really well together.  We both like to laugh, a lot.  Mostly at ourselves.  And it's mostly things that I'm sure no one else would laugh at.  Sometimes I blog about it... I wonder if anyone else gets a chuckle.  But there is a LOT I just keep to myself.

So on the flight there, I got an upgrade to Business Class.  I declined it, of course!  I did not want to fly for like over 8 hours up there in Business Class by myself!  The point of the long, overnight flight, I thought, was being inappropriate underneath the little airplane blankets.  I even wore a dress.  ~Shrugs~

I mean... Don't those First and Business Class seats look like weird Alien Pods?  I'm actually afraid of them a little.  On our flight home, I was upgraded to FIRST Class, and I declined that too, and I thought S was going to either A.) have a heart attack or B.) cry a little.  Both would have embarrassed me, so I'm glad she refrained.  She said no one else in her life ever would have done that "for her."  Isn't that ... ... ... I don't know what that is.  Maybe sad.  Who wouldn't want to sit next to their wife?  She said, "Give it a few years.  You'll take the upgrade eventually."  I don't know about that.
Once I explained all of this to her, the under the blankey cuddling, a smile widened across her face.  Another "a'ha moment" I think Oprah calls it.  (S loves Oprah... it's a source of contention between us at times.)

What can I write about the flight?  It was long.  Boring.  There were a few flight attendants that S knew, and of course I made fun of her... until we got a First Class blanket and a First Class dessert from one of them.  I studied Pharmacology for like 3 hours.  I have never studied anything that long in my life.  I watched two in-flight movies.  Oh!  I'm almost leaving out the best part.  The very sour looks we got from the man sitting across the aisle to our left... and the blatant stares we got from the man sitting across the aisle to our right.  It was funny at first.  I wanted to photo them.  Then it was annoying.  Then I think S just got pissed by the end of the long flight.

 

We found a super-affordable place to stay in a neighborhood only a block or two from the train station.  Very convenient.  Here's a little peak at the view from one of the windows.  Nice right?  Mhm.  Fucking noisy as hell.  The second night we asked the owner for a room on the other side of the building.  Off the street.  Where our window faced the courtyard.  Much wiser.

It was a pretty modest place.  But I really did not care!  We were in Paris.  No work.  No kids.  No school.  OH FUCK.  It's TUESDAY!  (And I left my nausea pills in S's car at the airport.)  Yes.  School was waiting for me.  But so was the bed... I needed a nap in the worst way.  And nap we did.  S woke up twice to yell at 

1.  The maid.

2.  Some worker men doing electrical work in the hallway.

When it was just starting to get dark out, we got up and I decided I really needed to finish my Pharmacology studies.  The hotel claimed to have "Wi-Fi" in the "lobby," and S went to check to make sure it was reliable.  We were both in desperate need of coffee.  I asked her to bring back something... latte... espresso... anything...  And apparently the only thing you can get "take away" (that's French for "to-go") is at McCafe.

I am not even laughing kids.  

This is serious shit.

My first fucking night in Paris, France and I'm in a fucking "modest" hotel room, studying Pharm, and drinking a goddamn McCafe

The lobby's Wi-Fi service proved reliable, and I was able to log into my school's secure server and access my exam.  I scored an 86% even though there were Frenchmen smoking cigarettes, eating smelly sandwiches, and watching French news programming at a volume level that can only be described as MORE THAN DISTRACTING.

The next couple of days and nights are a blur.  We mostly slept all day (thank god we got the quieter room after the first night) and would stay up all night fucking.  We tried really hard to do cultured things like go to museums.  But I found a way to make even that inappropriate.   

Exhibit A:  The loo and Le Louvre:

I thought it would be nicer.  Although, given the other public toilets I visited on my trip... this one was suitable.

Exhibit B:  Extended Breastfeeding.  

I think this kid needs to wean.  Seriously.  And that girl in the photo wouldn't smile and almost ruined my shot.

S wanted to get those headsets so we could have that guided tour in English.  I said no.  Instead I made her pretend we were at a gallery picking out things for our new home we were moving into.  She agreed at the end my way was more fun, but incredibly inappropriate.  I tried to get her to climb on top of the Winged Victory of Samothrace for an incredible photo shot.  She wouldn't.  She's so shy!  

Anyway... it was a good time.  We laughed until our sides hurt.  We stayed until we were bored... and thirsty (not long).  

The wine was fabulous.  We enjoyed this little refreshment in the park right before we caught the train to Pigalle, which is Paris' red light district for anyone unaware.  Yes, I did see Moulin Rouge.  It's like if one goes there... that's what one must see... like when one visits the Louvre one must see the Mona Lisa.  LOL!  It's the Mona Lisa of Pigalle.  

What did we do in the Red Light District?  

1. Buy lube of course.

2. Buy amazing mini cupcakes filled with delightful, creamy goodness.

3. Eat snails.

4.  More wine.

5.  Visit Sacre-Coeur Basilique.  We lit a candle for our very special friend Bebe's sister who is very sick right now.

6.  Shopped like tourists.  We bought - socks, hats, magnets, a watch, chocolate, a bottle of wine... 

7.  Ate a Panini sandwich while walking to the train.

8. Asked a waiter to cork our wine because we had no opener in our room!

9.  Brought a small Greek pizza back to our room, with our wine and chocolate and had another amazing feast!

 

10.  Tried our lube.  All night long.  We weren't disappointed. 

Today is brought to you by the letter "L"

I'm in Paris, France with the love of my life, and I cannot wait to get back to the states and blog about the whole adventure for you all.  That's a lie.  I can't wait to get back upstairs to our little room... and... enjoy that wine we have purchased.

Anyway today's theme was the letter "L"... let me explain.  We went to the "loo" at Le Louvre - and then we found a shop and bought some lube (needed it to be less than 3oz of course).

Au revoir!

some people are just TOO sensitive

I lost a fucking follower, and I am pissed!  I want to know RIGHT now who the FUCK it was.  Clearly you all mean that much to me that I can't even tell who is gone, right?  None-the-less... I feel the rejection, and it stings.  It's almost worse than a Facebook de-friending.  No.  It is worse.  This is much more intimate.

Is it because of the cocks?  Is it...?  Or am I just being sensitive? 
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Fly on the Wall (probably an overshare)

Sometimes I think to myself, if only there were a fly on the wall listening to the conversations S and I have.  [Shaking my head.]

For instance, the other day I mentioned that when I came into the city - to the new crash pad - we should make another trip to our local Toy Store.  S replied with, "How many cocks does one household need?"

I couldn't believe she was asking such a thing.  Many.  As many as we want.  Isn't that the pure delight in being in a lesbian relationship (or at least one of them)?  She quickly saw the err in her previous statement and became excited about our future shopping trip.

While lying in bed the next day we were discussing what kinds of accoutrements we were going to be purchasing at the store.  Again... if only.... fly on the wall....

I told her that I was going to walk in, go straight for the largest cock that I could find and hold it in my hands and ask, "Can you bring us your largest?"  And I want you to imagine me saying that in a really condescending tone....

S was dying with laughter.

She said, "You know El, they really come huge!"

To which I replied, "I know... that's why it will be so funny to see me holding it, and asking for a larger one."

Anyway.... guess you had to be there.

While at the store we perused the displays.  Finally settling on something.... errrr.... a little different from what we currently own.  When trying to decide on a new lubricant, we finally decided to go with the one that was so slippery, it will make you go "real fast."  I promised both of us I wouldn't mention who said that.  But yes, someone said... "It's so slippery, now I can go really fast."  wtf.  I'm sure the other lube was what was holding us back.

Then upon check out, two things happened .... somehow the Sales Boy did two things:

1. offered us a job. 

I'm trying to convince S to post her resume here on the blog for others to comment on before she emails Jay@Tulip.  She's suddenly really fucking shy.  Nice timing.  Surprisingly my work history in labor and delivery, proves un-beneficial here.  In fact I think Jay@Tulip even scoffed at me when I mentioned it.  Uhm, I know vaginas - inside and out.  [eyeroll]

It doesn't really matter because as soon as we were driving away S said there was no way either of us could work there, "Face it, we would LOSE money buying products El."

2. sold us a MUCH LARGER cock (in addition to the one we were already buying).

Let me put it this way, the cock was large enough that I also got a larger O ring ... and I walked out, just ... plain... worried.

So last night, we got adventurous... but somehow the adventure was about to stop before the big guy was going to come out to play.  I decided I needed to introduce the two.  Once S and he had a proper introduction ... she said, in a fully exasperated breath, "Whoever says size doesn't matter... is just ... wrong."

Again.  FLY.  ON.  WALL.

I laughed so hard I wanted to pee.

Pushed Into the Closet

We are affectionate.  S and I.  I was so glad to learn that she is a "touch-er" although I figured as much given her chosen profession.  And as a matter of fact, she even tries to apologize to me for touching me too much.  As if there is such a thing.  I love it.

We are affectionate in front of the kidlets.  Nothing R rated.  Not even PG 13.  Maybe PG if we think they aren't looking.  (I'm just being honest here.)  We think it is important that they see affection and love expressed through touching.  We cuddle them too.  We do sandwich hugs and steal kisses from them via Kiss Toll Booths.  The Boy tries half halfheartedly to get away, then falls heavily into S's arms with a grin on his face.  L will ask for a double tuck in if she gets up to pee in the middle of the night.

I consider us an affectionate family.  I like it.

When we take the kids to the museum, the park, or even the grocery store I hold her hand.  The kids seem un-bothered by such a natural event for S and I.  Neither S nor I have ever thought NOT to hold each others hand.  We've never been closeted.  We have both decided we will never be closeted, and we will never date anyone who cannot be out.  It's simply hand holding - not making out.

This is why I think it is very peculiar... very amusing even... that M asked us to go inside our little closet on Saturday afternoon and through Sunday.  She was having a girl from school sleepover.  I'll update you on the stats.  She is 10... will be 11 in March.  She's in fifth grade.  Her friend is in the sixth grade.  They were going to swim and play basketball at the YMCA and while S was driving M there... that's when M had "the talk" with her.

It went something like this:

M:  "Tonight can you and mom like get a room."

S:  "Whu--?"

M:  "Don't embarrass me in front of my friend.  If you're gonna kiss mom good-bye, get a room." (I was going to work later.)

S:  "Don't worry M, we'll be on our best behavior." (Dying of embarrassment herself.)

S came home and told me that for the next 24 hours or so we have to go back into the closet for our kid's sake.  I said, "Babe, I never really spent much time IN the closet."  I found the story hilarious.  I was actually a little titillated that we couldn't touch at all or steal kisses in the kitchen like we usually do.  I had no idea, until we couldn't, how much we DO touch each other.

So we behaved ourselves.  I took naps before my shifts on Saturday and Sunday.  Thank fucking GOD.  We got to cuddle a little behind closed (bedroom) doors.  I have to admit on Sunday before I took the girl home, the pressure got to be unbearable, and S and I did steal a few squeezes in the kitchen while I was making dinner.  I just didn't care by that point.  However, I think that M and her friend had spent enough time around us, M's two moms, that it wasn't so embarrassing by that point.