I started a podcast with my god sister to try and sort through a lot of the bullshit in America.
David Duke (former grand wizard of the fuck ass KKK) makes it known that the main objective of white supremacist organizations is to spearhead ethnic cleansing.
Donald TRUMP aligns himself with these racist ass views by saying that the Charlottesville riot was a result of tension on "many sides."
67% of republicans and 10% of democrats who took the poll, agree with Donald Trump's response to Charlottesville.
Donald Trump or the ignorant ass people who agree with him feel as though ETHNIC CLEANSING won't directly impact their
lives — both democrats and republicans. SO. THEY. DON'T. GIVE. A. FUCK.
But let's be clear...
Like queen Ava Duvernay said, these aren't just the views of Billy Bobby in some duck ass town in the Appalachian mountains.
These are the views of our politicians, our attorneys, our CEOs, our coworkers, our supervisors, our neighbors.
These are the views of the people whose jobs are to nurture and educate our children.
These are the views of the people who are placed in charge of our mental, physical, and spiritual health.
They don't give a fuck about ETHNIC CLEANSING. Like... the wiping out of any and all beings that aren't white — by any means necessary.
ETHNIC CLEANSING doesn't exclude their black and brown friends, or black and brown republicans, or the black and brown elite, or black and brown OJ Simpsons, or black and brown reality stars, or even black and brown gazillionaires. So black and brown Trumpsters, YOU ARE NOT SAFE EITHER.
It is not rocket science...
A THREAT OF ETHNIC CLEANSING IS TERRORISM.
When someone directly THREATENS the LIVES of its citizens with TERRORISM, a PRESIDENT should DENOUNCE the fuck out of all groups associated with such mess. Not brush it off as just one of the homies getting carried away, or as a response to "white hate" spewed from the "other" side. This isn't a tit for tat type of thing.
This isn't about healthcare. This isn't about job security. This isn't about Hillary. This isn't about which side is winning or losing.
Guys, this is some serious shit.
So, excuse me if I'm less than receptive to hear your opposing political views, and not down to mix and mingle with new groups of people.
My LIFE, my son's LIFE, my family's LIVES, my friend's LIVES are being THREATENED, and the man who has sworn to protect us DOESN'T GIVE A FUCK ABOUT IT.
I wrote about white supremacy and the confederacy being terrorism 2 years ago, and had a well meaning white person tell me that I was over-exaggerating. That, if anything, both groups were only "uneducated white men" who "don't necessarily pose a threat to anyone."
I didn't argue. I just let it go, because I knew that he wasn't able to identify with my experience. Though a gay male, by his statements I knew that white supremacy and the confederacy had never terrorized his livelihood or his family's livelihood as they had done mine for years.
Today, that same well meaning white person is completely taken aback by the Charlottesville riot, and wants to know what he can do to help put an end to racism and domestic terrorism.
Well, you well meaning white person, maybe start by not telling a person of color that their experience is anything but "real" because you've never personally felt the effects.
Other than that, I'm all out of advice. I've been writing about the black experience for years now, and you chose not to listen — not even just to me, but to the very historical patterns and truths of the country you call "home." You chose to remain ignorant. You chose to turn a blind eye. You chose to stay silent.
Dear other well meaning white people searching for answers or next steps,
I can't speak for all black people, but I can speak for myself... And it's a total slap in the face when asked about what YOU can NOW do to put a stop to the bullshit we've been trying to get you to see for decades.
You're finally "woke," so that's a great starting place. But, I refuse to waste time curating lists upon lists of steps for YOU to follow to put an end to something that your ancestors started, and, by basking in your privilege, YOU kept thriving. This is YOUR time to take some fucking initiative.
Besides not discounting another marginalized group's experience because "it's never happened to you," or making sure your trash ass relatives aren't saying racist ass shit, or acting on racist ass impulses, I honestly don't have any other advice to give.
In the meantime, I'll continue to write about the black experience, share cool shit that I'm reading or watching, and will raise my son to be a decent human being. But, all of the heavy lifting is on you.
Best of luck,
I referenced Isaiah 3:16 in a conversation I was having on Facebook today, and I feel the need to share the backstory again. It's long, but definitely worth the read.
About a year ago, God told me to stop what I was doing so we could talk. I got on my knees and started praying, not really knowing what to expect. He told me to turn to Isaiah 3:16 and read. Now, because I'm a bit of a heathen, and not too familiar with Bible scriptures, I thought it was a mistake...
Me: "You mean John 3:16, God?" (One of three verses I have memorized...)
Him: "No. You heard me right the first time."
So I read...
16. The LORD says, "The women of Zion are haughty, walking along with outstretched necks, flirting with their eyes, strutting along with swaying hips, with ornaments jingling on their ankles.
17. Therefore the Lord will afflict the scalp of the daughters of Zion with scabs, And the LORD will make their foreheads bare."
18. In that day the Lord will snatch away their finery: the bangles and headbands and crescent necklaces...
SKIP TO VERSE 24 - He pretty much snatched all of their prized possessions away, haha.
24. Now it will come about that instead of sweet perfume there will be putrefaction; Instead of a belt, a rope; Instead of well-set hair, a plucked-out scalp; Instead of fine clothes, a donning of sackcloth; And branding instead of beauty.…
YOU GET THE POINT. BACK TO THE STORY...
Confused, I went back and started from verse 13.
13. The Lord takes his place in court; he rises to judge the people.
14. The Lord enters into judgment against the elders and leaders of his people: “It is you who have ruined my vineyard; the plunder from the poor is in your houses.
15. What do you mean by crushing My people And grinding the face of the poor?" Declares the Lord GOD of hosts...
Stay with me...
So pretty much, God tasked a certain group of folks to lead His people to Him, but they did the opposite so He had to punish them. The leaders were rude, condescending, arrogant, mean-spirited, etc... He then made the folks who were being oppressed rulers over the oppressors.
God showed me these scriptures during a time when I was getting a big head about gaining an audience from my writing. All of a sudden the gift he awarded me with was used to make me feel as if I were better than others. And even though I never voiced any of this out loud, I definitely thought it. And He knew that because He knows everything, haha.
God then told me that if I didn't get it together, and use the gift He gave me to speak truth and positivity into His people's lives the way He intended, He would strip it all away. And that He wouldn't take me any further in my journey UNTIL I ACTED LIKE I HAD SOME SENSE ABOUT MYSELF.
I say that to say this...
God blesses us with our gifts and talents. You either use it for Him - with authenticity and love - or He won't hesitate to take them away. He does not play when it comes to His children.
When I read the Kim Burrell bit, I felt bad for her. I was in the same boat as her when God gave me my reality check. I wasn't out here alienating folks, but I was being pretty haughty.
Kim took God's word and - whether subconsciously or with malicious intent - attempted to "ruin His vineyard." But, she's not the only one... Preachers across the world tailor sermons to target and alienate God's children all of the time. They were tasked to speak God's word and lead people to Him. Not with finger-pointing-theatrics, but with love and sincerity. Not to alienate and demonize, but to build up and inspire. But with fame, fortune and the notoriety that comes with the platform, can also birth haughtiness - a recipe for disaster, and totally against everything that God is.
Now, I'm no expert, but I do know how to read. And you see what happened to the last group of leaders who "ruined God's vineyard..."
A few days before my 27th birthday I received an email ad from Jetsetters with last minute hotel deal - one of them being for Palm Springs. The room was advertised for $98 a night, so I hopped on it. I had some anxiety with purchasing from a 3rd party, especially since it's pretty much non refundable if you had any hiccups in your plans, but I purchased anyway. I'd never been to Palm Springs, and promised myself that I'd have more experiences this year - I was going. I initially intended on going alone, but invited by best friend Kiara to come celebrate with me - and I'm so happy I did.
Kiara picked me up around 8 AM the morning of the 3rd, and we headed straight to the desert. First stop was to the Cabazon Outlets - which are about 20 mi outside of Palm Srings - to grab some bathing suits for our relaxation by the pool. We couldn't believe that the outlet didn't have a specialty swimwear store, or that none of the department stores had a swimsuit section to peruse. After about an hour of unsuccessfully searching each store, we ended up buying the most ratchet of ratchet bathing suits from F21.
When entering the city, we stopped at Palm Greens Organic Cafe for some breakfast. We ordered the vegan biscuits and gravy, avocado toast, and vegan huevos rancheros to share. We weren't fans of the biscuits and gravy, but enjoyed everything else. I had a Green Goddess, filled with savory, glorious greens to help clear your mind uplift your mood. Delicious.
We went straight to The Saguaro right after breakfast. At first glance, the outside of the hotel matched the pictures online - pleasant colors with a beautiful, mountainous backdrop. The inside of the hotel, however - very dim and uninviting. The furniture was dated, but seeing as it's more of a "green" hotel, it wasn't a surprise. I found it to be more cute and eclectic than anything. The staff were super young and nice, and were the brightest part of the lobby. The Saguaro definitely isn't a place for older guests.
Checkin wasn't until 4 pm, so Kiara and I left to get a mani and pedi while we waited for the front desk to call us once our room was ready. 2 hours and $35 later, our room was cleaned so we headed back to get dressed for the pool. Parking was horrendous, but we were informed by the front desk it's on a "first come, first serve" basis, and spots would open up around 6 pm once the locals headed home. (We just created a parking spot in front of our room until.)
The hotel was hosting a pool party for the 4th, so it was a little more packed than usual. I saw an ad for the pool party on the hotel's website before booking, but assumed that it would be on the 4th and not the 3rd. It didn't phase us, we just wanted to chill and drink margaritas anyway. The more the merrier! Right? Wrong.
Tragedy occurred just as we were heading down to join the party guests. Someone was drunk and drowned (died) in the pool, and they closed it down. Kiara and I had to find something else to do, so we decided to grab a pitcher of margarita and some nachos from the hotel restaurant, El Jeffe. We ended up buying a tequila-less pitcher of margarita and crazy spicy nachos for $103. $103! We like nachos, but not for $103. The vegan nachos we had from Veggie Grill the week prior for a smooth $10 were sooooo much better, and less expensive. Needless to say, we left sober and extremely underwhelmed.
I also need to point out that Jetsetters advertised the hotel to be "close to downtown." This made me believe that it was like a 5 min walk, or something similar... It was more like a 10 min drive, so we ended up taking the Buzz, free shuttle, to get there. The little trolley was really cute and dropped us off right in front of the Hardrock, but when it was time to catch the Buzz back to The Saguaro around 12 am, we couldn't find the bus stop. We, by the grace of God Himself, found an Uber driver on the side of the road, and paid him $5 cash to take us back.
The bed was uber comfy, and Kiara and I slept in til about 9 AM. We checked out and went back to Palm Greens Organic Cafe for breakfast before we headed back to LA. I had the vegan French toast, and Kiara had the avocado toast and scrambled eggs. We shared a side of breakfast potatoes and vegan apple sausage - freaking delicious.
To recap - Palm Greens Organic Cafe was, by far, one of the best parts about our trip - next up being the fantastic view and desert heat.
The Saguaro wasn't a complete disaster, but I wouldn't recommend it to anyone looking to relax. I won't be staying there again.
El Jefe was the most underwhelming restaurant I've ever been to - don't eat there.
Next time we come to Palm Springs we want to try ATV'ing and other cool, touristy things. Let me know if you have any vendor recs or hotel suggestions!
I've been living in LA now for about 3 1/2 years now - the new car smell has officially left the building. As you may know, I moved to LA to become a writer, and years later, I'm pursuing it part time (I have a kid and I need health insurance). In my quest to make it, I've written for a couple of websites, and with being a contributor comes the responsibility of covering celebrity events on occasion. Now, I don't know about you, but when I think of "celebrity" I think of Beyoncé. And as far as I'm concerned, if you're not remotely close to Beyoncé’s status, you're not a celebrity. Apparently, LA and I don't agree. Everyone and their momma are freaking celebrities here. If you've ever had a viral one-liner on any given reality television show, or if you happen to be a pretty girl who's friends with another pretty girl eff'n the hottest rapper - you're a celebrity. And last, but certainly not least, if you own an Instagram boutique, you're a freaking celebrity here (I'll have to rant about this some other time).
Needless to say, since everyone is a celebrity, there is always some event to attend, or something to raise money for. I used to frequent the scene way more than I do now, and for good reason.
This past summer, I attended an awards brunching for a famous DJ. The red carpet - as always - was filled with a ton of people whom I'm sure you'd never heard of in your life. That's no shade. I'm all for getting to know new artists on the scene as long as they're interesting and have a legitimate story to tell. Yes, legitimate. Anywho, back to the carpet. So, I'm on the carpet, right, with a camerawoman shooting the celebs as I'm making small talk with the attendees in hopes of coming across someone interesting enough to have a 1-on-1 with. A group of, maybe, 4-5 sisters comes up, and I'm automatically taken aback by their features. Gorgeous women. I mean, gorgeous. Voluptuous bodies, laid weaves and beat faces - all of them. I approach them as they leave the carpet -
Me: "Hi ladies! You all are REALLY pretty."
Them (in unison): "Thank you."
Me: "So, tell me a little bit about yourselves! Are you a singing group?"
Them: *looking at the youngest one, as if she were the spokesperson of the group*
Youngest one: "No. We're sisters."
Me: *stale face*
The youngest one again: "We have a reality tv show coming out on *insert black network here* soon called 'The *insert family name here*.'"
Talk about being disappointed. I swear it burns me up when really pretty women are only "famous" for being really pretty - or for being, simply, "sisters." Again, no shade. I just would like, for once, to meet beautiful women of color who are known for more than what their body looks like, or how many Instagram followers they have. The *insert family name here* are really pretty, but every family can't be the Kardashians.
Fast forward to present time, and I've kind of taken a back seat when it comes to covering celebrity events. It became exhausting - everyone's doing the same thing: clothing line, hair line, reality tv show - I was over it. Not to mention, half of the eye candy lack personalities. I can't tell you how many awkward instances I have had with industry men. Looking good, smelling good, but they sound like 10-year-old children as soon as they open their mouths. It's disheartening.
I got a text from a friend asking if I wanted to cover a magazine launch for a hip-hop mag, or so we thought. You know that's a no-brainer for me, so I confirmed. The folks set to host the event were a little questionable to me, but I was still enthused nonetheless. I show up to the event a little early - it was in Beverly Hills, and my full time gig was 5 mi away in Westwood. I walk into the restaurant as they're just finishing setting up. Scoped out the scene. Used the restroom. Got a good place on the red carpet to get some quick photos and to make sure I'm in a good enough eye shot of the celebs to get some quotes. I also must point out that I honestly expected more from this particular event. Of course, I expected to run into a few Instagram thots, but I ultimately wanted to mingle with some hip-hop heavy hitters.
An hour after my arrival, the red carpet received its first few guests. Awesome people; real actresses, real hip hop industry folks, and hip hop enthusiasts. The typical reality stars were in attendance too, but all are ones that I would actually consider myself to be a fan of.
My first red flag raised when not one guest on the carpet could tell me what they were there for... Like, they knew they were there for the hip-hop magazine, but everyone just called it a "celebration." I guess it was just a case of no one wanting to admit that they didn't know what was going on.
Second red flag: reality show production staff having the photographers on the carpet stage paparazzi flashes. Let me explain. The cameraman of the reality tv show asked the real-life photographers on the carpet to take a ton of pictures of his camera with their flashes on. This fostered a bad taste in my mouth, so I left the carpet to check out the scene indoors immediately following.
I hate a pumpfaker - stop trying to make the audience you're filming for believe that this event was more poppin than it actually was, sir.
I wanted no parts.
Next red flag: I watched the said hosts film the same scene for their reality tv show more than twice. Not to sound gullible, but before this particular night, I honestly believed that reality tv was a little bit more... Well, real.
Red flags numbers 777, 798, 799 and 800: The restaurant where the event was taking place was still open to actual customers (I.e. Not just folks there for the "celebration", but rather for those random peeps wanting a bite to eat. They could just walk right in, and the hostesses would seat them), the bar was a cash bar (events usually have open bars, or at least free cocktails until a certain time) and the DJ was only on stage for all of 10-15 minutes, and while on stage, didn't play a lick of music. Lastly, when I asked one of the hosts and owner of the hip-hop mag if I could interview them quickly, they told me "no" because they "weren't working." This is when I discovered that I wasn't here to cover a magazine launch of any kind, but rather to be another stand-in for their tragic docu-series. You know, to make it seem as though everyone in attendance were there for the "celebration" - when really we were all hoodwinked. Nothing was being celebrated. You need more people.
I did, however, have the pleasure of chatting it up with a really cool actor - the dopest part of the night. Surprisingly to me, he was the first person I'd talk to that evening who admitted to not knowing what he was there for, but was never the type to turn down a free party. I think we were 2 of maybe 5 normal people in the entire restaurant, besides the actual customers.
I was reminded by one of the lovely restaurant hostesses to grab a "swag bag" on my way out. I love free stuff, so of course, I took one. What was in it, you ask? Not a watch, not even free movie tickets or a bottle of water. My bag was full of cigarillos. Yes, rellos – for all of my smokers out there. Oh, and a lanyard. And in case you're wondering, no, I didn't throw them out yet. So, if you want them, hit me up via my contact form in the navigation bar. I'll send them to you free of charge.
I'm not writing this to bash anyone in particular. I just felt compelled to let you guys know how trippy this "industry" really is. It's not as grand or luxurious as it appears to be on your tv screen. It's all smoke, mirrors and staged paparazzi flashes.
As far as I'm concerned, Black Hollywood is becoming over saturated with too many wannabes. Celebreality is too accessible. Be a guest on someone's reality show, get a few viral one-liners in and you're a standing cast member the next season. No real talent needed. The more ratchet you are, the more screen time you get and the more social media attention you acquire - that's the magic formula in case any of you were wondering. How do I know, you ask? Years of research. That's how. But it will cost you your soul, first born and reputation.
Pure T. Rash.
No more Black Hollywood events for me. And I mean it this time.
** Disclaimer: This is unedited
The nurses rolled me off to the recovery room, which I shared with another first time mom. Took my vitals and taught me how to get Jace to "latch". It's funny how babies are born with instincts. He knew just what to do.
I was allowed to have visitors, but only a couple at a time. He brought our moms to the room first - followed by his dad. My dad was in Afghanistan, so he was unable to attend the birth.
About an hour later, and I was moved to my post-partum room where I'd be staying for the next few days. He stayed with me the first night, and my mom the remainder of my visit. Going home was tough. I remember fearing that I wouldn't be able to handle being a mom, especially since the nurses had been so gracious. At least I still had my mom for the next couple of weeks.
It was hard.
Jace was a sleeper - and that worried me. I would have to wake him up to eat. All he wanted to do was sleep. You would think that this would mean more sleep for me, but it meant the complete opposite. I couldn't sleep, worrying about his sleeping habits deprived me from my own. The pain of healing from my cesarean and becoming engorged with milk was enough to make me want to jump out a window. My mom was such a big help.
I had so many financial worries, but couldn't dwell on them just yet. I had to keep a baby alive.
I had so much help from friends and family. Maternity leave was a breeze. Going back to work in September drained the life out of me. Being a new mom, working full time, pumping and storing milk. It was a crazy cycle.
I felt myself drifting further and further from the person I knew. I was suffocated. That's probably not the most p.c. thing to admit, seeing as becoming a new mom should captivate you, not suffocate you. But I was suffocating. I loved my baby but obsessing over him pushed me further away from myself. I didn't know how to find a safe balance.
I remember reading a story about a new mom who took a vacation directly after having her baby. She was completely torn apart in the media.. But for a moment, I wished I would've done the same. I needed to get away, but I my only escape came from when Jace went to his dad's house a couple days out of the work week.
Did I mention that my little sister came to LA to nanny for me for a few months? I thank God for that. Daycare is crazy expensive, and with my receptionist salary at my firm I didn't qualify for any government assistance. That's where my parents stepped in tremendously. I seriously don't know how I would've made it without their selflessness.
I. Was. Poor.
Poorer than poor.
With a newborn.
And overworked. And depressed.
I tried my hardest to pull myself out, but all of my old tricks didn't apply. I have to also mention that I've battled with depression for as long as I can remember. I've never taken any medication, but I know what I need to do (usually) to pull myself out. But this was harder. Much harder. Mainly because I didn't have the time to really focus on myself.
Before I knew it was Christmas break and time to go home to Michigan for a couple of weeks. We couldn't wait to break out of LA and get a change of scenery. "We" being my sister and I. Michigan was great. Bittersweet. I had a lot of fun and got a ton of rest while there, but I knew that all of it would end sooner than later. I would have to go back to LA and take care of Jace without having my sister's help.
I absolutely dreaded the thought. Honestly.
*** Disclaimer: This is unedited.
I broke down. This wasn't apart of my birth plan, but the fentanyl and pitocin only made Jace more upset.
My OB broke the news to my mom and asked me who I would want to accompany me in the ER. "Mommy!", I shouted. Out of fear of the unknown. She'd been there from the start! Who else would I need to be there?
My mom had a different idea, of course. She darted out the room to go search for him and his family - they'd just left not too long before to grab some last. A few moments later, he came in with my mom, grabbed my hand and told me that it was going to be ok. I wish I could say that his kind words and sweet demeanor made me less nervous, but it didn't. I appreciated the gesture though. We hated each other and he still mustered up gentle phrases of reassurance to make me feel comfortable. Thank you.
They made him get dressed in light blue coveralls - you know, the one's that the doctors wear on Grey's Anatomy - and told him to bring a camera. The only camera he had was on his iPhone, and that unfortunately was on 10%. (Fast forward 2 years, and I'm still pissed that I don't have any birthing footage. Especially since I was pretty much incoherent, haha)
I was whisked away to the ER. Hooked up to machines and stretched out on the operating table. As cold sensations rushed through my limbs, I saw the doors swing open and he walked over to my side. He grabbed my hand again.
I felt myself drifting away. Terrified, I looked him in the eyes and said "Don't let me fall asleep. Whatever you do, don't let me close my eyes. Promise?" He agreed.
I started to shiver and shake uncontrollably. He and the doctors tried their hardest to hold conversations with me, but I honestly couldn't process a word they were saying.
Tugging and pulling. More tugging and pulling. I looked him in the face and asked him to check to make sure everything was ok. He did. They asked him to not look over the curtain. "There's a lot of blood", he whispered.
More tugging and pulling, and Kendrick Lamar's "B*tch, Don't Killed My Vibe" in the background. Apparently, the anesthesiologists were huge hiphop fans..
More and more tugging and pulling, but this time a subtle cry was paired.
"Wow, look at those lips!"
"Look at that head!"
"He's here?", I asked. "Yes mom! Do you want to hold him?!"
I couldn't hold him. I was shaking too much. So they wrapped Jace in a blanket and held him by my face.
5-7 pictures in and his phone died.
**Disclaimer : Raw emotions. This will not be proofread.
They were wrong. I didn't have him that night, and they let me return home after monitoring me for a few hours. I made up my mind that he wasn't going to come, and he didn't. My mom wasn't here. I wasn't ready.
I had to get my California drivers license . I had to install my carseat. I had to wash all of his clothes. I had to finish nesting. And for the next 2 weeks, that's exactly what I did.
My mom arrived a week before my due date and attended my very last doctor's appointment with me. That had to be the week from hell. I was miserable. It was the beginning of the summer, and the heat was unbearable. Thank God I lived in a studio apartment, my place didn't have central air and my lone air conditioning unit was on it's last leg. She helped me with the finishing touches of my nesting stage. I honestly don't know what I would've done with her.
My doctor decided to induce me at 39 weeks. He said that I no longer had enough room for him to grow. June 19th was the date.
My mom took me to Roscoe's on Hollywood and Gower for a victory meal, I threw my pregnancy pillow in the garbage, and drove myself to the hospital. He and his family met us there a few hours after we arrived. It was nice to see his parent's - it'd been years.
Minutes, hours and day later the nurses broke my water. Talk about the worse pain in your life? I hit the "call" button 15-minutes after begging for an epidural. Before I knew it, the anesthesiologist took my pain away. 12-hours later, and still no progress. He and his family left to grab some lunch.The alarms started to go off, and nurses ran in my room. He wasn't responding well to the Pitocin or the epidural.. OR maybe it was the Fentanyl. Either way, something was causing my precious baby's heart rate to drop and I started to panic. The nurses aggressively moved me from side to side, trying to get his heartache jumping. I started to panic.
This is all bad.
I had a birth plan, and this is not how I imagined my birthing experience to turn out. It was supposed to be peaceful and quick - not a circus. But he had another agenda. My OB rushed in the room shortly after the room began to calm. He came over to my bedside and grabbed my hand while looking me in the eyes. My heart was broken and my worse fear had just come true - I have to have a c-section.. And we have to go now.
**Disclaimer : Raw emotions. This will not be proofread.
My doctor was shocked. My eyes welled as the words left my lips. I still couldn't believe it, and neither could he. He gave me the biggest hug and read me my options. Seeing as I was approaching my 3rd trimester, he would have to wait until after I gave birth to get the test.
Talk about someone being embarrassed? I was embarrassed. Beyond embarrassed. Outraged. Disappointed. Again. Just when things were starting to look up, I get hit with another woe.
Days and weeks passed. Money was still a worry. My mom made me register at Babies R Us even though I didn't want a shower. I'm glad she did, though. People are super nice. I received a new package just about every other day for a month, and before I knew it we had everything we needed... Except a daycare. I searched for daycares for months. Thank goodness my selfless little sister offered to help me as soon as school ended. I don;t know what I would've done without her.
Doctor's appointments were now every other week. I couldn't see my feet.. Or legs.. So shaving and putting on my shoes were my biggest struggles. I had a car now, but grocery shopping was still stressful. My apartment sucked. The bootlegged elevator was broken every other day, and climbing 3 flights of stairs with a grocery cart full of food nearly put me in pre-term labor.
I remember having cramps in my belly all weekend. I just thought I needed to rest. Monday came (I think it was a Monday), and I went to work. The cramps worsened, but I just pegged it to be from work-stress. I got home and could barely catch my breath after walking up the stairs. I played down for a moment, and the cramps worsened. Was this it? I had a month to go and more nesting to do before I gave birth. There's no way I could have this baby right now. But the cramps weren't cramps anymore. More like sharp pains. I panicked and dialed all of my emergency contacts. No one was in my area, so I had to drive myself to hospital. I couldn't wait. I had to go. Now.
I cried the whole way. My mom was on the car phone trying to calm me down. My best friend was on her way to the hospital to meet me. I pulled up to the emergency room, keys still in the ignition, the valet ran to me with a wheel chair and whisked me away to the maternity ward.
I felt like I was in a freaking movie.
They hooked me up to the monitor, placed IV's in my arm and checked to see if I was dilating. I was definitely having labor pains. My best friend and her boyfriend arrived moments after the nurses left. They went to consult the physician. I started to calm down.
Moments later, and the nurses were back.. This time with the physician on call.
"It looks like you may be having your baby tonight."