We are nearing our 28th week of togetherness, Kangaroo and I. As I type this line, I am almost certain a knee or an elbow or some other boney structure is gracefully grazing the inside of my belly, a sensation I can't help but smile at. This time in my life has become so important - so incredibly altering - every single moment is relished...
This includes the incessant back pain I suffer from, the absolute constant jetstream of gas oozing out of my body, and the oh-so-welcomed soft spots of fat appearing all over my body. I love it... everything about this pregnancy has opened me up to a new era of happiness in my life. The love I have developed for Kangaroo over the last few months catches me off guard, as if I should have known all along I would feel this way, but could never have predicted such a swelling of the heart and soul. I am going to be a mother. Amazing.
If my friends and family thought I was a little spacey before this, they should judge me now - I could sit and daydream for hours about my baby. What will she look like? What will her cry sound like? Her laugh? Will she have her Mama's freckles and her Daddy's nose? I hope so. I imagine us cuddling together, always together, and perhaps fervishly strugging through those first challenging weeks as a unit, us two (three if you count Daddy!). I think about it so often, I have even wondered aloud whether her #2 will smell as horrible as my nephew's #2 (I hope not).
Every morning brings an excitement I can not explain, a need for her arrival, and I always think to myself, "Has any mother-to-be ever felt this way - as strongly as I do?" And, of course, they have, but when your own heart beats under your chest with such adament longing, it is difficult to imagine that every mother in the world has felt this exact way. Is there anything more powerful?
On to the next three months! Here's to way too many cookies, pizzas, back massages, baby books, & doctor's visits - here's to us, always together. Kangaroo, Mommy can't wait to meet you!!
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
Bam! Here I am.
Oh my gosh, I'm pregnant.
As in, I am almost TWENTY THREE weeks pregnant. There's no hiding the obvious - my belly is round and firm, I'm getting my glow on, and my breasts are ginormous (by my standards)! My beloved and I recently dropped close to $600 on maternity wear, a prospect I swore I'd advoid at all costs, and as I type, FedEx is unloading our beautiful sleigh crib into our tiny apartment. Other physical give aways include my inability to hold in gas of any kind, subconscious rubbing of the abdomen, and literally toting my Snoogle Maternity Pillow with me everywhere I go.
As excited as all of this makes me, there is a simple, intimate, beautiful sign of pregnancy that up until last night, only I knew of - the quiet pitter patters of my lovely little one's shoves and twists. For a long while, I worried I would never feel the movement inside, but over weeks 16, 17, 18 I grew to interpret some of my incessant gas as the presence of Kangaroo. At our 20 week ultrasound, I cried and gasped at the amount of physical activity going on inside - I could see her little fingers wiggle, her body spin, and mouth open and close - but I couldn't yet feel the detail of her moves.
'Roo likes to move at night, after I've settled for the day, off my feet and on my Snoogle. Stacey lovingly rubs BlackThorn body oil all over my tummy, waiting waiting waiting for the slightest "Hi Dad!" kick. On two occassions, I've woken him from a dead sleep, positive he would be able to feel the bubbles going on in my belly - he couldn't, and for future reference, doesn't like being woken up at 2 am.
We were both on the brink of lights-out last night, when BAM! Hi-Ya! Kung Fu Girl/Boy showed us her stuff. I quietly thanked God just then, as I glanced down and saw not only Stacey's huge, proud grin, but also his hand upon my belly.
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
A Professional Prego Stands Her Ground
Typically, I only sit down to write an entry when something or someone applicable crosses my mind. I try to keep my blogs upbeat and meaningful, and always on task to the mindset of pregnancy. Today, I sit here thinking – what has been going on with Jackie and Kangaroo lately? It dawns on me that we have been undergoing a lot of change and growth together, and as of late, we have unfortunately been under quite a lot of stress. I hate to be a whiner, I want this pregnancy to be blissful and without complication, but I also want it to be honest. Honestly, this body and mind and soul has been tested these last few weeks, and only with the help and guidance of loved ones and my beautiful heirloom tomato have I come out with the strong willed attitude I’ve always strived for. Here is the story of Jackie and Kangaroo’s first big road block:
I am the manager of a fine dining restaurant in the white mountains of New Hampshire – a position I take pride in because of the amount of work it took me to achieve. Among other responsibilities, I help to orchestrate the flow and direction of lunch and dinner service five nights a week as well as designing an exclusive wine list that requires constant maintenance and change. First and foremost, I am a bartender who provides a high quality of food and drink service backed by a wonderful staff and the best food this area has to offer. I brag about my job, I love this restaurant, and would never do anything to discredit it.
That being said, there has been and will always be a level of stress associated for anyone in this position. I bring it home with me almost everyday, wondering if my inventory will be sufficient, or if my service was what it consistently should be. I regard my stress level as healthy, a sign of respect to the people I serve as well as the establishment that I strive to make the best in any way I can.
There is a widely known level of respect in restaurant work that is represented almost exactly by the numbers 1 and 5 – as in, 15%. If you dine out relatively often, you should definitely be familiar with the amount of work that goes into waiting on you – and most people do. As a matter of fact, I am so rarely disappointed with a tip, the conversation some servers are forced to have with themselves (“what did I do to deserve this?”) hasn’t crossed my mind in a very long time. It is, however, impossible to disregard this self-chat when helping to serve friends, colleagues, or anyone you otherwise have a distinct and definable relationship with. In my case, adding insult to injury, I was pregnant and dealing with 7%. Embarrassing, shameful, what did I do to deserve this?
The unspoken rule to this business is don’t say anything. Don’t stand up for yourself or question the inadequacy of the gratuity, just move on – take the good with the bad.
Kangaroo had a better idea, and I’m so glad she did.
I am a professional, growing another person inside my body, waiting on people for a livelihood – please don’t suggest that I simply ignore what could possibly be an error in counting (or alcohol-induced judgment) and just move on. This isn’t just my life anymore, Mama has to bring home the bread for what is soon to be two mouths.
American girls tend to be mislead from childhood – that if you work hard at something, it will always pay off in the long run. Don’t get me wrong, my job has paid off for me financially, I do very well. I wish I could say the same for the amount of respect and support I receive for performing well so consistently. I was suspended, without pay, for a week, for confronting my 7% slap-in-the-face.
Someone with thick skin, someone like me, would normally take this standing up – but it’s not just me anymore. The Roo-hormones got the best of me – the absolute best of me – and I spent days in a dark place, up against a road block I never anticipated. Even the jubilation of Mama Lisa in town couldn’t entirely tear my mind away from my professional catastrophe. There was no amount of meditation or mantra that could bring my spirits up, and for the first time in my life, the words “I think I am depressed or something,” left my lips. What a weak feeling to admit – like staring at a brick wall you know you have to conquer, but nobody left you the rope to climb over it with.
Then, late one night, after Stacey was snoring next to me, I was left to my own devices, and the barricade crumbled to the ground….
“Babe?”
He groggily answered, “Wh-wh-whaaaaat?”
“I just felt our baby move.”
And a simple smile crept over our faces, and a lot of things seemed O.K. again. The baby inside me now moves and grooves to her own beat – much like her Mommy and Daddy – almost every hour of everyday, and nothing in my life has ever made me so unbelievably joyful.
Why in the world would I ever allow a harem of mean-spirited and disrespectful women have any impact on the happiness of my pregnancy? Seems silly now, looking back, but it is just how seriously I take my employment. I love meeting new people, and giving great service to my regulars – I really do! I need to put my hormones aside and remind myself that the world is full of good people, and I’m one of them. Good people have to put up with not-so-good people everyday, and as long as God is watching over us, Kangaroo and I will be just fine.
Nudge, nudge, wiggle, wiggle, nudge, poke – I think she agrees.
**Servers and Bartenders are faced with the same financial trials and tribulations as any other career-oriented person on the planet. Keeping in mind that most servers are paid between three to four dollars an hour, and bartenders typically get a dollar or two more: If you receive good service, it is considered courteous to leave 15% of the price of your tab. When you are garnered with exceptional service, 20% or higher is standard. Simply expecting quality service without the anticipation of leaving an adequate tip should be considered theft of services, or at the very least, bad manners.**
I am the manager of a fine dining restaurant in the white mountains of New Hampshire – a position I take pride in because of the amount of work it took me to achieve. Among other responsibilities, I help to orchestrate the flow and direction of lunch and dinner service five nights a week as well as designing an exclusive wine list that requires constant maintenance and change. First and foremost, I am a bartender who provides a high quality of food and drink service backed by a wonderful staff and the best food this area has to offer. I brag about my job, I love this restaurant, and would never do anything to discredit it.
That being said, there has been and will always be a level of stress associated for anyone in this position. I bring it home with me almost everyday, wondering if my inventory will be sufficient, or if my service was what it consistently should be. I regard my stress level as healthy, a sign of respect to the people I serve as well as the establishment that I strive to make the best in any way I can.
There is a widely known level of respect in restaurant work that is represented almost exactly by the numbers 1 and 5 – as in, 15%. If you dine out relatively often, you should definitely be familiar with the amount of work that goes into waiting on you – and most people do. As a matter of fact, I am so rarely disappointed with a tip, the conversation some servers are forced to have with themselves (“what did I do to deserve this?”) hasn’t crossed my mind in a very long time. It is, however, impossible to disregard this self-chat when helping to serve friends, colleagues, or anyone you otherwise have a distinct and definable relationship with. In my case, adding insult to injury, I was pregnant and dealing with 7%. Embarrassing, shameful, what did I do to deserve this?
The unspoken rule to this business is don’t say anything. Don’t stand up for yourself or question the inadequacy of the gratuity, just move on – take the good with the bad.
Kangaroo had a better idea, and I’m so glad she did.
I am a professional, growing another person inside my body, waiting on people for a livelihood – please don’t suggest that I simply ignore what could possibly be an error in counting (or alcohol-induced judgment) and just move on. This isn’t just my life anymore, Mama has to bring home the bread for what is soon to be two mouths.
American girls tend to be mislead from childhood – that if you work hard at something, it will always pay off in the long run. Don’t get me wrong, my job has paid off for me financially, I do very well. I wish I could say the same for the amount of respect and support I receive for performing well so consistently. I was suspended, without pay, for a week, for confronting my 7% slap-in-the-face.
Someone with thick skin, someone like me, would normally take this standing up – but it’s not just me anymore. The Roo-hormones got the best of me – the absolute best of me – and I spent days in a dark place, up against a road block I never anticipated. Even the jubilation of Mama Lisa in town couldn’t entirely tear my mind away from my professional catastrophe. There was no amount of meditation or mantra that could bring my spirits up, and for the first time in my life, the words “I think I am depressed or something,” left my lips. What a weak feeling to admit – like staring at a brick wall you know you have to conquer, but nobody left you the rope to climb over it with.
Then, late one night, after Stacey was snoring next to me, I was left to my own devices, and the barricade crumbled to the ground….
“Babe?”
He groggily answered, “Wh-wh-whaaaaat?”
“I just felt our baby move.”
And a simple smile crept over our faces, and a lot of things seemed O.K. again. The baby inside me now moves and grooves to her own beat – much like her Mommy and Daddy – almost every hour of everyday, and nothing in my life has ever made me so unbelievably joyful.
Why in the world would I ever allow a harem of mean-spirited and disrespectful women have any impact on the happiness of my pregnancy? Seems silly now, looking back, but it is just how seriously I take my employment. I love meeting new people, and giving great service to my regulars – I really do! I need to put my hormones aside and remind myself that the world is full of good people, and I’m one of them. Good people have to put up with not-so-good people everyday, and as long as God is watching over us, Kangaroo and I will be just fine.
Nudge, nudge, wiggle, wiggle, nudge, poke – I think she agrees.
**Servers and Bartenders are faced with the same financial trials and tribulations as any other career-oriented person on the planet. Keeping in mind that most servers are paid between three to four dollars an hour, and bartenders typically get a dollar or two more: If you receive good service, it is considered courteous to leave 15% of the price of your tab. When you are garnered with exceptional service, 20% or higher is standard. Simply expecting quality service without the anticipation of leaving an adequate tip should be considered theft of services, or at the very least, bad manners.**
Friday, April 9, 2010
Shut Your Mouth When You're Talking to Me
A Brief List of Comments to Avoid with Pregos
1 – Are you having twins?
2 – Looks like you’re having twins!
3 – I can’t believe you’ve already outgrown your clothes.
4 – You really might be having a girl, my friend who had a girl gained weight all over, too.
5 – You are bigger than you should be at this point (especially bad when spoken by a medical professional who is nor your doctor, or an OB-GYN)
6 – Maybe you are having a boy and a girl.
7 – Don’t drink coffee! You’re hurting your child! (After explaining I allow myself several small cups a week)
8 – You will be overdue, admitted with Pitocin, and receive a C-section. (I am not kidding, a total creeper sat at my bar and told me this after I revealed my strong desire to have a 100% natural home birth)
9 – You will always retain some of this weight.
10 – You haven’t gained all that weight in your ass yet…. You will!
An Even Briefer List of Comments Encouraged with Pregos
1 – You are glowing.
2 – You are beautiful.
3 – You are all belly!
4 – Don’t worry, women were designed to give birth, you will do great.
5 – You and Stacey will be the best parents!
1 – Are you having twins?
2 – Looks like you’re having twins!
3 – I can’t believe you’ve already outgrown your clothes.
4 – You really might be having a girl, my friend who had a girl gained weight all over, too.
5 – You are bigger than you should be at this point (especially bad when spoken by a medical professional who is nor your doctor, or an OB-GYN)
6 – Maybe you are having a boy and a girl.
7 – Don’t drink coffee! You’re hurting your child! (After explaining I allow myself several small cups a week)
8 – You will be overdue, admitted with Pitocin, and receive a C-section. (I am not kidding, a total creeper sat at my bar and told me this after I revealed my strong desire to have a 100% natural home birth)
9 – You will always retain some of this weight.
10 – You haven’t gained all that weight in your ass yet…. You will!
An Even Briefer List of Comments Encouraged with Pregos
1 – You are glowing.
2 – You are beautiful.
3 – You are all belly!
4 – Don’t worry, women were designed to give birth, you will do great.
5 – You and Stacey will be the best parents!
Kangaroo? Are You There?
I am nearing my 18th week of pregnancy! I am nice and round, gaining more energy (and weight) everyday, and steadily adding to my nesting pile of baby goods. All in all, I fit perfectly into almost every pregnancy symptom there is. I eat a lot, I sleep a lot, I cry a lot, and I worry – A LOT.
This morning, I convinced myself that a coffee cramp was my baby dancing around in my belly. I literally bounced around for another 10 minutes trying to recreate the feeling because I am abnormally anxious about feeling my little one move. Anywhere from 16-20 weeks, a woman will begin to feel her bell pepper wiggle and jiggle – apparently, I will be waiting a few more weeks for this sensation. The stir is supposedly so mild sometimes, it is often mistaken for gas or completely written off and not noticed. However, I have been paying very close attention. I am waiting, not so patiently at this point, for ‘Roo to show Mama some love.
The first few weeks of my pregnancy were so worrisome, so heartbreaking, I don’t think I will relax until he is here. With every prenatal visit, my heart enlarges, but conversely races right along with the baby’s pace – now an even 150 beats per minute. Everyday that passes, I see myself and Stacey turning more and more into the parents we are destined to become just 4 and ½ short months from now. We are scared – not of our ability to parent, but of everything else. Why don’t I feel him yet? Is he growing at the right pace? Am I growing at the right pace? Don’t holler at the dogs, the baby will hear you!
It’s the natural stuff, I presume. You’re supposed to worry for your children, their health, their future. At my first prenatal visit, Doctor Jessica put a tiny machine on my belly, and within 2 seconds, swish-swish-swish, Hi Kangaroo, Mommy hears you! This last time, I cried for a solid minute of sheer terror before she located my bundle with the same instrument. It’s these times that remind me that I am really going to be a mother. I am so concerned with the health and wellbeing of this child, words or songs or blogs could never describe it. I’m going to be a mommy, I’m going to be a mommy, I’m going…..oh! Another coffee cramp?
This morning, I convinced myself that a coffee cramp was my baby dancing around in my belly. I literally bounced around for another 10 minutes trying to recreate the feeling because I am abnormally anxious about feeling my little one move. Anywhere from 16-20 weeks, a woman will begin to feel her bell pepper wiggle and jiggle – apparently, I will be waiting a few more weeks for this sensation. The stir is supposedly so mild sometimes, it is often mistaken for gas or completely written off and not noticed. However, I have been paying very close attention. I am waiting, not so patiently at this point, for ‘Roo to show Mama some love.
The first few weeks of my pregnancy were so worrisome, so heartbreaking, I don’t think I will relax until he is here. With every prenatal visit, my heart enlarges, but conversely races right along with the baby’s pace – now an even 150 beats per minute. Everyday that passes, I see myself and Stacey turning more and more into the parents we are destined to become just 4 and ½ short months from now. We are scared – not of our ability to parent, but of everything else. Why don’t I feel him yet? Is he growing at the right pace? Am I growing at the right pace? Don’t holler at the dogs, the baby will hear you!
It’s the natural stuff, I presume. You’re supposed to worry for your children, their health, their future. At my first prenatal visit, Doctor Jessica put a tiny machine on my belly, and within 2 seconds, swish-swish-swish, Hi Kangaroo, Mommy hears you! This last time, I cried for a solid minute of sheer terror before she located my bundle with the same instrument. It’s these times that remind me that I am really going to be a mother. I am so concerned with the health and wellbeing of this child, words or songs or blogs could never describe it. I’m going to be a mommy, I’m going to be a mommy, I’m going…..oh! Another coffee cramp?
Friday, March 19, 2010
Stacey Hacks Jackie's Blog! Part One: Are you Excited?
99.9% Of all people have asked me the same question about having a baby..."are you excited?" The minus .01% is my Mom who said, "0hhhhhhh Stacey that is wonderful!" I have been asked over a hundred times now and my answer is always the same, but my tones are different with the people who ask me.
Some ladies have asked me, like at the bank, they ask me just so I can say yes and then they can share me their stories of the first time they were expecting a child. My experience in the last few months is that these are long stories, really long stories. Others ask and then look me into the eyes to see if i mean what i am about to say, to see if i am REALLY excited. These I like the most because I can whip out my sarcasm...
"so are you excited?" they ask.
I respond, "nahhhhh, I have many children all over the world!"
Our friends have all asked me the question and the truth comes out. My words are void but it is my smile where they find the answer. The truth is I am overjoyed, ecstatic, nervous yet confident, and most completely in love with Jackie.
My Love, you had this one coming. I am touched by your constant thoughtfulness. That is the only reason I hacked your blog.
Love your Man Meat,
(by that I mean real tough man meat)
Stacey
Some ladies have asked me, like at the bank, they ask me just so I can say yes and then they can share me their stories of the first time they were expecting a child. My experience in the last few months is that these are long stories, really long stories. Others ask and then look me into the eyes to see if i mean what i am about to say, to see if i am REALLY excited. These I like the most because I can whip out my sarcasm...
"so are you excited?" they ask.
I respond, "nahhhhh, I have many children all over the world!"
Our friends have all asked me the question and the truth comes out. My words are void but it is my smile where they find the answer. The truth is I am overjoyed, ecstatic, nervous yet confident, and most completely in love with Jackie.
My Love, you had this one coming. I am touched by your constant thoughtfulness. That is the only reason I hacked your blog.
Love your Man Meat,
(by that I mean real tough man meat)
Stacey
Sunday, March 14, 2010
Settling For Butterflies
There’s this somewhat cheesy quote from my old favorite show that I’ve always loved:
Some people are settling down.
Some people are just settling…
And some people refuse to settle for anything less than butterflies.
Everyone settles at some point. I’ve settled for countless bad hairstyles, several infested apartments, and a couple of not-so-nice guys. One day I woke up, called a new stylist, wrote the big first-last-security check, and cried my eyes out at the end of yet another failed relationship. And I thank God everyday that I chose this path, the one less traveled, the one I was always supposed to be on, the one that led me to The One.
Our memories differ a bit on where and when, but meeting Stacey Harper Rachdorf is the best thing that has ever happened to me. I’ll leave out the gory details my Dad doesn’t want to read about, but I will say one time – he is so hot! I pray our child gets his looks!
He walked into my bar in the summer of 2007, and caught my eye for several gawking moments. How could such a good looking local have escaped my man meat radar for so long? He ordered a couple drinks – Stoli Blueberry, soda water, pineapple juice - chatted briefly, and left. A few days later, Jack on the rocks, chat, goodbye. My coworker and I dubbed him “Eye Candy” with lack of an actual name.
Later that month, after a morning of mimosas at Bailiwicks, my girlfriend Emma and I showed up at the bar I worked at to collect our tips from the previous night. Eye Candy was having lunch, and my mimosa-induced confidence approached him with smile, “Hey, do you want to go to a party?”
“Yeah!” Like, no hesitation. Gave me butterflies like I can’t describe to this day.
“By the way, what’s your name?”
“Stacey.”
“Casey?”
“ST-acey.”
A few friends gathered around a pool – lounge, drink, swim, repeat. I squeezed my chubby bunny butt into a cute bikini and prayed Stacey wouldn’t judge. We BBQ’d all day, and after just the right amount of cocktails, I happily accepted Stacey’s request for a one-on-one dip later into the evening. We both agree – electricity and water can be a good thing.
We drove down the coast together just a few weeks later – my 22 year old mind convinced that Florida was the place for me – and even though our new friendship had me feeling a comfort I hadn’t felt in a very long time, there was a constant stream of butterflies in my tummy, an excitement I won’t ever forget or debase. We talked about everything, even the boring stuff had me catching my breath, and the fluttering in my stomach turned into something more important than a crush.
Needless to say, Florida didn’t work out. I came home, tail between legs, but not empty handed. Stacey had come to visit me several times during my 8-week stint in the Southeast, and lucky for me, he held my hand during another drive along the coast in late October. Despite everything else going on in my life at that time, I felt like I’d done something very right to win this man’s interest.
Eventually, after two years of the single life, I opened my eyes and my heart to the man of my life.
We’ve kept each other on our toes, for sure. Regardless - three years, an apartment, a puppy, some big ups-and-downs, lots of laughter, love, support, and a bun in my oven later, Stacey still gives me butterflies. If he pops into the restaurant I work at unexpectedly, my stomach flips. His smile, his laugh, his massages! – he knows how to make me tick, yet he can’t help the way he makes me feel.
As mushy as this all sounds, it gets better: Our doctor tells us that in a few short weeks, our little Kangaroo will be giving me butterflies – the swish-swish-swish of her little limbs will be felt in my lower abdomen. When I think of our baby – part me, part him – fluttering around in my belly, it all makes perfect sense. It’s no surprise the first belly-tug I will feel will remind me of Stacey – he has given me butterflies since the day we met, and that’s not soon to change. It’s the couple we are, the parents we will become – in love, best friends, and ready to conquer the next beautiful challenge.
Some people are settling down.
Some people are just settling…
And some people refuse to settle for anything less than butterflies.
Everyone settles at some point. I’ve settled for countless bad hairstyles, several infested apartments, and a couple of not-so-nice guys. One day I woke up, called a new stylist, wrote the big first-last-security check, and cried my eyes out at the end of yet another failed relationship. And I thank God everyday that I chose this path, the one less traveled, the one I was always supposed to be on, the one that led me to The One.
Our memories differ a bit on where and when, but meeting Stacey Harper Rachdorf is the best thing that has ever happened to me. I’ll leave out the gory details my Dad doesn’t want to read about, but I will say one time – he is so hot! I pray our child gets his looks!
He walked into my bar in the summer of 2007, and caught my eye for several gawking moments. How could such a good looking local have escaped my man meat radar for so long? He ordered a couple drinks – Stoli Blueberry, soda water, pineapple juice - chatted briefly, and left. A few days later, Jack on the rocks, chat, goodbye. My coworker and I dubbed him “Eye Candy” with lack of an actual name.
Later that month, after a morning of mimosas at Bailiwicks, my girlfriend Emma and I showed up at the bar I worked at to collect our tips from the previous night. Eye Candy was having lunch, and my mimosa-induced confidence approached him with smile, “Hey, do you want to go to a party?”
“Yeah!” Like, no hesitation. Gave me butterflies like I can’t describe to this day.
“By the way, what’s your name?”
“Stacey.”
“Casey?”
“ST-acey.”
A few friends gathered around a pool – lounge, drink, swim, repeat. I squeezed my chubby bunny butt into a cute bikini and prayed Stacey wouldn’t judge. We BBQ’d all day, and after just the right amount of cocktails, I happily accepted Stacey’s request for a one-on-one dip later into the evening. We both agree – electricity and water can be a good thing.
We drove down the coast together just a few weeks later – my 22 year old mind convinced that Florida was the place for me – and even though our new friendship had me feeling a comfort I hadn’t felt in a very long time, there was a constant stream of butterflies in my tummy, an excitement I won’t ever forget or debase. We talked about everything, even the boring stuff had me catching my breath, and the fluttering in my stomach turned into something more important than a crush.
Needless to say, Florida didn’t work out. I came home, tail between legs, but not empty handed. Stacey had come to visit me several times during my 8-week stint in the Southeast, and lucky for me, he held my hand during another drive along the coast in late October. Despite everything else going on in my life at that time, I felt like I’d done something very right to win this man’s interest.
Eventually, after two years of the single life, I opened my eyes and my heart to the man of my life.
We’ve kept each other on our toes, for sure. Regardless - three years, an apartment, a puppy, some big ups-and-downs, lots of laughter, love, support, and a bun in my oven later, Stacey still gives me butterflies. If he pops into the restaurant I work at unexpectedly, my stomach flips. His smile, his laugh, his massages! – he knows how to make me tick, yet he can’t help the way he makes me feel.
As mushy as this all sounds, it gets better: Our doctor tells us that in a few short weeks, our little Kangaroo will be giving me butterflies – the swish-swish-swish of her little limbs will be felt in my lower abdomen. When I think of our baby – part me, part him – fluttering around in my belly, it all makes perfect sense. It’s no surprise the first belly-tug I will feel will remind me of Stacey – he has given me butterflies since the day we met, and that’s not soon to change. It’s the couple we are, the parents we will become – in love, best friends, and ready to conquer the next beautiful challenge.
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