My contractions started up the other day. They were every 20 mins and uneven. I was having intense back labor and thinking that maybe this baby was coming. After being checked by OB and Midwife, they both  agreed that I was dilating. Janessa (my Midwife) suggested I take something to stop my labor so that it would kick start again stronger and more even. (I eventually took the option and stopped my labor, the back labor was awful and I was getting super tired). Before I made the choice to take the drugs I had this conversation with Sadie:

Me: My contractions are still uneven. Every twenty or thirty mins. with intense back cramping. Dr. Crownover said I am dilating, I am at 1- almost two…

Sadie: OMG! I am SOOOO excited! How are you doing?

Me: My back is hurty! Janessa asked me if I wanted to take something to stop labor.

Sadie! WHAT!? Why would she ask you that!

Me: SO that my labor will stop and then start back on its own evenly.

Sadie: Well, I guess that makes sense, but what did you say?

Me: I told her yes.

Sadie: What!?

Me: Just kidding… I said I would wait it out to see if it is real labor for awhile.

Sadie: Oh God good! I thought I was going to have to come over there and punch you in your cervix!

Yesterday I wrote a note to my two best friends from high school. Neither of them have had a baby yet, and since I am working on Number 2 over here, I like to terrorize them with stories of vomiting and heartburn that singes your nostril hairs and all that horrific tearing of your lady parts. Its a super fun pasttime, and I love being evil.

Yesterday I wanted to share with them the peril of the pregnant pants. The note went a little something like this.

So I just got back from buying another pair of maternity jeans. Don’t ever get pregnant. I mean seriously. Because if you get pregnant like I do then you will go through three completely different sizes of clothing in just nine months. What fits in the beginning is unbearable by 29 weeks and what fit you at 29 weeks laughable at 40 weeks when it takes all your strength just to roll your self out of bed in the morning. And then you will have another nine months after the baby is born to go through three more sizes before you end up somewhere near where you were before you got pregnant. Except that, you will actually be a totally different shape than when before you were pregnant, with parts of your body that are totally foreign and nothing like what you used to call “your hips”. And then, when you get pregnant again, you will realize that while you thought you had lost all the baby weight from the first baby, you are actually a whopping 15 pounds heavier than you were at this time 2 years ago.

You will just never fit into the clothes you used to wear before the babies came and ruined you (and totally stole your heart away and gave your life a bigger meaning, but whatever, none of that has anything to do with your butt, which you accidentally saw naked in the Old Navy fitting room. You might want to just gouge that memory out with a plastic hanger).

I mean sure, maybe you will be the kind of woman who only gains weight in your belly and the rest of stays all fit and firm and glowy. But not me. I gain weight everywhere and especially like to pack the pounds into my neck and JOWLS!

Anyway, I’ve got to go now. I’m going to eat a bean burrito. I want to make sure that the pants I just bought don’t fit me in three weeks.

Loves you!

HAHA! I am an evil, evil person.

My OB tends to think I am hilarious. Actually, most of my friends think I am pretty funny, too. What isn’t funny is being so damn hairy. Now that I think of it, maybe that is why they laugh at me….. it BETTER not be!

The other day, at our routine checkup, the amazing Dr. Crownover asked me how I was feeling. A blush came over my face and I started to explain:

Jasmine: Dr. Crownover, before you see my belly I have a confession to make…

*Dr. Crownover gave a very medical, yet attentive look…*

Jasmine: So…. as my belly has gotten bigger I have become increasingly insecure about how hairy my belly is. In a moment of weakness I decided I would wax my belly.

*Dr. Crownover’s attentive look melts away and he doubles over in laughter*

Jasmine: Seriously! Don’t laugh. I got into the first strip, and I thought, “Who the hell’s idea was this! But then I was already in over my head and I had to finish it… now it is growing back, and I am all itchy. GAW! What is wrong with me!!!!”

*Garrett interjects*

Garrett: I told her not to be insecure about it. I told her that her body was normal.

Jasmine: Shut up Garrett! You don’t get an opinion! You shaved your face into a trucker “stash” …. people who look like that don’t get opinions on what is normal.

*Side note: Days before Garrett shaved his beard into a handlebar mustache and decided that he loved the trucker look. I laughed at him every time I looked at him. THEN he thought it was an awesome idea to wear it to my appointment. Because, ya know, that look is cool? What! No! It isn’t cool. All he needed was a cut- off flannel shirt and an “I love mom” tattoo… geez!

Dr. Crownover: OH! I didn’t even notice your mustache Garrett, I like it… I like it *Up until this point I believed my OB was a great honest man, now I believe he is a filthy filthy liar!*

My belly itches like an S.O.B and the little red bumps from my shirt rubbing the hair that is growing in is not very pretty… it is actually worse than being hairy. Because now I am hairy/bumpy/red. A dead sexy combination.

*Fast forward to today*

After a vigorous step aerobic workout Sadie and I decided to go to lunch. We talk about a plethora of things. Sadie is smart. She is a real brain. But today, she looked at me with all seriousness, she, “When we get closer to having the babies we should go get our nails done, and then make someone wax our lady parts so we will look all nice for the delivery…”

I evaded the remark. I was having flashbacks of a couple of weeks earlier where I got that dumbass bright idea to wax my belly. I don’t think Sadie and I can be friends if she starts suggesting things like this. Next she will ask me about anal bleaching….

The other day I got a call from a friend. She said, “Hey Jasmine, I have a confession for your Bad Mommy Monday. You ready? Here you go….”

I braced myself and she continued, ” You are a bad mommy when you tell your kids NOT to open the package that is coming in the mail today because it is a Christmas present….when it is really just your new sex toy!”

I almost dropped the phone and died with laughter. I can’t top that. Ever.

Can you?

Happy Monday Readers!

A couple year of years ago I was walking with some friends of mine. We were on this path that was shaded by huge and beautiful trees. The conversations were asinine and I was tuning out; I kept glancing at the way the sun pierced through the emerald and garnet leaves.  Just as we walked by a low hanging branch, a little brown pod caught my eye. It was swaying back and forth. We had slowed our walking pace and I was stunned to see something so small thrash so violently. A small pieces of orange color shot out of the pod. I immediately realized what it was, what was happening, and I tried to communicate. “Look,” I commanded my friends. They attempted to follow my finger and make sense of what I was now only shouting garbled words about, but they failed. I couldn’t form words and they couldn’t understand what astounding thing I was seeing. It was so amazing to see this beautiful butterfly struggle out of her cocoon and alight on the branch next to her. She waved her wings in and out, slowly, to dry them off. None of my friends ever saw the butterfly. They tried. They stood there looking for several minutes trying to figure out what I was “ooooohing” and “awwwwing” about. It was a beautiful moment, between me and that butterfly. The ironic thing was that the butterfly seemed just oblivious as oblivious of us. It seemed to not notice me or how beautiful it was.

Today is Sadie’s birthday. As I looked back at our friendship I am reminded of that day on the walking trail. She is, very much, the butterfly I saw that day. She has overcome great adversity to birth, in herself, something so beautiful and complex that it renders me to only shout garbled words (in an attempt to get the world to notice). Everyone should know or love a Sadie, just as everyone, at least once in their life, should see the miracle of a butterfly being birthed into the world.

Happy Birthday Sadie!!

♥ Jasmine

Today is Jasmine’s birthday! Everyone should leave her nice, Happy Birthday comments.

I’m so glad to have her in my life. She brings so many wonderful things to my world and I don’t know where I would be without her. She is a fabulous best friend. Jasmine, I hope today is a wonderful day for you! And…I’ll see you in a few hours for shrimp and cocktail sauce. Mmmmmm. : )

-Sadie

Ok ladies, its time to get really painfully honest. Maybe even embarassingly honest (though once you’ve had a baby your embarassment threshold goes way WAY up, am I right?).

I have a few whiskers. Just a few mind you, and they are thankfully white hairs so they’re not terribly noticeable. But still, they do exist.

The first time The Whisker was brought to my attention I was in high school. It was my sophomore year, I was sitting in my room talking with the boy I was in luuuuuuv with at the time. We were flirting and carrying on when he stopped. He looked at me, a strange look on his face and he said “Um. You have…hold on”. Then he reached out to my jawline and a second later I felt a tiny sting. “You have…..A WHISKER!” he yelled and then doubled over with laughter. In his hand was the offending hair. White and certainly too long to be just regular peach fuzz.

I was mortified. I mean, I could have died right there and been ok with it. Having your boyfriend pull a witch hair out of your face while you are in the midst of wooing and flirting is on par with unexpectedly starting your period in class and only realizing it when you stand up to leave and the whole class sees the evidence. Or accidentally farting while on a movie date. Or falling down a flight of stairs while trying to impress that hot senior on your way to English. These are the moments that make high school so painful.

I think that night I tried to blame the whisker on the pancakes I had eaten for breakfast. It sounded plausible. I must have gotten some syrup on my face, not noticed it to wipe it off and then a cat hair got stuck to me. I don’t think the boyfriend believed me, but I kind of believed it myself. In fact, I so totally believed my own pancake story that I didn’t even think of The Whisker again until the next year, when another boyfriend plucked it from my face in a remarkably similar incident.

Please. Kill  me now.

Since then I have regularly checked my jaw line for witch hairs. Any hairs that even have the remotest possibility of becoming like The Whisker are quickly yanked and then burned, to discourage any other hairs from growing beyond acceptable peach fuzz length. Maybe I’m a little paranoid but I would hate to be the lady that goes to Wal-Mart with a beard and seems to be unaware of it. Or one day find an anonymous note in my mailbox at work: Dear Sadie, Please lose the whiskers. You are scaring the children. Constant vigilance is the best protection.

Recently, while doing a witch hair inspection I was horrified to discover a second Whisker. Coming straight out of my CHEEK! My cheek, people! It was awful. I fell on the floor and cried, bemoaning my fate as the up and coming Bearded Lady.

So now I am on double Whisker duty. And just so I can really stay on top of it I am employing Jasmine as my Whisker Watcher.

I mean, what is a best friend for if not to help you shave your legs when you are huge and pregnant and be you Whisker Watcher?