The Haunted Zoo- Secret Subject Swap February

Your “Secret Subject” is:
There are scary, piercing, scratching noises coming from your basement/attic. What do you do?
it was submitted by: http://dinoheromommy.com/

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Mayble and Mylie

For most people, hearing strange, ear-piercing, scratchy noises from somewhere in the dark depths of their home would instantaneously set off those internal alarm bells. The hair on the back of your neck would stand on end as your heart starts racing, pounding right out of your chest. Thoughts of a break-in of some sort, or, possibly even, ghosts, would fight their way to the surface. Panic ensues, bubbling up from the murky pit of your stomach, as it twists itself into knots preparing for what may very well be, the end of your life. Images of gun-wielding psychopaths, cracked-out drug-feigning burglars, dirty scumbag rapists, demons ready to terrorize at the Devil’s bidding, and the trapped spirits of homeowners past who still won’t relinquish their hold on the property, besiege you; setting your brain on a collision course of reality and irrationality.

But, not me.

First of all, I am completely enthralled by the subject of after life. I would be excited to investigate as such. Secondly, I have no fear of those noises being related to any sort of intruder, because there is no access to either my basement nor my attic without entering through the main structure of my home, somehow. Which leads us into the third reason why it’s such a great improbability someone physically could have snuck into those hard to access places…

OUR PETS!

Not only would they alert to someone’s presence on our property, they would not allow a stranger to get more than a hand or foot into my home without making a ruckus loud enough to wake the dead. Our home may as well double as a part-time zoo. Between the pets and the kids it certainly feels like one. We have two dogs- a two and a half year old Retriever-Pit Bull-Lab-American Bull Dog, Mayble, and a seven month old Pit Bull-American Bull Dog, Mylie. Yes, Mylie as in Mylie Cyrus, but ONLY because her nickname started from her dad calling her Smiley Mylie and everybody knows American Bully dogs have a very happy, smiley face to them. Then there’s the three cats. Bella is a 6 year old tuxedo domestic short hair (dsh) we found on a rainy summer morning in the local feed store parking lot. Stripe is a three year old tiger-striped tabby dsh, who came from a previous cat’s only litter of kittens she had before she was cat-napped by neighbors when they moved away. Then there’s Frost. He’s a one year old gray and white patched dsh foster-kitten who won over our hearts and, with em, a place in our zoo. Our zoo wouldn’t be a proper zoo, now, without some reptiles and aquatic creatures, now would it? That’s why we have some African Aquatic Dwarf Frogs and a tank of carnival goldfish which refuse to die. I haven’t changed their water in over six months, and it’s a non-filter tank, by the way, and it’s probably been at least two months since I fed them last. Yet they swim on, nonetheless. Too bad I can’t say the same about my kids.

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Frost, the offender

So, I can guarantee those scary noises are only because of these four-legged and finned creatures running amuck in the still of the night when little hands are fast asleep, unable to interfere with their play. Most likely, of all, the noise would be coming from the cats. Frost has just entered maturity and is biding his time until his vet appointment next month. Meaning – that little fucker is horny and desperate for a piece of tail to satisfy his mating urges, only he doesn’t understand that his housemates of the same species have no interest in providing such pleasure for his red rocket. Because they’re both fixed. And one’s another male! Either Frost has a case of Blue Balls so bad he don’t care or he’s simply just a bisexual feline, but, regardless, nonetheless, he won’t give up his pursuit of pussy to hump. This illicit kitty behavior conjures up the most unwelcome responses at 2am from the dark depths of our home. Bella and Stripe are no pushovers and will not quietly reject this feral Romeo’s persistent advancements, despite the quiet washed over while their humans are fast asleep. Eardrum shattering screeches slice through the night followed by high-pitched squeals warning of impending impatience with their housemate. Growls and hisses emanate from the recess of heating ducts and foundation beams as the two abstinent loving felines try to escape from the perverted hornball trying to mount them precariously while in motion. Back and forth between the basement and the attic crawl space access from my bedroom these cats dart, trying to avoid the in-resident rapist. When they finally do manage to get away from his wet winky, Frost will haunt the night with scratching at the windows as he sobs with the pain of defeat and loneliness.

His date with the chopping block can’t come soon enough.

Maybe, one day, I’ll get my long-awaited ghost adventure. But, for now, the only haunting I’m experiencing during Witching Hour is compliments off a sexually frustrated male cat who just wants what everyone else is looking for in life….love.

Here are links to all the sites now featuring Secret Subject Swap posts.  Sit back, grab a cup, and check them all out. See you there:

 

http://www.BakingInATornado.com                          Baking In A Tornado

http://berghamchronicles.blogspot.com/              The Bergham Chronicles

http://spatulasonparade.blogspot.com/                  Spatulas on Parade

http://www.thediaryofanalzheimerscaregiver.com/    The Diary of an Alzheimer’s Caregiver

http://dinoheromommy.com/                    Dinosaur Superhero Mommy 

http://www.southernbellecharm.com                       Southern Belle Charm

http://notthatsarahmichelle.blogspot.com                   Not That Sarah Michelle

http://www.angrivatedmom.wordpress.com/             The Angrivated Mom

http://batteredhope.blogspot.com                         Never Ever Give Up Hope

http://mybrainonkids.net                                  My Brain on Kids

http://thethreegerbers.blogspot.ch/            Confessions of a part time working mom

http://thelieberfamily.com                             The Lieber Family Blog

http://www.someoneelsesgenius.com                   Someone Else’s Genius

http://climaxedtheblog.blogspot.com                       Climaxed

By: Kristina Hammer, aka, The Angrivated Mom

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My Book On Life And Thereof: Secret Subject Swap January

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Your “Secret Subject” is:
You start reading a new book late night after a long day of work. The first few pages sound familiar, and the more you read the more you realize this book mirrors your inner thoughts and your life. What do you do?

It was submitted by: http://climaxedtheblog.blogspot.com           

What do I do? Probably run for cover. If my life was in a book already, it would confirm all the suspicions I’ve ever had about life. I suffer from Deja Vu horribly. I’m empathic, meaning I’m not as sensitive as a medium or a psychic to be able to pick up on other worldly energy, but I am highly sensitive to the energy of humans. Your emotions, feelings, earthly vibrations…they absorb into me. Part of me takes on what you’re giving off, making it hard for me to distinguish between my own emotions and others, sometimes.

My philosophy on life is eccentric, at best. Eclectic is probably a bit more accurate, per say. My belief system has undergone some incredible transformations from where I began as a child. Religion was always an outsider my father and stepmother, my main caregivers, barred from entering our home. Yet, my mother and stepfather, whom I only got to see every other weekend and holiday, if they chose, welcomed Religion into their home as a weekly dinner guest. Growing up I had a taste of both worlds, aiding in the development of my broad acceptance of all things spirituality. Even the unbelievers who believe solely in the logical science of our universe and reject the idea of a higher power.

My hodgepodge of conclusions leads me to believe there is another realm, a spiritual place, the birth center of our souls. It is the place some refer to as Heaven. I, however, believe Heaven is something entirely different, because I believe we contain both spirit and soul separately inside of our physical bodies. Our soul is the energy that makes us alive and the spirit is what gives us our personality. The spirit energy is what goes to Heaven to do all those heavenly things preached about in the Bible. The soulful energy dissipates back into this spiritual center of the universe to be reborn again; no different from the energy of a collapsed star birthing a new one out of the remnants melding together. And, this crazy perspective of mine, is also where I believe ghosts come from. If we are not aware that we are dying when we do, and the physical shell containing our soul and spirit is no longer viable and connecting the two energies, our energy will linger in confusion, possibly seeking the shell that no longer contains it. This many even explain why ghosts are trapped as the image they saw themselves as in real life, because the spirit which gave them distinct human characteristics, perceptions, and behaviors, is no longer present. Sent back to Heaven to meet its maker, it was at death.

I digress.

If I really was to stumble upon a book in which my entire life and that which hasn’t unfolded, yet, had been captured on paper, it would only prove my theories to me. Prove that our energy truly is reborn and there are people miraculously gifted with the ability of foresight greater than I ever imagined. It would prove that our brains really are just gateways through which our soul and spirit enter and leave from, into a realm just beyond the average, closed-circuit person’s reach. My thirst for knowledge would become insatiable. My desire to grow stronger as an empath and possibly even learn to tap into the gateway as a medium would multiply faster than fleas on a feral cat. Everything I’ve ever felt ashamed, estranged, demented, and too condescended to talk about openly about would finally give others pause to contemplate. It would lift the veil I’ve hid my beliefs under and allow me to embrace the truths I always knew in my heart. Knew in my soul; the soul which has lived to tell many a secrets from the shells it gave life to time after time before me.

Somehow, the author of the book must have tapped into my soul or found a link to my spirit which gave them the sight to lay my story down. They may never have even known, thinking it was merely their own imagination and creative juices flowing. We already know we only use a third of our entire brains. There has to be purpose behind the other two-thirds of it, especially given the intense amount of electrical neuropathways present and accounted for in each of us. Life itself is still the greatest mystery of all living things and there are no definitives to what is known at this point. We are such complex, ingenious designs, with abilities and connections to various extents and degrees…It is all so very much possible.
Here are links to all the sites now featuring Secret Subject Swap posts.  Sit back, grab a cup, and check them all out. See you there:

http://www.BakingInATornado.com                          Baking In A Tornado

http://dinoheromommy.com/                         Dinosaur Superhero Mommy

http://berghamchronicles.blogspot.com/              The Bergham Chronicles

http://thelieberfamily.com                                 The Lieber Family Blog

http://spatulasonparade.blogspot.com/                  Spatulas on Parade

http://www.renasworld.com/                               Rena’s World

http://notthatsarahmichelle.blogspot.com                   Not That Sarah Michelle

http://thethreegerbers.blogspot.ch          Confessions of a part time working mom

http://www.southernbellecharm.com                  Southern Belle Charm

http://www.someoneelsesgenius.com                   Someone Else’s Genius

http://mybrainonkids.net                                      My Brain on Kids

http://climaxedtheblog.blogspot.com                          Climaxed

http://www.angrivatedmom.wordpress.com/             The Angrivated Mom

 

 

By: Kristina Hammer, aka, The Angrivated Mom

The Angrivated Night Before Christmas: Secret Subject Swap December

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‘Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house,
The family was angrivated, especially I with my spouse.
The tree wasn’t up, Damn!, the presents were not even bought,
The chaos ensued, in a hurry to be done we fought.
Our children were so far from going to sleep in their beds,
Hyped up on stolen candy canes, a sugar rush straight to their heads.
Angrivated Mom was three days overdue for a shower,
Angrivated Dad, counting every penny, dime, and dollar.
When they finally got to the store, the place was left in tatters,
Their Christmas hope died, the broken pieces in tiny shatters.
Away to the toy aisle to salvage what’s left,
The price to pay when you’ve never lived without debt.
When what did our marveling eyes did set upon?
The perfect gift for each of our tween sons.
Over there, the one our older daughter wanted so bad,
Look! Even our youngest won’t have to be sad!
A Christmas miracle had come, to you albeit small, but, alas,
A Christmas miracle true, and it was huge for us income low-class.
Now, Razor! Now, Monster High! Now, Nerf and CODBO3!
On Little People! On, Lego! On Elsa and Anna Barbies!
To the shopping cart, to the mile-long checkout lines, and away,
I wish we didn’t have to pay for any of these over-priced presents today.
We waited our turn, then took off for home in a mad dash,
Hoping on our way we did didn’t spin out and crash.
Barely in the front door and we can already hear the cries,
Four Angrivated children now quickly spinning their lies.
This one threw the tinsel at him and that one threw the stockings at her,
The living room is lost in a green and red twinkling blur.
We corral them together, clean the mess, and place the top star,
Well past midnight now, jolly old St. Nick can’t be too far.
The cookies you say? Oh shit, we knew there was more,
Leave Santa a Twinkie, his reindeer shant mind a few apple cores.
Get to bed we say, it’s been a helluvah angrivated day to boot,
This mom has to stay up till ass crack dawn to wrap your damn loot.
I’ll look hung over tomorrow with cellulite as jiggly as Jello,
At least I have my stash to smoke myself mellow.
These Angrivated Parents have some elving to do,
Thankful that this nightmare is once again almost through.
Finally the children are fast asleep and the house is quietly still,
It’s so silent you can actually hear the snow falling on the sill.
The lopsided Charlie Brown tree aglow in the lonely night
Shimmers like the moon, dancing across the gifts soon to bring delight.
It isn’t much, not nearly enough, but more than we could spare,
We would give them our last breath so the tree is never bare.
When the sun does rise the squeals and laughter will abound,
Every struggle will be worth the happiness they’ve found.
Toys may not be a’plenty, but love will fill the empty space,
Grateful to have each other, share the value of a warm embrace.
Christmas is a time for giving and caring,
Breaking bread, making merry and good tidings sharing.
We may not have it all and can’t do the holiday for glory,
At least we stick to the original meaning of the real Christmas Story.
Just another night before Christmas with the Angrivated bunch,
And, as always, The Angrivated Family has their panties up in bunch.
Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays!

Your “Secret Subject” is: was the night before Christmas……AND GO!
It was submitted by: Not That Sarah Michelle

*Here are links to all the sites now featuring Secret Subject Swap posts.  Sit back, grab a cup, and check them all out. Wonder who got my subject? Hope to see you there!*
Baking In A Tornado
Not That Sarah Michele
Spatulas on Parade
Sparkly Poetic Weirdo
Southern Belle Charm
Rena’s World
Dinosaur Superhero Mommy
The Bergham Chronicles
Never Ever Give Up Hope
Someone Else’s Genius
Confessions of a part time working mom
The Lieber Family Blog
Juicebox Confession
Climaxed

By: Kristina Hammer, aka, The Angrivated Mom

To The Husband Sick Of His Wife’s Nagging…

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Are you sick and tired of hearing your wife nag, nag, nag? You probably find yourself thinking from time to time:

“C’mon now! What the hell is she doing all day with those kids!?! What could I possibly be doing to bother her? I work over seventy hours a week at a grueling job I hate, just so she can stay at home with our children! AmIright or amIright?!?

You feel deeply unappreciated by your wife. Each day you toil away at some mindless job keeping your bills paid, and all the while she gets to stay at home with the kids, living it up on your dime. Yet, you’re the one getting nagged at. Why!?! When it comes to mother’s, there’s only two major reasons why they badger their spouses. Listen up, dudes!

She’s nagging at you to go somewhere, do something, or have “family time” of some sort. She makes a huge deal about taking the kids without you.
Thinking of time as only your own is the first problem. You ARE part of that family, need I remind you? A family that feels the empty space throughout the week while you are off working to support them. Your family waits anxiously to share moments of fun and excitement as a whole, so when you’re constantly choosing to take nothing but time for yourself, you’re going to have one helluvah irritated wife. When her children’s feelings are hurt, she’s the designated advocate, speaking up for all of their emotional bumps and bruises. She feels a duty on behalf of her children to get on your case, because they’re sorely disappointed over dad’s inclusion of himself. Especially after hyping themselves up for these activities including dad, all week long.

The second problem I see is that you have no interest in participating in any family activities on your days off. Even on vacation days or holidays. The only priority you have is to disentangle yourself from the reality that you are a slave to your job. You’ve pushed your family away, because you don’t have the time to devote to them with the way you work. Besides, your wife seems to do a good enough job on her own, she doesn’t need any help. Or, so you think, buddy. Your wife’s nagging is in part to wanting your attention again.

And NOT that kind of special attention, either. She wants you to compliment her daily survival skills, her mothering under pressure, her ability to maintain composure even though she’s rabid and ready to bite on the inside.

She wants you to know her job is probably harder than yours in many ways, and still, she remains your best friend day after day wanting to make your day better than hers.

She’s nagging you because you haven’t helped around the house in ages, and since you live at work more than home you think you shouldn’t have to.
Do you really think you live in Pleasantville or a real-life rerun of The Walton’s? Or, maybe even, Leave it to Beaver? Well, I hate to burst your bubble…but you are NOT. This is the twenty-first century, after all. 1950 left us well over a decade ago and with it went the “women in the kitchen, barefoot and pregnant while the man provides for his family” attitude. Raising kids and keeping the house running is an unappreciative, unforgiving, and unnerving round-the-clock job. Motherhood has no procedure manual. No order of direction. There is very little time left to take care of the entirety of the household chores and you, sir, as it was aforementioned above, are a member of this family, too.

Regardless of how long your time is in this household, you are still in part responsible for the mess. You sleep, you eat, you shower, and you shit here- the same as everyone else.

Only, four of those people are too young to do the dirty work and heavy lifting around here. Your wife spends a lot of time making your life easier on you while keeping your children healthy and safe; the least you can do is return the favor and make her life a little easier, too.

Besides… if you want to stop nagging her about needing some special attention to satisfy your own desires, you would earn her attention. A stay at home mother’s biggest reason for losing her mojo is becoming swallowed up by her role as mother, unable to separate herself into wife. Taking some of the stress and responsibility off of her shoulders so she can take the time you want from her to relax and get into the mood. It also teaches your offspring how to respect other people’s duties and treat everyone with equality, as well. When they see you pitching in and cleaning up after yourself, they’re more likely to follow suit. The more you hold yourself accountable, the more apt they will be to do the same thing. Little ones are mirrors for not only our potty mouths, but our behaviors, as well. Get up now, go wash some dishes, fold a little laundry while you watch the football, then offer to sweep the kid’s crumbs after dinner. It’s not like it’ll kill you, otherwise you’d have been a single parent ages ago.

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There’s always a deeply rooted purpose to every whine, nag, bitch, and moan your wife utters. Unless it’s as blatantly obvious as her screaming to get your foul-stench reeking, nostril-torturing wafting, eyeball-burning stanking, noxious-gas passing asshole away from her, you can bet the motive behind her barrage of pestering falls under one of those two categories above. Somehow y’all men fall into this blind, egotistical, and self-centered mentality fueled by your stuck-at-sixteen hormones, and you just can’t see past the tip of your, eghmm….head…ughh, nose.

Take heed of my advice and see your wife’s bellowing and bitching as her womanly was of asking for help. It’s not like you men are good about asking for help, either.

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Day 14 prompt: Free Write

By: Kristina Hammer, aka, The Angrivated Mom

Not My Circus They Said….

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Most children look up to their parents with adoration and hold them on a pedestal above all else. No one could be as cool, as smart, or as perfect as them in your innocent eyes. They were the greatest parents in the world and you wanted to be just like them when you grew up. Not me.

Maybe it was because I have always been slightly empathic and much wiser than my years, but I never thought of my parents as someone I could look up to. It was just this understood feeling I had inside, knowing unlike most other children the example they were setting was dysfunctional at best. Reckless, careless, functioning alcoholics; they were selfish and superficial in nature, often absent as they fulfilled their own lives with great exuberance. Babysitters and family members were shuffled through because my dad and stepmom always had somewhere to go when the sun went down every night. My brother and I always had our necessities and were spoiled with materialistic desires every Christmas, but we never had our parents. My biggest fear back then was  growing up and becoming just like them one day despite trying my damnedest not to.

When I had my first child, I would worry incessantly over how I was doing as a mother. I went out of my way to be contrary to my parents way of raising me. It was my mission to prove the dysfunction of my childhood did not affect me as an adult. I stopped drinking socially, refused to leave my babies with babysitters for socialization, and focused all of my attention on meeting their needs before my own. People would try to tell me it wasn’t my monkeys, wasn’t my circus; my parents lived in different times, under different circumstances, making different choices and none of it had anything to do with the way I would parent. Despite all of my premature wisdom, I lacked the maturity to realize carrying the weight of their mistakes into my own parenting journey would only set me up for failure.

And I almost did succumb to my fears. Not in the same exact way as my parents, but close enough. Thanks to genetics, I inherited a chronic bone disease called Degenerative Disc Disease with Spinal Bone Spurs. In the beginning of its rapid progression, but before a diagnosis sent me outside of my family physician network, it was assumed my symptoms were from Fibromyalgia and they treated me accordingly with pain medications alone. By the time I got my diagnosis and realized the extent and severity of my problems, I was fully addicted to the narcotics my physicians handed out as readily as vaccines.

During this time, I thought I was super-mom, because the medications made me feel hyper-alert and energetic. I could keep up with my daily responsibilities around the house, work three twelve-hour shifts at the hospital a week, and still be able to give my kids all the attention they craved from me. It never crossed my mind that I was still doing exactly what my parents did to me….because even though I was there in the moment, I wasn’t fully present. My mind was always plotting my next move, thinking ahead, running a mile a minute. I was going through the motions without remembering a thing about it. I was high. My daily routines revolved around my next dose. My schedules revolved around my monthly appointments for refills. I wasn’t me. I was continuing the cycle. The one I so desperately had fought to break.

So I did what I had to do to hold true to my vow never tob never become my parents. Never to let addiction and mental health issues come before myself and my children. It’s been five and a half years since the day I got myself help and got off the addictive opiates. Four and a half years since I went through a rehabilitation program to heal my mind and learn to cope with my metal illness so I never relapse. Three years since I became licenced for medical marijuana to continue to reduce the (non-opioid) pharmaceuticals I still require.

It truly was my monkeys and my circus for awhile there; those people who told me it couldn’t be had lied. Unfortunately, we live in a society where the doctor’s who are supposed to protect our health and serve our well-being do just the opposite, causing millions of people to end up dependant on medications with great consequence. Surviving my greatest fear as a child and overcoming odds stacked to the ceiling against me, humbles me…. I am a great mother today, because I was a bad one yesterday…. not many people can make that work so well.

~Here are links to all the sites now featuring Secret Subject Swap posts.  Sit back, grab a cup, and check them all out. See you there:
 Baking In A Tornado
The Momisodes
Spatulas on Parade
Sparkly Poetic Weirdo
 Never Ever Give Up Hope
 The Lieber Family Blog
 Rena’s World
Dinosaur Superhero Mommy
The Bergham Chronicles
 Confessions of a part-time working mom
 Just a Lovely Day
 Someone Else’s Genius
 Climaxed
My subject is “ Your “Secret Subject” is:
We keep seeing “Not my circus, not my monkeys” all over Facebook. But what if it is your circus and monkeys . . .tell us what happened”.  It was submitted by Dinosaur Superhero Mommy

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Day 5 prompt: What was your greatest fear as a child?

 

By: Kristina Hammer, aka, The Angrivated Mom

Failed Birth Plans Labored With Love

***Welcome to a Secret Subject Swap. This week 16 brave bloggers picked a secret subject for someone else and were assigned a secret subject to interpret in their own style. Today we are all simultaneously divulging our topics and submitting our posts.***

~My subject is “In honor of labor day, share your child(ren)’s birth story”.  It was submitted by http://themomisodes.com/ 
Here goes:

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Four children. I have birthed four children. Bigger sized families are back on the rise in America, no thanks to the influence of reality TV families like the Gosslin’s and the Duggar’s;  pre-scandalous mutiny, of course. By comparison, my family of six is only in the average range, which is more than just fine with me. Not one of them was planned for, but each one of them was desired long before they were ever conceived. Each of them has their own story of arrival as unique as the very personalities which emanate from the variable combinations of my DNA mixed with my husband’s. Having birthed four babies has given me a chance to experience a few different scenarios, as well, and from it, I have taken away respect for the individual birth choices of mother’s across the board. There’s no one right way to give birth. As long as the health and safety of the mother and baby is the foremost priority throughout the birthing process we have no right to judge.

My first pregnancy came merely a month after my twenty-first birthday. I knew all about taking care of babies. I was aware of the responsibility raising a child entails. I had been educated in the science of childbirth, having aced my human anatomy and physiology course to get into the nursing program at my college. I was completely and utterly oblivious to the gravity of the real experience to come. It didn’t happen like the perfect case scenarios pushed into the forefront of every bit of knowledge I tried to inform myself with. Watching endless marathons of A Baby Story episodes still didn’t prepare me for the actuality of giving birth.

Everything I planned followed the crowd. Everything which happened went way astray. My water never broke. Induction was finally scheduled at forty-one weeks and three days. Somehow I gained eighty pounds trying to follow the prenatal diet in the What To Expect When You’re Expecting book. My epidural only numbed me from mid-thigh down, no matter how much more of the meds they pumped in. During the pushing, my baby’s head got stuck in the birth canal, requiring me to choose between an emergency C-section under general anesthesia because of the epidural failure or the use of forceps after snipping me open a little wider without the epidural working to numb me. I chose the forceps, hoping it wouldn’t be as bad as it sounded, because the thought of my uterus being cut open seemed even worse. After my son finally made his very difficult appearance, we discovered a nerve had somehow been nicked during the epidural placing, which was causing the entire pathway to misfire plus some of my spinal fluid to drip out. This locked up my right leg, making it impossible bend completely, causing sharp electrical impulses to surge down the nerve from my spine to my toes. Come to find out, I have an extra vertebrate in my spine, which inhibited the placement of the epidural properly. After a blood patch and three months of physical therapy to regain full movement again, I could finally sit down in a chair without one leg propped up and rock my baby for the first time.

When I became pregnant with my second baby, I knew an epidural was out of the question. Since this one and it’s older brother were sharing the same due date, exactly one year later, my body still remembered every last bit of the whole hee-hoo-bear down-shit myself-ring of fire-look down there’s some hair-push my insides out-omg I fucking did it!-shebang. This time I could mentally prepare myself for battle. There were plans with back-up plans for the back-up plans, everything unexpected would be met head on. True to my firstborn, this one didn’t want to come out willingly. At forty-one weeks, my OB said it’s time to schedule an induction and offered me to let the kids share the same birthday. As cool as it sounded, I knew it would as equally traumatizing since the voice was mine and not mother nature’s. Forty-eight hours passed my son’s first birthday, I was hooked up to Pitocin and getting the show on the road. I was dilated to 6cm when I went in. Within two hours of intense Spades playing, I was at 8cm. Watched a rerun episode of Gilmore Girls then zoned out to a playlist I had made just for the event during some of the more intense contractions. Forty minutes into it, I was ready to push. Two big pushes and the nurse really freaked out, telling me not to move an inch or take a breath until she could get my doctor into the room. He barely had his gown cover and gloves on when my second born son literally fell into his arms, as I stifled an urge to clear my dry, parched throat.

Four and a half years later, we were pregnant again. The timing was rough, because we were under a lot of stress in our lives. The weight of the turmoil I carried wore me down along with the constant morning sickness which did not end at the three month mark as promised. I tried hard to take care of my health, but the pregnancy was affected. The baby was diagnosed with SGA, small for gestational age, due to a slightly thinner umbilical cord slowing the flow of nutrients. I had to undergo fetal stress tests and heart rate monitoring three times a week plus biweekly ultrasounds until my thirty-fourth week when they became weekly. At thirty-six weeks, the doctors decided the baby would do better out than in and scheduled me for an induction with Neonatal Pediatricians on-call for immediate assessment, nine days later. My labor was hard because the fear I felt for the well-being of my child constantly replaying in the back of my head kept me from being able to relax and let my body work it’s magic as it did the last time. I tried so hard to put up a brave face for my husband, and when he walked away to get some fresh air, I caved and asked for some Demerol. I didn’t want to fail him by being pain relief, when I was really failing nobody but my own insecurities. The panic I was in was only raising the baby’s heartbeat, causing it to not tolerate labor well, threatening a C-Section. The medicine calmed my nerves, allowing me to labor through to deliver a very healthy, and come to find out just naturally petite, baby girl by dinnertime. I was now a mom of three.

For awhile my life went a little off course with the diagnosis of a chronic disease which affects my spine. We were taking measures with the Depo Provera shot to prevent pregnancy because I was on strong narcotic medications. Fate decided to work against us, instead. By the time we even discovered the pregnancy, it was too late for me to detox off the medications to prevent any dependency to be developed by the fetus, there was a 65% chance of miscarriage/preterm birth. My baby had to be monitored just as closely as my daughter had been, which made me a wreck. My job in the hospital had been in the Labor, Post Partum, and NICU units. There were quite a few babies which were detoxing from dependency to pain meds as well as those from hard drugs, too, and it was the most heart-wrenching sight for me. The thought of my own baby having to go through all of that killed me inside, making me feel such tremendous guilt for bringing it into this world. Of course, this was the baby who would start labor naturally by breaking my water in the middle of the night. This time, everything happened super intensely. When I asked for pain meds just before it was time to push, the doctor put in an order for Demerol that he gave me without telling the nurse who was ordering my home meds thinking I was asking for those pain meds. The meds crossed the placenta while I was pushing an hour later, and the baby’s system was overloaded, causing respiratory distress. When I delivered my second baby girl, my fourth born child, she was purple and coding, and whisked away from me, out of sight into the NICU before I ever saw her face. The whole experience is still a blur to me, almost four years later. This girl is my beam of sunshine in life, because she beat all the odds stacked against her the moment she was born. Barely two weeks in the NICU recovering, she came home to me on Thanksgiving Day, giving a very special meaning to an already grateful and appreciative celebratory holiday.

My experiences with childbirth were all so very different from one another and made me realize the search for the perfect labor is completely futile. It doesn’t matter whether you use a doctor or a midwife, you birth at home or in the hospital, whether you use any meds, have an epidural, or nothing at all. In the end, a child is born. A life has been given to you to raise as a productive and well-mannered member of society one day, the way the life made its entrance will long be forgotten by everyone, but mom. We don’t need to judge others, force them to think there’s only one acceptable plan to follow to join the ranks of the motherhood club, because we were already indoctrinated on the day we conceived our children so the journey thereof makes no difference. All which does matter is if you labored with love.

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***Here are links to all the sites now featuring Secret Subject Swap posts.  Sit back, grab a cup, and check them all out. See you there:
 
Baking In A Tornado

 The Momisodes

 The Bergham’s Life Chronicles

 Stacy Sews and Schools

 Dinosaur Superhero Mommy

Spatulas on Parade

Sparkly Poetic Weirdo 

Southern Belle Charm

Confessions of a part time working mom

The Lieber Family Blog

Cluttered Genius

The Diary of an Alzheimer’s Caregiver

Someone Else’s Genius

House of J Chronicles

Climaxed

A World Of Music Created By Me

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Music is the fire in my heart, fueling my passion, lighting up the darkness, and soothing my soul. It is my choice of escape from reality and my grounding tool, bringing me back to reality, all the same. When all else fails, music is there for the win. If I had the option, I’d create a whole world revolving around the music that I love most, because where laughter may be the best medicine for others, music is for me. Well, writing technically is, but music is the foundation for that, too. Music fulfills me.

Here’s where I run into problems, though. If I created a world of music, I couldn’t just pick one genre to run with, per say. My taste in music is more eclectic than The Heidelberg Project house in Detroit. My world of music would have to be its own genre, something of a compilation of sorts. Everything I’ve ever considered a favorite song would be fair game, and I’m one of those people who say everything is their favorite song, according to my husband who doesn’t think it’s so very cute. I can’t help it. If a piece of music speaks to me, attaches itself to me, or evokes a deep sense of emotion in me, it is called a favorite. I have hundreds of hundreds of favorites. So many, I can’t even remember most of them unless I hear the song out of the blue, because, well, (*facepalms self*)….Duh! Kids. They suck up all your memory stores and replace them with names of every Pokemon creature and their corresponding element, every food ever known of the color orange, and the entire Nick Jr., Sprout, and Disney Jr. lineup between 7am and 9pm

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What kind of music makes up my eccentric collection, I bet you’re wondering now? I’m sure you’ve had a taste of the madness in my head if you’ve ever tried to play one of my Tuesday Trivia song lyric challenges. There’s ten alotted memory channels in my vehicle’s old school AM/FM radio/cd player. 1-3 are top 40/current hits stations, though one particularly avoids anything hip-hip or rap-like lyrics and beats. 4 and 5 are the two heavy rock/alternative rock stations in our area. 6 is classic rock/oldies, 7 is light rock/past hits from over the decade, and 8 is Indie Rock. Channels 9 and 10 are country. They aren’t in a particular order, or anything, I listen to them all pretty equally. In fact, I’m a scanner, too. Bet you’ve never known anyone who prefers to use that irritating button on car radios, until me, huh?! Yes! I’m totally guilty of it. I can’t stick with one station, I could totally be missing a different favorite song on another channel! Besides, I cannot stand to hear commercials. I think advertisement is as evil as money and the media. I scan until I find the next song to light my fire.

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The Shazam app is this girl’s best friend. There’s probably a gazillion songs from my childhood which come rushing back to me whenever I hear them for the first time in forever, and with three quick clicks, I can capture the song info and keep it listed for future reference. The most recent of my captures consists of INXS, Kenny Chesney, Seether, KoRn, and The Eagles. That right there is just a taste of the music I love. From the songs I grew up listening to with my grandparents, reminiscent of their own youth in the late forties through the fifties, to the Boy Bands and Perky Baby Divas from the nineties (think N’Sync, Britney Spears). From the most current of rock hits from Default, Theory of a Dead Man and Evans Blue to the classic rock of The Grateful Dead, The Doors, Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers, and Janis Joplin. From early-mid nineties country hits from Tim McGraw, Faith Hill, Trisha Yearwood and Brooks-n-Dunn to the gangster hip-hop/rap anthems coming out a mile a minute at the turn of the century by Nelly, Snoop, DMX, Eminem, The YingYang Twins, and Chingy. And everything in between. My favorite love songs come from the eighties, the kind of music Alan Almond played on Pillow Talk radio every night as a young girl, drifting slowly around my room from the clockradio hidden under my pillow so my parents wouldn’t know I wasn’t completely sleeping. My first concert ever was Reo Speedwagon. I’ve seen Destiny’s Child, Jay-Z & Lil’ Kim, LimpBizkit, The Offspring, KoRn (4 different times, all main floor), Blink 182 @Warped Tour, Sponge, and Shania Twain, among dozens of dozens of small-time local bands, including my brother’s. My favorite concert of all-time-ever was seeing Aerosmith on my 21st birthday during their final tour with Kiss. I was second to front row and Steve Tyler touched my left fingertips. I didn’t wash them for year!

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If my fantasy world was built out of music, music would color the place, as well as, replacing all verbal communication. People would better understand one another if song lyrics could be used to speak to one another. Since colors represent emotions, the emotions induced by each song would categorize them, making it clear to others how each person is feeling in every passing moment. No more guessing games or charades, trying to figure out where someone else stands. The music coming from their soul would be simply interpreted based on the lyrics, putting an end to confusion and mind games, because there’s no mask to hide behind when music is in control. What a pleasant place that would be, even if everyone was grumpy and rocking out to Led Zepplin, Marilyn Manson, Pantera, and System of a Down all at once, because a good group head banging session can turn any mood around instantly. Try it sometime, you’ll break down into giggles at the sight, and giggles are quite contagious, you know. Before long, everyone would be dancing silly to The Monkees, The Beatles, Cyndi Lauper, and Donna Summers, doing the Locomotion and the Tootsie Roll. Can you picture that? Bet you’re smiling!

Regardless of what kind of music one’s soul would be singing based on their mood, my musical world would be full of peace and respect for one another, because every song has a harmony, meaning every person would live in harmony. Much different than the real world we live in, today. Much, much different. You ready to jump ship and join me, now? Oh, how I wish! Don’t you?

***Welcome to a Secret Subject Swap. This week 16 brave bloggers picked a secret subject for someone else and were assigned a secret subject to interpret in their own style. Today we are all simultaneously divulging our topics and submitting our posts.*** 

My subject is “Create a world  based on a genre of music”.  It was submitted by Someone Else’s Genius

Here are links to all the sites now featuring Secret Subject Swap posts other then myself.  Wonder who got the subject I submitted? Let’s figure it out! Sit back, grab a cup, and check them all out. See you there:
Baking In A Tornado
The Momisodes
The Bergham’s Life Chronicles
Stacy Sews and Schools
Dinosaur Superhero Mommy
Spatulas on Parade
Southern Belle Charm
Never Ever Give Up Hope
Sparkly Poetic Weirdo
Silence of the Mom
Someone Else’s Genius
Confessions of a part-time working mom
More Than Cheese and Beer
Searching for Sanity                          
Climaxed

 

 

By: Kristina Hammer, aka, The Angrivated Mom