Day Dream

A stay at home mom has special priviledges like not working. Me, I manage through the day drabbly dressed on six hours, if I'm lucky, of snooze. Despite the lack of sleep, I feel invincible. Besides, I enjoy every second with Hunter. That said, my heart goes out to all the working moms.

I absolutely love Potrero Hill, the warmest part of the city, but on a hearth of a day like today, I make my way to the North end of town. I load Hunter and Chloe into the X5 -the yuppie wagon- and pop in the Ethiopians CD. I roll the windows down and slide the moon roof ajar. The temperature gauge reads eighty four degrees. Yay! It's days like this that I wish I lived in Hawaii again. Nonetheless, a late morning departure usually makes for a ten minute drive to Crissy Fields. I turn into the parking lot as Chloe begins to scramble in the backseat like it was raining dog jerky. "Get off of him!" Styles caught in Chloe's trample of excitement. I pop the trunk to get out the kicks aka bugaboo - yuppie stroller. I plop Hunter's car seat in the stroller, grab Chloe's leash and we're ready to go!

The shore dense with families, canines, and the ocassional sun chaser. I quicky released the Bichon and away she went into dog euphoria. She was adored by all as she kicked up dust during her circular spazz attacks. I briskly walked trying to make good time towards the base of Golden Gate bridge. I smiled and proudly walked tall and nodded to my fellow mothers and dog walkers. Up ahead strollers were parked in a long row, "ten more seconds!" The militant instructor screamed at the group of women in their snug lullulemons holding their squats in hopes to lose their baby gut. I, too, was on the same mission to lose my jiggle! Up ahead Chloe was roused by a a pair of maltese. They each sniffed in a circle. Their noses muffed in their back ends, licking, and pawing. What is it with dogs and butts? Manners need not apply. If only humans were that simple. Hunter was down for the count. His eyelids were gentle and his lips part. A quick flashback of my birth played in my head. Motherhood is beyond cool! Part Shane and me, he was an absolute bundle of love. Double sigh.

In haste, I pick up the pace trying to pump some life into my aorta. The go getters, joggers, effortlessly pass me in light foot fashion. A herd of grustling German tourists in their dark denim pencil jeans rustle by on their bicycles. A pretty brunette in a vintage summer dress sit nestled in the arms of young man. As I got closer, "Please yew tek a photo?" The tall and handsome spoke in the language that made me knees give in. I quickly took a picture of the darling couple. The french woman melted at the sight of Hunter. I melted in the presence of Frenchman. No sooner than I could say, "Hubba Hubba," Chloe, in her speedy demon ways, picked up some heat and was a goner. I bid them adieu, and continued on my way.

There it stood tall and majestic, the base of Golden Gate bridge. We made it! I placed my hands in the palm marker and Chloe placed her paws on the dog marker as european tourists looked on at the silly Americans. I continued to push the stroller in hopes of making good time. I strolled upon a playful group of Jack Russells trying to get their yayas on Chloe. I chuckled at the dog walker and was miffed at how they managed to keep the leashes untangled. I was slowly coming towards the end of my walk and realized the boot camp mamas were done. Hunter remained in his sweet slumber as my work out was almost at it's end. "Sexy back. You mother effers don't know how to ack..." The gaggle of latina teenagers sang and chuckled and weaved through the human traffic on tourist bikes.

I made it back in under thirty minutes! I improved my time. I unlocked the tanker to let some cool air in. I unlatched the car seat and dropped him into the booster. Chloe followed my lead. I poured her a bowl of water, but she was too pooped to lap it up. In usual fashion, I let all the windows down and let the sun shine through the moon roof and turned up the rocksteady. I returned to Potrero Hill with the Golden Gate bridge behind me, I thanked the blue skies. Some women are hardened by being at home with their child. Some women rejoice in the rewards of spending all of their time with their child. I am exulted. Honestly. Today is a good day. Ah, this is the life! I am living. I am alive.

This is Shellie swimming in the womb of life back to you Bob at the studio!

Get Out of Town

I lathered little Styles with sunblock, slipped on his swimming trunks, topped him off with a sun hat, and made a run for the North. During my family’s recent visit, I wanted to share with them a place where the air is warm and the water is cool. Where else, but Glen Ellen! I know what your thinking, but they're from Hawaii! Different. The current heat wave had me dreaming of the pool.

My friendly gesture did not go over very well with my parents. As we drove over the Golden Gate bridge, which any normal person would oogle in awe, they were both slighted. My catholic kicked in and I felt guilty for uprooting them from the house. “Huh, it’s sunny here,” mom steadfast with her small conversation. I felt like I had performed a big fat juicy mortal sin. I wanted to please my parents. You know, be a lovely daughter for once. Besides they haven't been anywhere past Sausalito. I thought a nice drive and sightseeing would be harmless. Dad broke his silence and uttered, “The pastures’s brown here? Not enough water here? Where’s the cows?” Ugh, now I had to pull a cow out of my hat? I reminded them that there should be cows, I don’t know when, but they should appear soon.

We were twenty minutes into the drive when mom started to lose it, “Oh my god! It is so far away?” I thought her hair caught fire. “Daughter this is far,” dad was not entertained. “You said forty five minutes.” Mom vexed with apprehension. “It’s only been twenty minutes mom. Sheesh, I’m not driving to China or anything. Just chill.” I was plagued with questions. Sigh. My shoulders began to tighten. I pointed out the endless acres of grapes that shadowed our drive. “Grapes?” Mom was curious, “why so many grapes?” I reminded her that wine came from grapes and we were driving in a region that was world famous. “Oh yeh?” Dad scuffed, “Hmph. Wine? That's crazy.” He found it absurd and ridiculous. Mom was unimpressed. I dismissed the fact that my parents are very simple people. The only wine my parents sipped is the communion wine. Christ on a cross, why in the hell was I dragging them to Sonoma? If the gods are on my side, maybe they’ll fall in love with Glen Ellen too.

What started as a wonderful 45 minute drive, transformed into a bottomless pit of agony. On and on, I was battered with questions. Dad continued to moan about the length of the drive. They were two fishes on land. Flopping! How a glass of roset would alleviate this scene. Poof! I wished Shane was here to muddle the situation, but wishing’s for suckers. I’ll just have to deal. As I am finessed in the art of lethargy, my parents were proficient in the litany of labor. By mile 30, the thought of why I moved hundres of miles away became apparently clear. Although Hawaii is a paradise, it is still a rock. The locals can only handle no more than a twenty minute drive, anything beyond that is considered obscene.

Destination Glen Ellen. I grabbed Hunter and made a bee line for the pool. The rest of my family should be arriving soon. Things turned for the worse for mom as she paced with her arms crossed and was all sorts of odd quiet. If I had a valume, I would’ve slipped it in her water. You can quote me on that.

Finally, the rest of my family arrived! In the sky, I swear to virgin mary and all her cronies, a rainbow appeared across the sky! It was a sign! Phew! The kids tussled in the water. Dad waded in the deep end. Chloe did a little doggy paddle of her own. We cheered little Hunter as Shane dipped him in the crisp cool water. Another first! Yet, Mom sat under the umbrella arms crossed worried about dinner and who was going to cook.

Despite the squabbing and the mechanics of my infinite family dysfunction, I am lucky that we are together. The beutiful sunshine coating my brown skin with warmth as I dangle my feet in the water, I sip from the glass of roset, and Hunter is cozy in my lap. Relax. All is good in the world.

This is Shellie having a splash of a time back to you Bob at the studio!

Walk Don't Run

During Grandma Colleen’s visit my San Francisco perception broadened. The mere introduction to Stow Lake and the Arboretum (fancy word for botanical garden) added spark to my day. My walks mostly entailed Crissy Fields, Fort Funston, or Land's End. Change is always good! Aunt Nyra is a total walkaholic and privy to San Francisco strolling spots. She swore me to secrecy when she permitted the concealed parking spot to the lake. All secrets at my disposal, I felt dangerous, yet special. Smile.

We - Grandma Colleen, Jill, Aunt Nyra and Hunter- strolled a couple laps around the manmade lake. It was my first step to shaking this heavy thing called weight. It felt great to take in the fresh morning air amongst the fellow strollers. An onlooker was shaken up by a defenseless baby duck that was ravaged by a seagull. Honestly, I was more befuddled by the seagull being in Golden Gate park. Aunt Nyra in all her blessed sensitivity dismissed it as nature than later regretted her frank, but honest remark. If you had seen the cute ducklings innocently scaling the serene lake you too would sling shot the next seagull that crossed your path.

Aunt Nyra proceeded to navigate the group to the short cut that led to a flight of stairs and gradually opened to a path, leading to the DeYoung Museum as well as the botanical gardens. We had lunch at the museum and than ventured into the wild gardens. As small as it seems from the outside, the Arboretum is grand. I was never big into gardens until today. Wowza! It is an agricultural nerds wet dream! If not educational, certainly stunning! Paths cross into different areas that represent a region of the world’s and it’s indigenous plants. Aunt Nyra was in desperate search for the varietals of succulence, instead we dodged sprinklers like land mines. We opted to return back to the lake for more ass whipping workout.

Today, I am inspired. I was struck by the tranquility of the trees and the lake. I was overwhelmed by the animal life like the tiny turtles that nonchalantly sunbathed on the lonely log and the ducklings that waddled behind momma duck. I was amazed by the stoic crane that majestically stood alone in nature. I chuckled at the families that exhaustingly paddled the boats with no end in sight. Mostly, I was consumed by the joy that it was Hunter’s first time in Golden Gate park. A big shout out to my Aunt Nyra, Jill, and Grandma Colleen, "Thanks for a wonderful day!"

This is Shellie with not one dull moment to my name back to you Bob at the studio.

Feast or Family

My side of the family is just as sweet as an insane asylum. We function in dysfunction, it makes my life fun and interesting! I love them to death! That's why I moved hundreds of miles away! Chuckle. My blood pressure took a staggering leap as the days came closer to their arrival. It just so happens the Cadelinia's visit intersected with my nephews high school graduation. Double duper. I am over the moon to see mom. She's been driving a nail through me for decades when it comes to children. She persisted, knowing I had no potential candidates as a husband at the time. Albeit, I want her all to myself. I can't wait for her to traipse in with her sweet filipino jubilee goodness gop! I miss her! I shall have her all to myself. Ahem, I mean my son will.


My parents arrived around ten o’clock pm. Mom was even keel on the drive from the airport. She diligently inquired about Hunter and his behavior. Dad, in usual dad fashion, kept to himself. So far, so good.

Mom and Dad knocked on the door as we prepared for bed, "This is for Hunter. Put it in his savings." They both stood above him smiling. Dad caressed his cheeks and bid us good night. It was a hundred dollar bill. Shit on a shingle! They've figured out a way to get me all choked up! A hundred dollar bill from my parent's equates to a herd of cows, three dozen chickens, and twenty pigs in the days of old. Wow! Dad was a field laborer for the sugar plantation for decades bringing in an estimated $200 a month to support a family of ten. They sold produce at the farmers market and raised live stock to prevent us from starving. Powdered milk and a block of welfare cheese anyone? Being in their presence is always humbling. I don't how they did it! Heck mom can lasso a miracle when it comes to saving money. She always has money. Note to self, must be more like mom.

The next morning I was awaken by the curious sound of light paper shredding. I turned over and returned to sleep. I sat up in bed, an hour later, as Hunter snoozed next to me, there at the end of the bed sat a piece of B. Franklin's receding hairline. Gasp, Chloe had gotten her scrappy paws on the bill that was on the nightstand! Before my brain could scrape a bit of understanding of the situation, as much as I would have liked to splat her against the wall, I swiftly whapped that Bichon! Meanwhile, mom and dad peeked in their smiles and delight transformed to emotional arsenal, "What happened!" She was distraught, "Is that the money we gave Hunter?" I sullenly nodded. Dad continued in his silent bout, but his eyes said it all, he would rather had thrown Chloe against the wall and kicked her down the flight of stairs. I quickly scrambled to gather the pieces. To think, last night I boasted on how well behaved this white mop was.

I distracted them by handing Hunter over, "Here momma." Mom knew my tactic. I had to do something before it snowballed. Crap, all of the labor and work that went into that money. There was a gloom about the air, "You should give that dog away." Mom sliced through the awkward silence with her sensibilities, "What?" She shrugged her shoulders as she gently rubbed Hunter's back. It was the word according to mom. Dad remained statuesque enthralled by The Price is Right. The hellfire in his eyes had died down. If this had happened in the Cadelinia home, it would be fire and brimstone. Chloe would be first grade pâte.

Beside the money snafu, my siblings and their families were here! Yay! Our reunions revolved around feasting layered with laughter and idle gossip which entailed our brushes with childhood. A good time was to be had by all. Hunter was passed around the room with comparisons to his fellow cousins. Everyone clucking on his looks, "He looked a little like Robert when he was a baby." Chris, eldest, found the resemblance remarkable. "Nah, he looks like Zashtani." Darrell chimed in. "I think he looks like Uncle Shane! He's soo cute!" Little Alyssa jumped in unafraid to slug it with the adults. "He is so adorable." Sydney agreeed wholeheartedly with her little sister. In the corner of my eye, mom sat enjoying her room full of loved ones. Dad sat slouched with arms crossed resting his eyes.

I am super charged that Hunter is privileged to be part of the Cadelinia experience. As hectic as the Cadelinia's reunions can be and as crazy as we are, I embrace each sparse visit like catching a falling star. Family is vital. It is my heritage. It is who I am. Now I have one of my own. It's about time.

This is Shellie basking in the milky way of life back to you Bob at the studio!

Grandma's first visit

We gave ourselves a few weeks before we allowed any family to arrive. We wanted to make sure we had a rhythm to this new two step blitz, if that was even possible. Hunter, thus far, has been simply fantastic! I endured the spurts of feeding sessions throughout the night like a champion. I tolerate my husband's "I'm so tired" bit instead of going at him with a dull axe. The guy whines for getting six hours of sleep a night. He mocks me with his snoring as my eyes are peeled open to nurse at 3 o'clock in the morning. Can I get a "God Your Such a Dick" trophy for my loving husband? I could always use some extra help. What's a girl to do. Thank goodness for eager Grandmothers.

Grandmother Colleen was on her way from New York. Alas, a helping hand. Gramma Colleen couldn't wait to get here. She's been calling night and day and day and night and every where in between on the happenings of Hunter. What's he wearing? How many hats does he have? What kind of books does he have? How many times has he slept today? Has he pooped? How many hours have I slept? The questions just kept rolling off her tongue. Yikes! Easy there first time Grandmother your scaring the child.

Gramma Colleen arrived with a vengeance. Hunter is her first, but not last, grandchild. She was off her rocker absolutely thrilled with the boy that I thought her head was going to burst. She went papparazzi on Hunter, taking pictures of him like it was pay day, "Smile!" Her visit consisted of many poses and candids. It was pretty insane. She's been waiting a long time to meet the sweet angel.

Needless to say, Grandma Colleen had a great visit. She was ecstatic! She was at Hunter's side every nanosecond, but isn't that what grandmother's do? Styles is lucky to have a grandmother that adores him. She is all love. She is a wonderful mother full of good intentions. That's why she is such a perfect grandmother. In this day and age, it's a rarity. I couldn't ask for anything more.

This is Shellie pocketing her lucky stars back to you Bob at the studio.

Life is a Carnaval!

Hunter slumbered in his stroller as the parade flamboyantly marched by. It's May 26, 2007, and it's Hunter's first Carnaval celebration. We cheered with each passing float, enjoying the flashy costumes and dance. I was overjoyed to immerse Hunter in one of my favorite San Francisco events. I was enthralled by the brazilian music and dance. We were in the Mission! The main artery of the city. I love the Mission! I adore everything about it. It's versatility, the swarm of co-existence of all differences come to settle in refinement.

Jill and Greg hosted their first Carnival at their home. Their house sat on Bryant street which was a great stretch of the parade. The weather was chilly, and still the women danced in their frilly modest outfits. We followed the parade down to 18th street trying to catch the drum circles and dancers, but the density of the crowd thickened and our attention turned strictly towards alcohol. We made steadfast to Jill and Greg's to get this Carnival started.

I can't wait to the next few years when Hunter will be dancing to the beats of the drum circles. Smiling. Cheering. Laughing. As my husband and fellow male friends gawked on happily and freely at the beautiful backsides of the performers, the baby slept soundlessly in his stroller. It was beautiful to know that he too will experience this great enchantment in years to come.

This is Shellie nay nay on the brazilian ay back to you Bob at the studio!

The Art of Love and Nursing

Most of Hunter's waking moments are spent with my boobs. The boy is eager to eat! I don't know what all the books are saying, but as soon as he cries I feed the little sucker. It works for me. I'm sure it works for him. My constant nursing has me addicted to television with shows such as Top Chef, Hell's Kitchen, Weeds, the L Word and Entourage. My love affair with television is scandalous. My biggest sin is Law & Order SVU. It doesn't help when TNT and FX is broadcasting a Law & Order marathon. I'm hooked! Hiss to all you anti television advocates. What am I supposed to do while nursing? Read a book? Snooze. I love reading, but oddly enough, it's so arduous while Hunter's having his leche feast. Television is just easier to feed to.

You can blame it on my family. We had one television that was shared with seven boys. My television time consisted of sports, sports, and the occasional Benny Hill. I got up at 530am just to catch my Tom and Jerry. Other than that, I was outside playing with the neighbors. So in essence blame my childhood. I never got over it. I'm that kid that wasn't allowed to watch television, look at me now! I can't get enough of it. Word.

So back to the whole nursing gig. Besides having to wrack my brain around a shirt or blouse that allows the prisoners to accessibly bust out, it's entirely a whole new world. Can I just say awkward? Not in a feeding sense, but in a public arena. There's a whole gaggle of people that are against it, but gosh darn it! I'm not here to offend. I just need to feed the kid. It's challenging to keep'em covered. Thankfully, he's little enough that it's inconspicuous, but I've gotten to the point where I just want to whip it out. I've whipped the sucker out at home around close friends and family, I don't care any more. I know it's gross. I'm that big pink elephant in the room. Yowza.

This is Shellie trying to find some law in this disorder back to you Bob at the studio.

Happy 1 Week Old!!!

Shane's new venture as a business owner required his presence back at work on Tuesday. It's just Hunter and me in this big old house. At first, like all mothers, I didn't know what to expect. As the days passed, I realized that his dailies included lots of eating, sleeping, and diaper changes. He and Chloe had similar lifestyles.

As I have been branded a virgo, such enlightened organized beings. Yes, that's just a nice way of saying anal. I, a rare case, is a disastrously piggish slob. I've gotten a lot better in the past few years, thus I remain a mess. Until now. Maestro, please keep the orchestra down for a second. Suddenly, the thought of being solely responsible for another human being clicked my ass into gear. I am three, four steps ahead of the game when it comes to my son. Hunter's nursery and diaper bag is jam packed full of essentials. I amaze myself. Some would call it a miracle. I prefer to not be that parent that forgot to pack the diapers or a change of clothes. Just as well, I remain a ghastly unorganized lout, but my son, on the otherhand, has gotta it plush.

On my phone conversation with mom, she pleaded that I stay home for at least 30 days. Mom should know best, heck she's had ten kids. At the same time it's hard to turn mom down. I mean she's my mom! But, 30 days? Come on let's get real folks. I might as well preserve myself in a cave. Nonetheless, I gave her my word like the good daughter that I am, knowing deep in my heart that my words were flimsy. I think deep in mom's heart she knew my words were only to silence her worries.

No sooner than a squirrel cracks a nut, my promise to mom faded far and away. Hunter's first week entailed day trips to Target, Ross, Rainbow Grocery, Safeway, and Trader Joes. By the way, let's not forget my first experience with sushi, since Hunter's birth. Jill and Greg took us out on Hunter's first sushi date. Sorry mom.

Meanwhile, our neighbors brought over a bountiful platter of sausage and pasta. Kathy had a smorgasbord of charcuterie, baguette, hummus, and salsa messengered to the house along with gifts for Hunter. Our next door neighbor dropped off a gift certificate to Aperto. My sister dropped off some chicken and green papaya soup. The slew of dishes kept coming and all I had to say was praise the Lord! Are you kidding me? Prepared meals is so rock and roll! I am in debt to you all.

Happy! Happy! Joy! Joy! I can't believe it's been a week. A flippin' week! Time is just whippin' by. I'm still walking on air with every second of every moment, catching my breath has become a common occurence for me. He's a miracle! A week ago he was chillin' in my belly. Today my love for him grows deeper in my heart. Life is divine.

This is Shellie happier than a guppy in a toilet bowl back to you Bob at the studio!

Mother's Day

It was early morning and the sunlight burst softly through our orange curtains displaying a beautiful hue on our bed. There she was, Chloe licked Hunter's head. I shook Shane to witness the new phenomena. We were reluctant to have Chloe in bed with us, but we couldn't kick her out of bed. C'mon, we didn't want her to despise Hunter. It was a beautiful moment. It had only been his second day home, he was only five days old, and life was cohesive.

Today is Mothers Day. I recovered from my birth experience pretty swift. Well, to say the least, I could walk. Plus, the swelling downtown was non existent. We were committed to attend Mothers Day over Joel and Maxine's. They were throwing a party to introduce Hunter to our great group of friends. As much as I felt fine when I agreed to attend the party, I could easily retract and spend the day in bed. Any normal new mother would have thrown a fit and chose the latter. I know it is insane to consider attending an event, considering that Hunter's only five days old and we've only been home from the hospital in two days. Besides, I didn't feel pretty nor fit to be seen by friends. I could spit on those female celebrities that make motherhood look so unrealistic with their perfect hair, face, weight, and abdominals. I curse you Brooke Burke most of all. Sorry for the tangent, but I thought I would feel better if I shout it out. Ugh and my legs! Oh the agony, my ankles were swollen. Bloated. Water retention. I had pigs feet!

Thankfully, they lived a block away from home. We strolled over with the new bugaboo. Meow did we feel fancy! Joel and Maxine really know how to throw a bash. I was beside myself. The Bleskacecks (I think I just mangled their name, my apologies) are very generous and warm hearted family. I can say that from the bottom of my heart. Maxine, mother of two, had prepared such a beautiful spread. A gourmet feast! Meanwhile, their kitchen looked like someting out of Martha Stewart magazine. Her dining table was beautifully decorated with several uber-gourmet dishes all home made like her fritatta, cupcakes, garbanzo salad, a barbecue platter that just would not run empty! We were greeted with excited smiles and big hugs from everyone. Hunter was being passed around like a bottle of good wine as I narrarated my birth triumph while sipping an endless glass of roset.

The party finished in the living room as the Golden State Warriors were in the playoffs. The last time they were in the playoffs the Osmonds had a tv show. I wasn't sure. Hunter slept through four quarters of screaming and yelling at mind blowing decibels. It was the first time I witnessed that my son was apt to noise! My plan had worked. During my pregnancy, I deliberately blared music at ear bleeding levels so he would comply to it in the real world. He was lull to noise. I just didn't want to be that mom that always "shussh" and tip toe. That is annoying!

I tucked Hunter in bed. I watched his little chest rise and fall. Shane had also gone to bed. My life was brand new. A second chance. It was fantastic! Like breathing fresh air. Motherhood was a dream. I am in love with Hunter. I am in love with Shane. I am in love with life. Happy Mothers Day to you all.

This is Shellie from the height of my soul back to you Bob at the studio.

Home is Sweet

We were escorted from the recovery floor down to the car. We were finally released from St. Lukes. Thank god! I couldn’t wait to be home. I haven’t been out, since Monday and to breathe the fresh Cesar Chavez air was a dream! Geeze, I never thought I’d say that in a million years. The car was packed with bouquet of balloons and flowers as we strapped junior in the car seat. I didn’t fret at the new coat of bird droppings on the X5, I was home bound. Hunter began to wail, sounded remarkably like a kitten’s meow, the entire way home.

We entered our driveway as a balloon the size of King Kong’s eyeballs read congratulations was tied to the doorknob. It was from fellow rascal and neighbor Randall. It brought a smile to our face. We’ve lived in Potrero Hill, Mississippi to be exact, for two years and we were treated as lepers. We were shunned with the cold shoulder. Well except for the hip gay guy and the other married couple that lives next door.

Flashback: Next door neighbors Mélange and Helen, yes they’re gay, invited us to their daughter’s (adopted from Guatemala) two year birthday party. We just moved into the neighborhood and thought why not? This was a chance to get to know our neighbors. It was the usual birthday party with a pack of rabid sugar frenzied children scrambling around like they’re brain was on fire. We mingled with the well behaved parents sipping our wine. I made Shane promise that he would not leave my side, but he was swept away by the handsome gay couple.

Alone and scared, a group of parents quickly closed in on me like robots. They dropped with the guillotine of a question, “Do you have kids?” I replied with an understandable, “oh no, but we’re planning to soon.” Smug smirks and sighs, my uncomfortable bones shivered in their dissapointment. Well, that was my queue to let’s get the hell out of this stepford scene. No more than a quick second, Shane upset a mother by exclaiming that her beautiful daughter looked just like our friends daughter, “it was uncanny!” Well, every mother does not want to hear that there’s another kid out there that looks just like her angel!

As I steadily walked up the front steps with stitches in tact, I wondered if the neighbors would finally acknowledge our presence. Would the stepfords come walking out of their doors with fresh baked goods to congratulate the little guy? Would I have to ward them off with garlic and holy water? Who cares! I was home with my family and I couldn’t wait to see how Chloe would behave around the new addition.

This is Shellie from her casa to your casa back to you Bob at the studio!

Starstruck

My chest felt like a race horses galloping to the finish. It is a little after midnight and I can’t wait for the nurse to bring Hunter back into the room. Shane snores like a broken buzz saw on the pull out couch. I, on the other hand, can’t sleep. I anticipate Hunter’s return from the nursery. The nurse finally parks his cart next to my bed. His closed eyelids flutter in dreams. Peaceful. Tears stream down my face. I wonder what he dreams about or does he dream at all? I find it difficult to breath. Effortlessly, I am helpless by his charm.

In a whip and a snap, I was a mother. Heck, it was a mind trip to consider myself a mother. I was having one of those moments. You know one of those pathetically uncontrollable sobby sappy moments. I was highly unqualified and unprepared for this powerfully catastrophic connection. As the television buzz with Law and Order, I am emotionally disordered in awe. I am inspired. I am in love. My eyes explore his gentle existence, his gentle fragile being a mesh of both Shane and me. His chest rise and fall with each inhale. His hands smooth tiny. The stillness of his black hair and his perfectly arched eyebrows, he is adorable. He softly purses his pouty lips, triggering those magical dimples. He is sweetness fortified with heaven and honey butter. Romantic. His presence brings me to my knees. Like magic he brings light to the dark corners of my soul. He softens the jagged edges that life has hardened. I am humble in his existence. He brings rhyme, song, chorus to my life.

This is Shellie trying to get a grip, instead I am a blabbering blub of sap back to you Bob at the studio.

Aftershock

We were wheeled into the recovery room on the fifth floor as the midwife strolled Hunter in his own little glass cart. There he was truth and innocence. So beautiful. Just yesterday he was a big bump in my belly. I couldn’t wait to see him, but my eyes were boulder heavy. I felt like I just returned from a bloody ax battle. My body numb, my head ached, my brain dead. Deliriously content. I looked up at Shane from my wheelchair and smiled. I was ready for bed.

I awoke hours later to flowers, celebrity smut literature, Godiva chocolates. Our cell phones were filled with well wishes and best congrats. Woe is me, a catheter from the epidural protruded from me like a sick joke. It didn’t hurt at all, but that plastic prosthetic device was pretty sci-fi. Gulp, I was scared straight with the thought of going number two. Especially after the stitches, but thank god for stool softeners, ice packets, and ibuprofen.

Gestational diabetes confined us to the hospital another two days. They needed to make sure that the diabetes was under control. In those two days, came a flurry of friends and family to see the heavily anticipated Hunter. I was fine with that except I just wished I was invisible. All the pushing had my face swollen not to mention my legs; I’m surprised my capillaries in my eyeballs didn’t explode. I was Violet Beauregarde from Willy Wonka. Lord almighty. I felt like I could float, float away like a bloating blimp into oblivion. I had to remind myself that it wasn’t about me. Smile.

Vanessa and Anthony, who accidentally found my pregnancy test, has been with us from the very beginning, cheering us on and supporting Hunter with gifts and cards. I mean Vanessa’s been enraptured by the pregnancy, she’s been such a sweetheart. Along with the usual suspects, Angela and KJ, Kurt and Sophia, Alex and Beth, Aunt Nyra, Laurie, Sydney, Alyssa, Shawn, Neil, and Mark. The hospital staff was astounded by the outpour of visitors. I’m thrilled to bits that Hunter is surrounded by positive individuals. He has a lot to look forward to.

This is Shellie awaiting the removal of my catheter back to you Bob at the studio!

It's a Boy!Hunter Styles Kitchen

As the baby lay on my chest, the room glowed with hugs and congratulations. “Hey guys, what is it? The gender?” Everyone laughed, “Wha? You didn't hear? It’s a boy!” I knew it! I silently wished for a boy as I thought it would only be fit, if our future children had a big brother to look up to. I mean we were content on any gender, but secretly I wanted a boy. Smile.

I stated in my birth plan that Shane catch the baby…that didn’t happen, as his confidence in playing catcher was as large as a wheat germ, yet he did participate in the cutting of the umbilical. For a split second there, I witnessed tears from my sweet husband, but not soon enough because he was back on his cell phone making calls to his family and friends telling stories of exhaustion and hardship which made the nurses burst into laughter. He relived the experience as if he was the one that gave birth.

I will relieve you of all after birth details which entailed stitches, cussing, pushing, numbing, and placenta. Gulp. Exactly, that’s all you need to know.

He weighed in at 6 lbs 11 oz and 19 inches long. I scuff at you doctors who were certain the baby would be the size of a galloping watermelon due to the gestational diabetes. He was healthy. I was happy. Shane was happy. The sun kissed the window outside, but there was nothing brighter than our beautiful newborn boy.

This is Shellie wishing I could bottle this exhilarating moment back to you Bob at the Studio.

Push it. Push it Real Good!

After being couped up in a room the size of a shoe box, I was wheeled to a larger room that was labeled delivery. The drugs had silenced my pain, hence I could be sliced and minced with a ginsu knife and I would remain in bliss. I was ready to meet Kitchstar. It was time.

“How are you feeling?” My sister inquired meanwhile today was her birthday. I apologized for having to spend her 50th birthday potentially staring at me with my legs spread. It’s definitely not what I would wish anyone on their 50th anything. Shane sat at my side reading his novel. We were waiting for instruction from the midwife and doctor. There was a peaceful calm that stirred in the room. We were in the eye of the storm.

We were shooting to have Kitchstar before midnight as it was not only my sister’s birthday, but a few close friends including our Bichon Frise. Personally, I didn’t want the baby to share anyone else’s birthday, but that’s just me. It was almost one o’clock in the morning. The midwife prepared me to push by prefacing proper instructions like upon a contraction to breathe in through your nose, but hold your breath and push like your pooping. It sounded simple as Duncan Hines frosting. I was ready. I felt strong. The lights were dim and the room was quiet.

Pushing seemed simple alright, but I never realized that I was an uncoordinated ox. It was hard enough for me to keep my breathing in tact, I could breathe through my nose, but that’s as far as I got. I would have to start all over, because I was exhaling while pushing which in the pushing world is a no-no. On top of everything else, I was pushing with the wrong muscle. The midwife reminded me of my errors enough times that I could spit in her face. So much for my kegle exercises, it came in handy as group of midgets at a tea party. So much for my prenatal pilates, my prenatal yoga, and all the hours spent on the elliptical. I was doomed to hell!

My blood pressure, my blood sugar, my pitocin increase, my decrease of epiduro mingled in my veins like a block party. The lights were soft and dim, a damp towel cooled my forehead, an oxygen mask regulated my breathing. Subsequent to being told that my birthing was the most calm in world history, the spiritual experience was broken by the bright lights and the order of business. Pushing was the real business and my contractions became painfully apparent, I begged for more epiduro like a fiend. But I was denied. Instead, I was rewarded with a nice bag of cold ice to bring the swelling down. I didn’t feel any swelling, evidently I was swollen as a bloated pig down there. I was recommending to take a thirty minute break, but I couldn’t sit through another series of contractions without pushing. They were insane!

The pain was a pain unlike any other, tears and fear were one with contraction. I should be excited, but I couldn’t see past the moment. It came in waves and I was supposed to push with every incoming contraction. I could not see the light at the end of the tunnel, but my husband and siblings could see farther past I could feel. “Your almost there!” Everyone cheered from the sidelines, but I was exhausted. Tired. I felt failure. I felt myself failing. Falling. I can really see eye to eye with Sisyphus, because all this pushing was going no where. I was exasperated. I wanted out. As I pushed on the fourth hour my sister mentioned that the sun was rising. The mere mention that the sun was rising made me throw the oxygen mask off and forfeit this whole birth gig. It had been a grueling journey. I pushed hard, but not hard enough. Someone put the oxygen mask back on and slopped a wet towel on my forehead. Suddenly, the cheering got louder, “push, push, push!” The doctor grooved her hands somewhere down there making way for Kitchstar. Dr. Birmingham’s calm voice like she lured the newborn into the light. In the meantime, I screamed with all my might and propelled Kitchstar from me! I think I heard something about his shoulders coming through...ouch...with the instant pain of a rip, the baby was on my chest.

This is Shellie with a face streaming with tears and a newborn on my chest back to you Bob at the Studio.

Let the Games Begin

I was scheduled for an induction on Monday. As there has been an abnormal wave of births at St. Luke’s my abduction has been pushed back five days. If I have any say in the future and it is this…just say no to inductions. Yikes! I was confined to the bed and 18 hours later, a good deal of morphine, 4 cervix checks later, my water broke. Break it did! “Pop!” It was a sound that produced a gush of liquid from between my legs. My eyes widened as I instantly screeched, “My water broke!” Shane’s been on his cell to the outside world conveying the play by play to friends and family. The ball was rolling and I had Shane and my two sisters at my side. I was a bit guilty as they had taken time off to be at my side and a day was wasted on ripening my cervix.

Pitocin. Oh thy vile inducer! My veins pumped that poison to regulate contractions and with every contraction, preceded water. I was a sloppy mess. Furthermore, my contractions began to quicken and with that quicken came lower back pain. Coercing my body to produce this baby was unnatural. At the same time, I was relieved as the last week had born subtle stretch marks on my lower belly. Ah, the vanity. Smile.

The lower back pain increased and finally, I pleaded for an epiduro. All I remember was carefully being instructed to curl my spine so the anesthesiologist insert the needle into my spine. Upon future contractions, I was to keep silent and still during the procedure. Shane, my crutch, assisted me in this process. In the midst of the procedure, I could feel the pang of a contraction beginning to unfold …so I stuttered, “a contraction is starting.” “Just breathe with me.” Shane instructed, “Look into my eyes and just breathe with me.” Meanwhile, Shane went pale, if I didn’t know any better I think he was on the verge of fainting. Following the procedure, he admitted the sight of blood shooting from my spine made him ill. It was over in five minutes. The magic drug was in full play. Praise god! Praise the lord! Praise! Praise.

I was perfect now. I felt great! I went back to bed! I felt heavenly. Ten o’clock rolled around and another cervix check later and I was 8 centimeters. It was time to push.

This is Shellie scared poopless to push back to you Bob at the Studio.

Final Countdown

Today, may be the big day! I go in for my final ultra sound which will lead to my induction. For the past few weeks, I’ve been working aggressively with my acupuncturist to ripen my cervix via herbs and needles. I know it all sounds like a scientific experiment, but like I’ve said before not a huge fan of western medicine. Instant gratification i.e. pills scare the hell out of me. Thanks to eastern medicine, several Braxton Hicks, contractions, assisting in the ripening of my cervix resulting in effacing and dilating.

It’s been a long road considering my gestational diabetes and all the havoc it wreaked. Furthermore, I’ve had enough of bed rest, talk shows, and chick flicks. Huh, I never thought I’d ever admit such horror! We’re so, to say the least, ecstatic! I’ve had enough of my weeble wobble stride. I have to roll out of sitting position which has put a dagger in my vulnerability. Besides, stretch marks are starting to wall the bottom of my belly, although for all the girlish fuss I’ve made, they’re not that bad. I can deal with the subtleties.

After Kitchstar is born….Note to self:
1. Devour the box of 16 piece nuts and chews Godiva Chocolates.
2. Beg for Patron silver chilled up.
3. Ask for another Patron silver chilled up.

Before I close, I would like to thank the academy…kidding…Tracy Massillon for all of her insight and referrals to making this pregnancy magical. I would also like to thank my superb husband Shane for always being the foundation of my happiness, despite my confessions on this blog. Finally, I would like to thank my family and friends for all your generous support. You have made my first pregnancy memorable. Sniffle.

Think well thoughts today as this may be my final entry as the coolest pregster…until the next pregnancy…

This is Shellie scared poopless to push, but excited as hell to meet my creation, back to you Bob at the Studio.

Happy! Happy! Joy! Joy!

Apologies and groveling followed last night’s debacle. His canine acuteness was in full effect as soon as he awoke sober in an empty bed. If I had gone into labor and my husband was abosolutely tanked, hence driving myself to the hospital, he would’ve had a screaming demon on his nut sack and I would’ve committed possible manslaughter. I had a bullet proof reason for my disappointment.

Followed by a spout of apologies, I pardoned his juggling brainless act. What’s the use? I led him into the lion’s den by sending him over to Joel’s house. What did I expect? An evening of saintly prayers and psalm? Psssshh…not. Shrug. He snuck me out to Mavericks for brunch. Food it makes my heart flutter with fondness. I love brunch and I love food. Besides, it was a super sunny day, and I have been in a rest pod for what seems to be ten thousand life times.

Paradise wasn’t crumbling. It was just the walls of my patience. If we didn’t disagree, than we really wouldn’t be normal now would we? How is our relationship to seek heights of improvement, if we were stagnant. Perhaps, Shane has had it good for too long. He needed to be shaken (a little) and not stirred.

This is Shellie from the arms of her husband back to you Bob at the studio.

Paradise Crumbles

Today my acupuncturist proceeded to aggressively induce as the doctors will be inducing next week. Believe me, inducing through herbs and acupuncture is more pleasant than western medicine. Basically, my water could break any time now. I am in hatch mode! Shane rolled in half past midnight after I placed a phone call to wrangle his ass home from Joel’s house. They were enjoying a celebratory night from the Golden State Warriors win over the Dallas Mavericks. As I am due any day now, I thought it would be nice that he watch the game at a friend’s house a few blocks away. Under the condition that he be home before midnight, call in and check up on me, and go easy on the booze as he may have to drive me to the hospital.

Instead, he strolls in with not a care in the world as I am profusively infuriariated, fuming from every pore of my body. Have I been too lenient? I am fully pumped with hormones and I have yet to take a bite out of the mood swing cake. My husband is completely clueless when it comes to pregnancy. I have to remind him that my case it’s abnormal. My emotions have not been sporadic. I have not gouged his eyes out for eating a carrot stick to loud. I have not burst into bouts of crying over a bottle of olive oil. I have not suffered heart burn, acid reflux, or constipation. I have been happy as a humming bird considering my diabetes. He is clueless as to the authentic symptoms of a pregnant woman.

I proceed to lash him with the third degree, yet his slurred response is, “What’s your problem? Why are you pissed?” I could’ve have tossed him off the top floor deck into the backyard. Yes sir. I blacked out in anger. I excused myself from the bedroom, to put it nicely. There’s no use in conversing with a drunken babbling monkey. I couldn’t tolerate his presence. I have given this man complete party privileges during the past nine months and the one time I want him be responsible, it backfires. Typical. Just my luck, you can't train a dog to stop sniffing ass. Is it my fault? Is it my fault for being so easy going? Is it my fault for being self-reliant?

Maybe I should have played victim and allowed him to pamper me during the pregnancy. Now that I have swollen into buoyant proportions and unable to navigate easily, he still wants me to cook him dinner. That is my life. I have spoiled my husband and this is the hell I have created. I feel trampled. Used. Because he has been insensitive, during the entire pregnancy. He has not showered me kindness, nor sympathized with me in the past nine months. Sob. Note to self: being easygoing has it’s downside. I hate to say it, but paradise is in trouble.

This is Shellie coming to you from the living room couch, I bid you good evening or in this case good morning.

Rest

Sadly, my entries have dwindled, since my recent scare. I would love to indulge in the daily of my pregnancy dallies, but my bed keep dictates my thoughts. I am held hostage to the television. Have you had the luxury to enjoy morning television? It's chockful of nonsense. Thank god for cable and DVD(s). Perhaps, I could retire to a good novel, but my attention span is the size of a germ. Writing has always been my safe outlet and without writing means well failure. Fray.

Here I lay in the comfort of my bed looking out of my bedroom deck into an exquisite day as Chloe begs to spend the day with me. She proceeds towards the bedroom deck where she lays on her stomach and spreads out on all four sets of paws like a fuzzy white rug. There she is my sweet Bichon. Will she love Kitchstar when it arrives? Will they be best friends? Will she care for the baby? I am filled with uncertainty as Chloe requires an ample amount of attention from Shane and me. She’s good with children, but will she be just as sweet with our own?

I should take Chloe to Fort Funston for a nice walk, but my condition refutes my desire. I went from yoga, pilates, and an hour at the gym to resigning to bed rest. I always found the need to exert all this restless energy, but I’m sure I could exert it elsewhere in my life. Maybe that’s the problem with us Americans, we are stuck in the gridlock of the hurly burly of life. Maybe it’s not Americans, maybe it’s just me. It’s all for the best as one could never get too much rest. Right?

This is Shellie from the billowing eight hundred thread count sheets bidding you to enjoy the beautiful sunny day.

Name is Forever

What’s in a name? Authenticity? Sophistication? Blame? Our name list originated six months into the pregnancy, but we put a delay on the task, because we could not come into agreement. Unfortunately, a few weeks from the due date and the heat strikes hot. I suspect we should have a substantial grasp on a few names. Giggle. I thought that Shane, my dear husband, was the most persuasive person provided proper cogent coaxing, cough…not this time…cough.

The pressure is on to selecting the name that shall snug Kitchstar suitably. Shane and I have crossed swords on names. It has been pure warfare. Digging our daggers in one’s favor for a name. Shane’s reasonable response, “I went to school with a kid with that name and he constantly ate his boogers. I'm not naming our kid after a kid that ate his boogers.” Curious how our childhood become vivid and raw during this process. Furthermore, the unknown gender to Kitchstar’s has made the process a smidge complicated. Therefore, our long jumbled list of girls, boys, and neutral names has been revised a too many times over. We have agreed that family, religion, and traditional names are restricted from the list. Worse, boys’ names are toilsome like searching the world for the Holy Grail! Perusing the name books have proven to be useless. These books with names that are sorted by categories such as wealthy, nerdy, political, and popular, to say the least, we found repugnant.

Shellie's Proverb: A book with blank pages can not be read.

Meanwhile friends voraciously probe us on names as we embarrassingly admit that we…gulp…haven’t agreed on one. Our name list was a simple gesture of attempt. Occasionally, I would like to rule out Shane’s opinions by utilizing the “I’m carrying your child for 9 months, therefore…” excuse, but I don’t have the guts. I’m sure it’s been done, but I’d rather come to a decision that we can acknowledge.

Coincidentally, we were subjects of old time media. Shane, named after the John Wayne movie and Shellie, after the notable actress Shelley Winters. What are we really searching for in a name? I would prefer Kitchstar avoid any name taunting on the playground. Is that possible? In the end, kids will be kids and will find any reason to tease no matter how what the name.

The fact that we are responsible for labeling Kitchstar’s name frightens the shivers out of me. Moreover, finding a name that Shane and I can come to adore is like two rams battling the weaker off a jagged cliff. In the end, we did decide that upon Kitchstar’s arrival, so shall the name like watching a glowing apricot colored sun rise and knowing that it will be an exquisite sunny day.

Lesson: A wise grasshopper must not judge his enemy by his sword, but by his name.