War of images

Have you ever felt like you were being pulled every which way and no matter what you did, you were not doing the right thing? That’s kind of how I’ve felt on this new adventure with Little Ring – image wise. Seriously, the journey towards him and the journey with him has been an honest to goodness war of images. You see, all throughout my pregnancy I was given a hard time by doctors, nurses, acquaintances, and complete strangers for the amount of weight I was gaining (39 pounds in total and I delivered 3 weeks early. I’m not gonna lie, I looked like I had a giant yoga ball strapped to the front of me… but being called Tubs by a co-worker, not cool.) And then, shortly after Little Ring arrived, I started getting the complete opposite kind of comments on how great I looked for just having a …

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The life of a pregnant T-1 chick

Thank you everyone for your congratulations and well wishes; the last couple months have been a whirlwind of excitement and trepidation… and specialists appointments. Oh man, have there been a lot of those. In fact, it was in the ER that I first found out about the little thumb-sucking alien baby growing inside me. Remember this? Remember a couple months back when Mario and I were out running and the cement demons latched onto my ankles causing me to do a perfect 10.0 face first dive into the cement, and how Mario suspected a dislocated shoulder? And how, when he suggested the hospital, I completely freaked out? It’s not odd that I would freak out given that hospitals totally wig me out in general, but this time it wasn’t because of that. It was because I was worried about getting an x-ray. A reenactment of the dive. See, I had …

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Disease up for grabs

Diabetes, YOU SUCK!!! It’s not often you’ll hear me whining about my disease, sure it’s not the most fun disease to have, and it is a bit of an inconvenience, and as a kid I hated it, but compared to other things, it’s not the end of the world, so I try and make the best of it. I mean it’s not going away right, so there’s no real point in spilling tears over it. But, then again, there are times when the damn thing just out and guts you. And for seven months now, the knife has been poking me, jabbing me, taunting me. Today, it full on broke the skin. Having diabetes, you’d think, would be punishment enough, that the gods would look more favourably on me when it came to other viruses and diseases because I’ve already suffered, right. Wrong. At 18, I was put on two …

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