Pink is not a part of my life.
Pink is not a part of my life.
*****
5 years ago this month…
I dreamed of fluffy tutu’s, head swallowing bows and plastic jewels. I could see her sweet white blonde curls, large blue eyes, dressed up in princess costumes and tea parties with stuffed animals. I expected to be annoyed with little hands in my make- up drawer and feet tripping around the house in my heels. I saw a sassy little thing, hands on her hip.
I saw my life, like a little story book and I loved it. There was a yearning in my heart inexpressible and secret.
“What did we tell you last month?” asked the ultrasound technician, a halting hesitation in her voice.
I stared at what my untrained eye could clearly see should not be there. Even without the foreign words pounding and echoing in my occupied brain my heart stopped. Like a pop of a balloon everything burst and changed, I felt raw.
The file said “girl” with a question mark beside it from the last ultrasound… funny because they didn’t tell me about the question mark. I felt like I lost a baby, as though they told me the heart beat had stopped for my baby girl and suddenly there was an alien boy in her place.
I left the hospital, tears streaming down my face, thinking of the pink things I’d already purchased. The confusion and guilt I felt pounded through my body and I kept touching my belly apologizing for my disappointment. I was scared that I would somehow harm my new baby boy.
I wondered how people felt when they had a baby of the opposite sex from what they were told in the hospital! At least I had a few months warning here…
A kind friend took me shopping the next day and we picked out an outfit together… for a little boy. It was a weird and empty feeling that was both confusing and guilt fostering. I grieved, took a deep breath and moved on.
Today.
I now have two boys and wouldn’t change it for anything. They are crazy, draining and perfect. I love their energy, life and insanity. They are not still, quiet or able to be taken to a restaurant. I can’t imagine it any other way.
and I love it.
In which I almost knocked over an elder in my church (while wearing amazing heels…)
I love heels. If you follow me on Twitter, Facebook or Instagram you may have saw a picture of some killer heels that I wore recently. I got them at a thrift store and they were exactly the brand and PRICE I was wanting.
Now I feel sassy, grown-up and classy wearing them with my skinny jeans. I’ve met my first goal of my New Year, New You series that I’m writing about in my Exercise Nothings tab- I didn’t really talk about it but my goal was to fit comfortably in my jeans that I had muffin-topped out of over the summer and fall.
Starting to run had multiple goals, the first of which was to re-fit myself in my jeans…. Since I’ve really not lost that much weight, getting into my jeans is pretty encouraging since it shows I’ve lost inches. (shooting myself that I didn’t measure myself before starting to exercise!)
THAT BEING SAID, I got dressed and went to church. My church is the type that jeans are ok in… which is great with me because it’s cheaper to go to a casual church. I love my church and the random, eclectic people that attend. I love the large influx of college students in the spring and fall. It makes the atmosphere different. I enjoyed the sermon, the challenges and the worship music.
After the service, while the band still was playing, an elder of our church came up to me and gave me a hug. He is a grandfatherly type, full of hugs and encouragement. I leaned over to embrace him and lost my footing in my high heels… grabbed on to him, clinging and felt him loose his balance too. We slowly leaned back- with complete eye contact- about to collapse into the chairs behind us… it was in slow motion… I felt myself teetering more and more and images flashed through my head of sprawling out on the floor, knocking over chairs and the elder breaking his hip or leg… ohhh and Ben would never let me live this down…
and somehow, and I’m not sure if an angel swooped in or what but suddenly we were standing upright, awkwardly chucking. We separated and made polite chit-chat for a few minutes. Wanting to slap myself in the forehead as he walked away, I noticed his wife was also wearing high heels and wondered if this ever happened to her… probably not, she has that aura of class that I hope and pray to achieve some day!!! 
To some, this may serve as a cautionary tale to NOT to wear your super high stiletto heels… but for me, the risk comes with the reward of the almost 5 extra inches and feeling of accompanying sass. Ohhhhh yes, it’s worth it.
