Monthly Archives: March 2013

I Fell Down and a Baby Popped Out.

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In that order, but it took a whole day to achieve my life’s greatest accomplishment.

In 1981, March 23 fell on a Monday.

The day before…
 I took my dogs, Beowulf and Sabrina, out for an early morning walk.

My mom was going to come over around noon and take me shopping — see, that’s where I get it from!

It was a full week past my due date and those pesky Braxton Hicks contractions were terrifying me on a daily basis. My mom was the head RN of Women’s Surgical at a local hospital. She thought a bit of retail therapy (see what I mean?) would take my mind off of that discomfort.

At that time, my son’s dad and I lived in an older part of San Diego; Hillcrest. The sidewalks were deteriorated with huge cracks and fissures.

With my big belly full of Angel Boy blocking my view, I tripped and fell — not hard — but with sixty extra pounds on my normally one hundred pound frame, I was more than a little ungainly.

I remember being super embarrassed for anyone to watch my feeble attempts to get up. Luckily, no one was out that early. I leaned on Beowulf (one-hundred-pounds of Akita/Husky/Wolf) who stood about thirty inches at his shoulders, and he was a sturdy support to help me up.

I continued walking home — just a few blocks — and didn’t think much about my fall, but I did tell my mom when she picked me up to go to the mall.

She knew everything there was to know about birthin’ babies.

She reminded me that she had told me a zillion times not to go walking alone this late in pregnancy, but I replied like I always did, “Blah, blah, blah…I’m not listening to a word you say.”

We stopped at a lingerie shop and she bought me a beautiful rosebud sprigged shortie nightgown.

As we were leaving the store, I whispered to her, “Mom, I think I wet my pants.”

(Dumb me, who had read every single book ever written about pregnancy and childbirth, didn’t comprehend what had happened.)

My mom instantly went into what we always called her “nursey” mode.

Quizzing me non-stop about any other symptoms in a very calm voice, we cut short our shopping day (darn) and drove home.

I don’t want to be too gross here; let’s just say other things were leaking out of me, too…

Suddenly, those Braxton Hicks contractions became the real thing.

I called my doctor. It was time.

All during my pregnancy, I had planned to deliver at home, au natural, with my mom as midwife.

Toward the end, it became obvious that my Angel Boy was too big for that to be possible.

I hate hospitals.

I didn’t want that atmosphere to be the first memories implanted in my baby’s precious brain. With reluctance, I agreed that his health was more important than my hippie chick desires, and hubs, mom, and I all went to the hospital.

The doc examined me, concluded that the fall had merely torn the amniotic sac and the potential for introducing bacteria was a concern, so I agreed to let him completely puncture it to speed up the process.

And oh yes, speed it up it did. The mild contractions intensified.

Other than the unrelenting pain, which didn’t respond to that stupid Lamaze class training, I remember my son’s dad watching “Patton” on the wall TV in the birthing room.

I will always hate him for that.

After being in labor all night, my mom and the doc had a consultation.

Apparently, my baby had a head the size of Plymouth Rock and it was stuck.

It just wouldn’t come out.

I was so upset I couldn’t stop crying.

I had failed my first test as a mom.

So…at 9:42 a.m. on Monday, March 23, 1981, I had an emergency Caesarean Section.

I was wide awake and watched it all.

In the end, I guess it didn’t really matter how my Angel Boy got here.

He was beautiful and healthy; 8 1/2 pounds and 21 inches. He scored a 9 on the Apgar Scale; a high achiever from the beginning!

Happy 33rd birthday, Professor Angel Boy!

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Breaking News: See-Through Yoga Pants From Lululemon

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Listen up, ladies!

Do I hear a WTF? A what-what?

Even in the midst of body conscious Suthern Caly-forn-eye-A, we who aspire to the “forever young” mantra know what yoga pants mean. They mean we don’t have to always think about holding it in, they mean we can EAT, they mean it HIDES imperfections and flaws while we are in pursuit of perfection, they mean we can — for the duration of the wearing of yoga pants –NOT be self-haters or ashamed of our silhouette in the reflection of a shop window.

At least that’s what yoga pants did for me. Until now, that is.

see through yoga pantDid you think that all the attention you were getting at the gym or the grocery store or running errands was because your beauty was shining though and the universe was responding to your inner goodness and wit and intelligence?

WELL…maybe that’s true, but it could also have been this. Lululemon is recalling some of their yoga pants because of a teensy weensy transparency “issue”.

Yup, you can see through ’em.

yogapantrecallYour (and my own) overpriced and overhyped little Lululelmon logo embellished workout wear lets it all hang out for the world to see.

According to a Lululemon company statement, the recall is due to “the coverage… resulting in a level of sheerness in some of our women’s black Luon bottoms that falls short of our very high standards.”

LOL.

The transparent pants, which resulted in a recall of 17% of product, are the fourth quality-control issue that Lululemon has had this year.

For the outrageous price of a Lululemon product, would it be too much to expect that they’re well-made?

Seventy percent of their clothing is manufactured in third-world countries with factories in China, Taiwan, South Korea, South America, Israel, Indonesia, Thailand and Vietnam.

The Lululemon website explains, “Global economic forces…have shifted manufacturing to more cost-attractive locations and resulted in closures of some domestic factories.”

Good times, y’all!

Instead of using the goddess-given benefits of Spandex to crunch and smash together all my cellulite into one hot tight mass of “muscle”, everything I DON’T want the world to see is OUT THERE. I’ve been OUTED.

Hell, even I don’t want to see that cottage cheese on the back of my legs. Now I have to be stressed out that YOU can see it, too?

And what’s worse? My confession? I don’t wear underpants under my workout gear. I hate  panty lines; they just bother me. Now I learn that it’s all on display and I never knew it.

Apparently I’ve been giving it away for free, as my mom would have said. Not only my butt, my cellulite, and my C-section scar, but — oh joy –you can discover whether I’ve had a full Brazilian OR NOT.

i’m ashamed to say that I bought into the hype —which is huge in SoCal — and I’m gonna march myself right on to the Lululemon shop in La Costa at The Forum and hand them back so I can get my $79.00 plus tax put back on my credit card and hippity hop over to Target and buy several new very densely packed yoga/workout pants for about $25.00 each. A much better bargain and my girly parts and cellulite will stay private.

image-via-funnydictionary.com_-300x213I read online about several different girls who attempted to return a pair of pants at Lululemon and were forced to wear them and bend over to show that it was sheer to the employee.

That is so crazy. Crazy, crazy, crazy.  I think you prolly have a very good picture of what would happen if a salesperson insisted I bend over.

CHICK FIGHT CHICK FIGHT CHICK FIGHT! 

Lululemon blames the manufacturere who says in response..”All shipments to Lululemon went through a certification process which Lululemon had approved. All the pants were manufactured according to the requirements set out in the contract with Lululemon,” [Eclat Chief Financial Officer Roger Lo.]

christine Day, CEO LululemonLululemon CEO Christine Day replaced Lululemon founder Chip Wilson in 2007. Before that, she was an executive at Starbucks. She has been criticized for growing the company too fast with a resulting loss of quality.

I don’t want to put the hate on a woman at the helm of anything, but I think women in positions of ultimate power have a tendency to model themselves after males in similar positions and forget the wonderfulness of our gender.

Don’t try to mimic a male; instead, be the best HUMAN you can be.