The Full Monty

Let's be honest.  As a stay-at-home mom there are certain gifts from people that can really make a difference in your life.

• Gift certificate to a nice restaurant?  Not so much.  You never go anywhere and even if you were able to treat yourself to a night out at a nice restaurant they would probably turn you away at the door because of their no sneakers and no sweatpants policy.

• Gift certificate to a nail salon?  Unless it's a plastic surgeon that applies nail polish AFTER completing two full hand transplants this one really doesn't do much either because getting a manicure during this stage in your life is like putting lipstick on a pig.  A nice manicure also draws attention to the fact that you don't wear your wedding rings anymore and there are already enough people at the park that assume you are too old to be an unwed mother so you must be a recent divorce whose marriage didn't survive the first year of having a child.

• Make-up, lotion, earrings.  These are all extremely nice gestures but they end up in a baby proofed part of the house after one of your kids squirts the sweet smelling and super expensive lotion all over the rug in your room anyway.  Or you put on the MAC mascara and lipstick just to find that your simply gorgeous lips and "come hither" lashes look ridiculous with your ratty old armpit stained gap T-shirt and maternity jeans that you are wearing even though you aren't pregnant anymore.  With make-up on, you actually look like you did the walk-of-shame -- which we all know, sadly, is just not possible.  R.I.P walk of shame, R.I.P.

So if you are lucky enough to even receive a gift from somebody during this selfless time in your life -- what are some good gifts to get?

• A card with $50 bucks in it that says -- "Here, the next two co-pays at your therapy appointments are on me!  Enjoy!"
• Gourmet frozen dinners -- family size 
• House cleaner for a day
• Monthly case of wine delivered to your house
• Gift certificate for a massage

I am blessed to have the most amazing and supportive friends on the planet.  Big time.  One of my dearest and closest friends from childhood sent me an email that she had purchased TWO prenatal massages for me while I'm here in St. George.  TWO.  I mean seriously?  Tears.  While a full shoulder and back replacement would have been super nice too -- getting to have two freakin massages while I'm out here honestly feels the same to me right now as if Ellen Degeneres decided to gift me a minivan on her show.  Totally amazing, thoughtful and perfect gift -- given to me for NO REASON other than my friend is like the nicest, most compassionate and caring person you will even meet.  She also happens to be a massage therapist herself - so she knows how important massage is in my life right now.  She gets it.  

So I go to said massage and it's a male therapist.  Okay.  So I'm one of those people who always requests a female therapist -- if I'm even lucky enough to get a massage in the first place -- but you know beggars can't be choosers, and this guy owns the place, he's like 100 years old, so it's not like Bradley Cooper is going to be giving me these massages (a girl can dream), my girlfriend talked to him at length and I don't even know if he has other therapists that he works with -- so two massages with a male therapist.  Totally fine. 

First one goes great.  He realizes that the current physical state I'm in pretty much resembles someone that has been in recent multiple car crashes.  Some of my muscles would be better played like guitar strings than massaged....you get the picture.  Let's just say he has his work cut out for him.  But I don't care.  I need this so f'ing bad that I basically just tell him -- listen buddy -- I got some serious shit going on with my body.  Specifically my entire left side where two 30lb children sit on my hip pretty much all day long day, after, day, after day.  Not to mention the repetitive action of picking them up, putting them down, lifting them both awkwardly into carseats, and then doing bench presses with my double stroller in the back of my jeep during my "down time" of not lifting them.  See why I called it a daily Iron Man race?  I should probably shave all the hair off my body and wear a sports bathing suit everyday -- just to see if it brings my race time down and makes it so that I have more time to myself at the end of the day.  Replace this bike with a double stroller and I think you see what I'm getting at:

Unfortunately, people don't cheer from the sidelines as you bust your ass just to get through each and every day -- which honestly come to think of it -- would be super nice and probably help quite a bit.

So, by the second massage my buddy Michael knew exactly what needed to be done and so we got right to it and had him work on my shoulder which I totally appreciated and thought -- this whole thing is just awesome.  This gift from my girlfriend is awesome, this guy is totally focusing on my problem areas -- I am in heaven.  I actually feel like I might survive this time in my life if I could just get massages like this every once and while to counter act the permanent damage I know I'm doing to my body.  I'm away from the kids for this totally blissful hour....let's just say I'm feeling pretty good.

Now, you have to remember, I'm pregnant.  When you're pregnant you have to do sideline massage -- where you lie on your side instead of your back or stomach.  As a massage therapist, you definitely have to know what you're doing to perform a massage like this because having the person lying on their side kind of fucks everything up a little bit.  Well, I can't afford to have that happen.  I NEED THIS MASSAGE BAD.  So, Michael explained to me the best way to do this would mean I would have to hold the sheets a certain way -- you know to cover my lady bits -- so that he could give me an excellent massage and not a half-ass one.

Well...let's just say, I totally understood what I needed to do, I knew how and where to hold the sheets, this wasn't exactly my maiden voyage in getting a massage --  or a sideline massage at that -- so I totally knew what I needed to be doing to keep myself covered up.  I was sure as hell not going to let a stupid ass sheet get in the way of making sure this guy pulverized my muscles in a way that I could finally feel some goddamn relief from my aching body.  

Well as it turns out -- I didn't let the sheet get in the way.  No siree.  You can probably see where this is going, but I did get a little distracted with directing him and making sure he knew EXACTLY where on my shoulder I needed him to put all his focus and energy -- and I mean I all but asked him to dislocate my shoulder and just toss it in the trash it was hurting me so bad -- so I got a little too shoulder focused and not enough sheet focused.

This all happened in like three seconds, but right in the middle of everything he asked me to shift my weight and turn over.  He, of course, being the professional here, had the sheets all figured out and put in such a way that I could do this maneuver without him ever seeing me at all.  That is -- as long as I held up my end of the bargain and held the sheet in a certain way that would prevent anything from happening.  This is where I totally dropped the ball.

I turned over and within a nanosecond -- the sheet is totally gone.  Just like a magic trick, poof!  I'm lying there totally naked with nothing between me and my buddy Mike (I figure this nude scene means we've reached a level in our relationship where I can call him Mike now) and he all but had a heart attack right there in the room, grabbing at anything he could find to cover me up because I had rolled over in a such a way that the sheets were all fucked up and tucked underneath me. 

Ten maybe fifteen years ago I would have panicked and been super embarrassed...but after two kids and one on the way...It's going take a lot more than a 65 year old massage therapist to make me blush about my completely banged up, smashed up, and let's face it -- knocked up body.  I mean seriously, what the hell do I have to prove or be bashful about.  He on the other hand was either having some sort of a mild stroke because of his age or was thinking lawsuit -- I don't know -- but I honestly can say I was more worried about him and his reaction then my own nakedness.  (Now that I'm writing this and looking back at this whole debacle -- maybe my naked body really IS that bad, and I almost did cause a stroke at the sight of it...hmmm.....I'll have to think about that one later).

Once there were sheets even half hazardly covering me up again I told him I was SO sorry that it was totally my fault, I was completely not holding my side of the sheet when he asked me to turn over...blah, blah, blah....until I could tell his breathing started to regulate again and he was assured I wasn't filing a lawsuit.  

Anyway, needless-to-say, we awkwardly finished up the massage after the Full Monty exposure, lights had to be turned on at the end where we said goodbye and shook hands (so weird) and then I told him I would be happy to write a review online about how great the massage was (you know, just so there are no hard feelings, we're cool, kind of thing).

He said, "Bonny, I would really appreciate that, thank you."  Obviously, I wasn't about to correct him.  So we can just let this story be about the naked pregnant lady from Boston named Bonny who managed a full frontal around half way through a sideline massage and let bygones be bygones.

I'll just have to remember to write the review under the name Bonny :)

Table for five, please?

Hi there, how are you...Yes, there are five of us.  Two adults...and can I get two high chairs and a booster seat?  Actually...make it two booster seats and a high chair.  No, wait, come to think of it -- three high chairs is probably safest.  Honestly?  You know what?  Just forget it.  We're gonna get going.  I don't know what the hell we were thinking coming to a restaurant in the first place.  Thanks anyway.


Yup.  We're pregnant again.  And while thankfully this time it was planned (earmuffs, Ronan) I still think about scenarios similar to the one above and am like, WHAT THE HELL WERE THINKING?!?!?!?  I know, I know.....To Three or Not To Three....I always knew this was coming and yet I'm 17 weeks into it and thinking....oh lord.

Honestly, this third kid cemented its place in our family a while ago -- it's been taunting me for years -- even when I tried to make the image go away.  There was always this third child.  "Oh, hi mum, ya it's me again -- your third.  Thinking about not having me again are we?  Ok, totally your choice if you don't want to try and get pregnant again -- but I'm just staying -- I either live inside your head talking to you like this for the rest of your life, or you can just go ahead and bring me into the world like you're supposed to, attempt to raise me into a functioning adult who can have a civilized conversation with you face-to-face over a glass of wine one day.  So, have your doubts -- but I'm fine living inside your head or out of it.  Totally your call.  So, I knew.  I knew this little one was waiting to catch a ride on the mollygog-uterus-train and make its entrance one way or another.  So here we are.

I gonna have to start going back to church or something because we are literally going to need a higher power to get us through this next and FINAL pregnancy.  And asking other people to pray for us is just not going to cut it.  I'm going to need to put some serious time-in if I'm going to get the kind of help I'm gonna need from above.  But I'm thinking with the Pope shenanigans going-on -- my calls are likely to go unanswered anyway.  So back to being an ex-catholic who still hopes someone is looking down on her even though she doesn't practice or believe anymore.

So what does this mean?  Well first of all -- we have to start by counting our blessings.  I barely finished writing To Three or Not To Three and I was pregnant again.  Getting pregnant is NOT an easy thing to just go and do in an afternoon for a lot of people.  In our case, it felt like the conversation itself conceived a child.  So we know how lucky we are.  Really.

But we also know how screwed we are.  Three kids under three and half is about as smart as driving down a dark rural country road in Ireland without the lights on (I've actually done that before -- it's clearly a Ger story, and a story for another day at that -- but let me just say....it's f'ing terrifying).  So smart decision?  No.  The right decision?  Yes.

Our lives right now -- with me at home, a three year old with an impending heart surgery, an 18 month old about to become a toddler himself, and a husband who is working two jobs, pretty much 24/7 seven days a week.... it's a lot like...well....a balsa wood structure competition.

Didn't see that analogy coming did you?  Well here's a visual....this is pretty much what we're  knowingly doing with our lives -- not as bad as Russian Roulette but close:



Too bad these sweet little geeks don't realize just how much shit is about to go down after they graduate from high school and their adult life starts to replicate what used to be a fun little science project.  No one ever explains to you that YOU will become the balsa wood bridge in shop class and that the whole project is a metaphor for what lies ahead and how hard life can be.  You don't even get a complementary pair of safety goggles when you enter the real world.  What the hell ever happen to Safety First, people?

So why is it right to add on the weight, the pressure, the stress of a third child?  Well, the obvious reason is because it's already happening.  But surprisingly for the "pro-life"rs out there that's not actually why.  It's right because we decided to do it and we decided to do it KNOWING how freaking hard it was going to be.  It was an eyes-wide-open-type decision and we gotta stand by it and know deep, deep, deep, deep, deep (have I made my point here?) deep, way deep down that we made the right decision.

But having the vision of the third child and logistically managing the reality and the day-to-day of a third child are completely different things.  We have a lot of work ahead of us and by we I mean me.  I'm kidding.  I'm half kidding.  No, I'm not kidding at all.  While my husband has been working at an ungodly clip for longer than I can remember now -- and worse than even that -- it has become totally NORMAL in our lives for him to burn the midnight oil like de does -- that this is not exactly a healthy way for him to be living and god willing their won't be any longterm consequences health or otherwise with just how much stress and pressure he is under in order to support what will be a family of five.

But as most mother's can attest to...the child rearing years are different for the dad than they are the mum.  I'm not insinuating here that it's a competition because I'm winning anyway -- but let's be honest -- in a lot of ways even with all the pressure in the world on his shoulders -- he's the same guy, with the same body and mind (ok that's not fair -- his body is falling apart and he's not getting any younger -- but his mind is still totally intact -- so that's a plus, right?)  Where as three pregnancies in three years and the physical work it takes to be a stay-at-home mom is just a tad different from his day-to-day no matter how stressful it is.  Being a stay-at-home-mother (in my humble opinion) is like waking up every single morning to immediately run an Iron Man race while simultaneously participating in some kind of mental health study sponsored by McLean Hospital.  At least my husband is qualified to do the work he does everyday.  Me?  Not so much.  I am "working" from 7AM-9PM, seven days a week, without any supervision and without any fucking clue what I'm doing half the time...wash, rinse, repeat, wash, rinse, repeat.  So, I can't really say that my body or my mind are really intact at this point.  And being a woman with hormones through all this is not exactly a plus.  My own body is attacking my sanity?  Doesn't really make a hell of lot of sense for the survival of the species to throw hormones into the mix of the person bearing the children.  Not cool, God.  Not cool.

But even in light of all this -- we decided to throw caution to the wind on this one.  And that's mostly because a fair amount of heavy duty shit played into our decision to add on more weight to the balsa wood structure and have yet another child -- knowing that we are greatly magnifying the current insanity that is our lives.  Looking back at the past three years -- and in particular the heart condition diagnosis during my first pregnancy -- that could have gone one of two ways.  I could have easily made every effort possible to not ever get pregnant again for fear of what could happen the second time around.  And many heart families make this decision and I completely and whole heartedly understand their reasoning.  And then there is our way and the road we have chosen.  We have learned some amazing lessons since we started our marriage and family and in our case these lessons led us to the road we're currently on:

1.  We have never once believed in the illusion that marriage is a honkey dorey love fest where you find your soul mate, make beautiful music together, and grow old holding hands with that same sparkle in your eye you had for each other at 25.  We carefully chose one another on probably a more practical level than would be considered romanic or sexy -- but was thoroughly based on love, respect, and a shared agreement to roll our sleeves up and build this damn balsa wood structure together.  And we had the same goal that it had to be strong.  Like really, really strong.  Strong enough to carry a shit ton of weight strong.  And that was before we actually realized how much weight they planned to start putting on....one by one by one....

2.  Haven's heart condition schooled us in the lesson that you are not in control of what happens in your life.  Really, ever.  You can try to be in control and honestly -- you should try.  Amazing things happen when people go after their goals, work hard, stay healthy, make good decisions, and take care of one another.  You should try to control your life in the same way you train to run a marathon.  You get as healthy and as strong as you can to run the race -- but try as you may -- you will not dictate how that race goes -- even with proper training.  Everything else -- even when the scariness of it all brings you to your knees and you think you can't simply survive something -- even then, especially then -- you gotta let go of the reigns -- cause they aren't for you to hold in the first place.  You gotta do your best in life without ever having the luxury of knowing the final outcome.  Over and over and over again.

3.  We have to believe that we are walking the walk exactly as we should be.  That every challenge and every time we run out of gas (and man we have run out of gas a few times and will run out of gas again soon!) is a temporary struggle that will be survived.  We will make all kinds of struggles and sacrifices in our lives and it's not so much that in the end we all sit around and talk about how "it was all worth it....."  Cause I gotta call bullshit on that.  Some of it isn't worth it.  It's just fucking not.  It's hard.  It hurts.  You do get run down, you get worn out, you run out of emotional and even physical strength sometimes and you're not getting any of that time or  any of those muscles back.  I'm sorry but it's gone.  That's the deal.  That's the true sacrifice that is made.  But instead of having my retirement, with my three kids around me as my life's greatest accomplishments as my end goal where I sit back and try to convince myself, "It was all worth it, everything I gave up, every last ounce of myself that I sacrificed was worth it in the end."  That just doesn't ring true for me.  Because what I think of as the end of the road accomplishment for me in life?  It's is going to have to have been the actual road.  I have learned more to keep moving, keep getting up, never be complacent, never accepting my faults or the things that hold me back but struggle like hell to commit to change things about myself and to just. keep. moving.  So.....I guess I want to be able to survive the road.  Not necessarily get to the end of it in one piece.

I was lucky enough to go to Egypt when I was 18 years old.  I met an Egyptologist there (seriously, they exist) who obviously with a title like that spends a lot of his time thinking hard about one of the oldest cultures in human existence.  He got into a conversation with me and he said to me, "it is already written in your book.  The next chapter has already been written and now you must go and discover it but int he end it has already been decided."  I'll never forget that.

Similarly, a couple, who are two of my closest and dearest friends have always had a saying that is displayed in their offices, in their home, at the end of the their emails, in cards they have given me -- it always reminds me just how awesome these two are and why I like them in the first place because of how much this quote resonates with me, "Everything will be okay in the end, if it's not okay, it's not the end."

So with that?  Bring it on, baby.  Let the balsa wood competition begin.  We do not have on rose colored glasses about your arrival or even the the next several years.  Hell, we don't even have safety glasses on.  We know how difficult and challenging all of this is undoubtedly going to be -- and man o' man this is year alone is going to be one hell of a year -- but we as a family will survive this too.  It won't always be this hard.  But just a heads up we're probably not 100% prepared because how could we be, but we're committed to you taking this road with us -- wherever it goes and whatever it brings.

We'll take what we can from the lessons we've learned and forge ahead, you are already written in our book, you are the next chapter, and in the end we just have to believe that everything will finally be ok.

Videos from the Heart

Heart Month can be a sweet month and a tough month for Heart Families.

Most of us look at CHD awareness week as just a time to do just that: build awareness, inform the public that CHD's are the #1 birth defect, so people are better informed and so we can secure the funding we need to keep our kids alive because a lot of people don't know about us or our stories.

On the one hand, it's most definitely a time to celebrate, to be thankful, and to be grateful for the medical interventions that are now possible for our children.  And that makes us all feel a certain gratitude and thankfulness that's impossible to explain.  The feeling of joy is indescribable when you are among the lucky ones -- lucky enough to still have your heart child.  We are the definition of the word "hope."

And on the other hand, Heart Month becomes a time (whether you like it or not) to reflect and to remember just how hard this road has been.  Sometimes we get angry.  Sometimes we cry about the hardships our children, our marriages, and our families have had to face because of this diagnosis.  We mourn the loss of normalcy in our lives.  We mourn the many little CHD angles that didn't make it.  And most of all, we connect with one another and turn to each other for the much needed support that is required in order to continue on this journey of raising a child with half a heart -- hopefully into adulthood.

In an effort to continue to raise awareness and to honor the struggle, the sacrifice and the love that makes up our reality as heart families, here are some videos from the heart:

The Heart of the Matter -- how they are helping save our children

Clara's Story -- what it's like to find out and then forge ahead 


Clara's Heart from Joe Portnoy on Vimeo.

Will's Story -- what it's like to live at Boston Children's Hospital with our newborns

Haven's Story -- what it's been like for us

Untitled from Molly Foley on Vimeo.

Heart Month

It's heart month and I'm a heart mom, so the whole Valentine's thing, the colors pink and red, the little heart shape cut outs and general cheesiness of the holiday that honors the very organ my little girl only has half of -- has a taken on new meaning in my life.

I never knew this, but heart defects are the #1 birth defect.  How the hell did I miss that when I found out I was pregnant and started preparing to have a baby?  I, like everybody else I know, fretted and fussed as I got closer and closer to my 18 week ultrasound about my test results for down's syndrome, other chromosomal disorders they always talk to you about, whether the baby had all it's arms and legs, fingers and toes.  I never once thought about the heart.

I remember when at my 18 week ultrasound, at some general run of the mill hospital, they told me they couldn't get one of the ultrasound pictures they wanted.  I didn't think anything of it.  They didn't seem worried, so I wasn't worried.  They even asked me to walk around a little bit, stand on one leg and jump up and down, I guess trying to get the baby in the right position so they could get the picture they wanted.

I'd never been pregnant before, so I just figured the baby was in a bad position, it needed to move, and once it moved or finally settled into the right position they'd have the picture they needed and we'd move on.  Move on to more pressing issues, like do we want to know the sex of the baby-type issues and how fat am I actually going to get?  So, after jumping on one leg, peeing, walking around, doing all kinds of things to try and get that baby to move -- they decided to have me come back in a couple weeks for a level II ultrasound, which would most definitely get the picture they were looking for and likely the baby would be in the right position and everything would be fine.

That next appointment seemed like a bit if a nuisance more than anything so I told my husband not to worry about it and that I would go on my own and that way he wouldn't have to take off work again for another silly OB appointment.  So, off I went to the level II ultrasound during a lunch break at work.  Was not worried in the slightest.  The ultrasound tech did her thing, said she was going to have someone else review the pics and then she'd be right back.  Alone in the dark of that room, I definitely started to get a little nervous.  Could something actually be wrong?  I'm super healthy, I don't smoke, I don't do drugs, I've been eating like a total health nut, I'm working out, I'm like the healthiest I've ever been -- what could possibly be wrong?

When she came back she told me that a fetal cardiologist from Beth Israel who floats to outlying hospitals to review level II ultrasounds would be in shortly to talk to me.  That's when the panic set in.  He walked in, he sat down, and he told me that after reviewing my ultrasound, he was almost 100% sure that the reason they hadn't been able to get a "good" picture of the right side of the heart was because there wasn't anything to take a picture of.  The right side of my baby's heart was not developing.  She had half a heart.

I heard most of that but it was like a scene in a movie where everything slows down, his lips were moving but there was no volume.  I didn't even really understand what he meant.  Was it a death sentence?  Was the baby alive?  Did it die?  Was it going to die?  Was I going to miscarry?  Would I deliver a stillborn?  I couldn't even begin to fathom anything other than this ending horribly, horribly wrong.  At that moment.  I was convinced this pregnancy was over.  And if the pregnancy wasn't over, I was almost certain I would be the mother of a very, very sick and very, very disabled child -- at best.

And I was alone.  In my naiveté, I had come to this appointment by myself so as not to inconvenience my husband and his work schedule.  The doctor handed me a business card for the Advanced Fetal Care Center at Children's Hospital Boston and told me I needed to make an immediate appointment to be seen by them.  The next thing I remember was being in the elevator.  Stunned.  I couldn't even remember how to get out of the hospital and I had already been there a dozen times.  Once I finally found my way to the parking lot, I realized I had to call my husband.  What the hell was I going to say?  How do you even start that conversation without entirely freaking someone out who is thirty miles away and at work?  I knew the moment I dialed his cell phone number that in one way or another, this conversation would change our lives forever.  That this phone call, and what I had to tell him, would test the whole premise of our relationship and what our marriage was really about.

I told him something was wrong with the baby's heart.  That I couldn't even begin to try and explain it, I was crying so hard I told him I needed him to call the doctor who had just seen me in the ultrasound room and try to get him to explain it because I couldn't even remember what he had just told me minutes before.  I told him I didn't even think I could drive the two miles home to our house until I could remotely pull myself together.  He said to stay put, that he would call the doctor, call my parents, have my parents pick him up from work and drive him to where I was.  I knew that his heart was broken for me, knowing I was sitting five months pregnant in a parking lot unable to move, I knew he was scared for the baby and that under all that scary shit he was terrified for himself and what this would mean for our family we hadn't even started yet.

That was the beginning.  But the beginning turned into this success story.

And not that any one thing would have lessened the shock from that moment when I found out my baby had half a heart -- I can't help but think that if I was I was even remotely AWARE of how common heart conditions were -- maybe I would have been the teeniest tiniest bit more prepared?  Ok, probably not.  But still.  Hindsight is always 20/20 but when I found out that heart defects where the NUMBER ONE birth defect?  I just could not fucking believe that statistic.  How the hell is that possible when I had never even heard about if before?  If it's that freakin common, why the hell isn't anyone talking about it?  How did I miss this?  And it doesn't change the fact that my daughter's diagnosis is super rare and a fair amount of heart defects can either correct themselves on their own (how cool is that by the way?) or involve a minor procure once the baby is born.  But you can't deny the fact that you still see more social media around down's syndrome, cancer, and cleft lip.  And all of those diagnosis are super important too, but how did the heart defects not get to sit at the cool kids table and be included in the list?  Something's not right here...

So, in honor of this February's Heart Month -- Boston Children's Hospital made a video about it (I'm the one awkwardly bopping up and down too much and closing my eyes when I talk) and you can watch it here:

So, pass this video around to anyone you know who is pregnant or thinking about getting pregnant.  The more you know, the better -- right?

And when you do "pass" your 18 week ultrasound with flying colors like I did with my second pregnancy -- or when you are kicking back reading What to Expect When You're Expecting and starting to sweat the small stuff -- just take a minute to REALLY grasp what has to happen to make a healthy child.  And just reflect on how truly awesome and amazing it is that it goes right as often as it does.  Think of all the healthy pregnancies and healthy babies you know in your life and then multiply that by a gazillion.  How unbelievable is that?

I never truly understood the whole "every life is a miracle" thing until I had a sick child.  I am not a religious person but I have no problem bowing down to the unbelievable science, wonder, and general how-in-the-hell-does-procreation-freakin-happen-perfectly-over-and-over-and-over-again let alone the sheer amount of just plain old luck that goes into giving birth to a 100% healthy baby.  THAT is probably the most remarkable thing ever.

A healthy baby is quite literally a miracle of science.  And a sick baby, in our case, is as lucky as anybody else -- even with half a heart because of these ridiculously talented people.  Play the Heart Center video.  It takes two minutes, seriously, just do it.  Imagine saving people's lives who weren't born with the anatomy to live by figuring out a way to allow their bodies to work with what they've got?  My kid has half a heart and you couldn't survive with a diagnosis like that until these people decided:  Yes you can.  Try that for a 9-5 job.  It will make you question why you thought you had a bad day at work yesterday.

Happy Heart Month, everyone.  Hug the people you love and be sure to tell them how much you love them.  Because we're all miracles in one way or another and it took a hell of a lot of luck and crazy science to get us all here and on the planet in the first place.

No point in boohooing Valentine's Day.  Take full advantage of it.

xo

Mormonland

Cheers to Moromonland!  Successfully traveled with the two kids out to Southern Utah and managed to miss the blizzard back East.  Thank you, Jesus Brigham Young.  How lucky am I that my parents bought a little place in the Southern Utah dessert - just one hour and forty-five minutes from Vegas where I can defect each winter in an effort to not end up one of the profiled criminals on Nancy Grace due to completely losing my mind as a stay-at-home-mom with two small kids who are relegated to the indoors when two feet of snow gets dumped on your already isolated lifestyle.  Thank you Mom and Dad!
Kinda weird that it's a conservative Mormon/Republican community and you guys are flaming liberal Democrats, but since it's 60 degrees and sunny almost everyday here during the winter?  I can get over that it's a dry town and everyone is blonde.  

My dear husband traveled out here with us, got to spend a little under a week here but had to go back to the salt mines just in time to also spend every waking hour that he's not working -- shoveling.  I definitely have the better deal since I will stay out here with the kids until March and it doesn't really get below 55 and there's hardly a cloud in the sky most days.  Pretty sweet stuff.

So, here's the scoop on Mormonland and why a place you seemingly may have next to nothing in common with might just be your middle-aged-vacationland-fantasy :

1.  Everyone goes to church on Sunday.  And I mean LITERALLY EVERYONE.  So, you basically have the whole town to yourself.  Yes a lot of things are closed -- but the things that are open?  It's like having your own personal Starbucks, Costco, and Albertsons.  All. To. Yourself.  No lines.  No traffic.  It's like stay-at-home-mom's heaven out here on a Sunday.

2.  Mormons have like 13 kids a piece by the time they are 24.  After bringing the kids out here the last couple of years -- I don't know how children even survive in Boston.  We have a Dunkin Donuts on every corner.  This place has changing tables on every corner.  You can literally go ANYWHERE and whether it's a restaurant, store, playground, you name it -- everywhere is loaded to the gills with all your diaper changing, bottle making, and snack distributing needs.  And EVERYTHING seems like they installed it brand new yesterday.  Boston?  Not so much.  You basically just lie your kid down on the pavement to change a diaper.  There are no public bathrooms -- and even if there were -- you sure as hell wouldn't want to go in one alone without a firearm or a hazmat suit let alone bring your precious baby in there and then take her pants off.  Forget about it.  Since half the population of this town is traveling around with like 6 kids under 6 -- they got this shit down to a science.  

3.  Makes ordering alcohol fun again.  Because Mormon's don't drink, swear, or do much of anything naughty really -- you kinda feel like a badass out here just for ordering a beer let alone using a shopping cart (thank you very much) when you make your run to the state liquor store (WITH THE KIDS mind you :) -- it's like being in one of those western movies where you walk into the Cantina and all of the local cowboys turn around to get a look at the stranger in the doorway and in one glance they can just tell you're a total badass who means business.  Going to the liquor store in Southie is about as exciting as taking the trash out it's so much a part of everyone's daily routine.  Here?  I feel like I'm doing something totally illegal every time I acquire alcohol.  And I like that.

4.  Conservative as hell.  Here's where you might want to just keep your conversations to a minimum and go along to get along.  I mean, I got mad respect for the kid friendly environment and super props to the changing table situation -- so I don't want to piss anyone off with my swearing or my stance on gay marriage.  It is beyond strange to walk into a bookstore and see Bill O'Reilly and Rush Limbaugh books fill the entire Best Seller section.  Even stranger when my parents little gated community holds its home owners potluck and the sundried tomato and feta past salad dish they brought with them was frowned upon and viewed as a little "racy" given the slew of jello molds and marshmallow salads that covered the buffet table.  Let alone that my mother was making small talk about how she's interested in joining the local democratic city committee.  I think she would be their third member.  But hey, when your main goal is to escape cold weather and have a place to go to with clear blue skies and warm temps with tons to do with the kids -- anyone can stumble through a few awkward "wouldn't the country have been better off with Mitt Romney as president" conversations.   

5.  Public facilities that make the Ritz in Boston look like a dump. The Community Center here might as well be a freakin high class water park and it costs like 50 cents to join.  Who knew that these remote, conservative, religious towns in the middle of nowhere had the best public facilities known to man.  The community center here is a SAHM's wet dream.  I'll let a picture of the pool speak for itself.  And what's even more insane is how CHEAP it is....anything remotely of this caliber in Boston would literally cost hundreds of dollars to join.  I'm usually here for six weeks each year.  What does that cost me?  $30 bucks.  TOTAL.  Oh no wait, I have to pay $2 a kid if I want to drop them off in the daycare center for TWO WHOLE HOURS while I spin, take a yoga class, or who am I kidding -- take a 45 minute shower if I want to and not bother to workout at all.  I'm sorry, but this kind of celebrity lifestyle simply does not exist on the mean streets of Boston.  I mean, unless you have Kennedy amounts of money at your disposal.  Amazing.  We are at the community center, no lie, six days a week.....but who's counting. 

So there you have it.  Mormonland for the non-Mormon.  It's a beautiful thing.  So, the next time you're planning a trip to Disneyland or renting a beach house in Florida -- just Google remote, religious, cheap, kid friendly, publicly funded kick ass community center destinations and see what comes up.  It might surprise you.

PS: I am definitely warming up to the idea of this multiple wives thing because let me tell you, it sounds awful tempting to have a few more adult women in the house to help me carry the load around here.  In that sense?  I have NO problem adding people to my marriage.  I would be lying if I didn't admit to the fact that I could sure use the help.  The crazy hair and the potato sack clothing?  Not really my thing.  But I traded in my modeling career and my sense of dignity a long time ago -- so if I can get any of the ladies out here to move back to Boston with me....I might just be bringing a little bit of Mormonland home with me this year. 

Reality Check

This was a post I wrote back on Nov. 23rd 2012 that the production company made me take down prior to the show airing.  Not sure if I'm even allowed to post it now -- but since the show is airing tonight at 10PM on A&E -- I figured I would repost it and see what happens....big brother is watching...so if I end up in court for breaching my "contract" you'll know why I'm unable to blog from my prison cell.

I can officially check "Have Been on a Reality Show" off my bucket list.

I didn't really have a bucket list until I ended up on a reality television show a couple weeks ago -- but given recent events -- I'm thinking I'll go ahead and start one and see how much crazy shit I can pull off before I'm six feet under.  Yes, you can look for my mug gracing across your television screens sometime next year on A&E.  I wish I were kidding.  But this is actually true.

As a favor to a friend, I spent the entire day filming an episode for her reality show a couple weeks ago.  Spoiler alert:  As a snobby, judgemental, yuppy mother, who makes fun of waitresses and anyone who has used a hand-me-down breast pump -- I am far from playing myself on the show.  I waitressed for over ten years and every damn thing I own for my kids including my breast pump was a hand-me-down.  So,  I guess that kind of debunks the whole "reality" part of it -- and makes me super duper two-faced for thirty minutes -- but whatever.

The show is called Southie Rules.  It follows a longstanding local family and how they are faring against the recent gentrification of yuppy transplants who have brought their sushi bars, boutique stores,  and organized mother's clubs with them -- changing the face of the gritty working class neighborhood they've known and loved for a bazillion years.  They fancy up Southie while they are here for a couple years but then they take off for the burbs -- leaving the original Southie's trying to find a pint of beer in their own neighborhood that costs less than $7.  It's a highly contested show here in Southie because people are worried the filming of a reality show will give our community a Jersey Shore type reputation.  I get it.  But in my humble opinion, that's just ridiculous.  Especially if the people at the center of the show are making fun of themselves the way they are.

Reality TV is on a long list of indulgent and disgusting crap that Americans devour until they've eaten so much they puke.  I don't think a reality show is ever going to make or break the future of any one community.  Listen, every neighborhood has a couple of Snooki's in it -- let's just be honest.  And I'm thinking New Jersey has more important things to worry about post-Hurricane Sandy than the Jersey Shore show's impact on the community's reputation.  All I'm saying is -- who cares?  Stereotypes exist and people exaggerate and make fun of stereotypes on television.  All.  Day.  Long.

That's not to say that it's ok that American society spends an exorbanent amount of time and money exaserbating stereotypes and creating reality television shows -- far from it.  Clearly there are better things we could all be doing with our time.  But you know what, you only live once, and let's not shake our fists at the sky for no reason either.  I honestly believe that if you can't laugh at yourself then you probably need to get over yourself.  So, with that far-from-intelligent-rationale....I agreed to be on my friend's show.

I ended up being on an episode where they had members from the local Mom's Club go to my friend's house (the center character of the show) to see if she would be a good "fit" for our group.  The episode reeks with judgement about my friend's family not really being "acceptable" to our yuppy standards there are many awkward moments and awkward exchanges throughout the episode including the shit I had to say about waitresses and hand-me-downs.  So, yes -- it's scripted.  And frankly, not based in reality at all.  But more importantly?  How in the hell did I end up NOT being myself on a REALITY television show?  Don't I have enough on my plate, you ask?  Good point.

Ironically, I met this awesome local mom through the Southie Mom's Club, who has since become a fast friend, someone who is not offended in the least by the way I carry myself, talk smack, make fun of myself or the crazy people around me.  As you can imagine she is cut from a similar cloth -- speaks her mind, doesn't hold back, and is about as "real" (no pun intended) as a person can get.

Most Mom's Club Members are transplants and not originally from Southie.  Somehow, one of the other moms in our group convinced this local mom to join the Mom's Club and then subsequently our playgroup.  Even though she had no desire to meet a bunch of yuppy mother's from all over god's green earth who are only going to live in Southie for all of five minutes -- she joined.  Well, let me just say -- when I met this mom at the first playgroup of ours that she attended -- she pretty much said just that.  And I immediately adored her.  She was the real deal.  And I had so much respect for her -- for going outside of her comfort zone and agreeing to join our group.  You could practically hear the 75 family members back at her house giving her a hard time for joining the Mom's Club -- "what the hell do you need a mother's club for?  There's like fifty mothers in our family alone!"

Anyway, it was a ballsy move on her part and she's become a great friend and I love, love, love the fact that she's basically bridging the gap of the old southie and the new southie by being in our group.  And since it's highly unlinkely that we'll ever move out to the burbs and instead my husband and I will likely be carried out on a couple of gurnies from our home in southie in about a 100 years time -- I could use a legit southie mom like her in my arsenal.  She's awesome.

Well....after really getting to know her over the past year, her husband, their daughter and the day-to-day craziness that exists within the walls of her three family triple decker -- her life literally is like something from a reality television show.  And now, that's actually what's going to happen.  They have been filming for close to a year now and A&E liked the pilot so much they picked up the show for a first season.

The show is based on how the gentrification of Southie is perceived by families like hers who are watching their old neighborhood change right before their eyes.  The episode she asked me to be in pokes fun at the concept of the South Boston Mom's Club and the divergent stereotypes that exist in the new Southie -- specifically local mom vs. transplant mom.   White trash, raunchy, working class South Boston mom meets high-end, snobby, judgmental yuppie mom.

Southie has definitely changed over the past several years and some of these original triple deckers with the born and raised Southie families in them are now being bought by contractors, gutted and turned into sweet ass condos which young couples are snatching up and then subsequently starting their families in.  The thing is -- these young new families aren't staying.  Once they start their families and the kids get closer to school age -- they outgrow their condos and head out to the suburbs so their kids aren't (god forbid) raised in the city and have to go to Boston Public Schools.

It's not so much that the new Southie has entirely replaced the old Southie -- it's just that alongside the hundred year old family owned hardware store, flower shop, and Irish pub is now a brand new chi-chi hair salon, sushi restaurant, and high-end clothing boutique.  Today, you have crusty old Southies living next door to fancy new yuppies.  It makes for some interesting people watching on Broadway:  guys in scully caps, with sweatpants, smoking butts while carrying a 30-pack over their shoulder walking by hot moms in heeled boots pushing a double stroller with their Coach diaper bag and a small dog on a leash.  I find it utterly fascinating and absolutely love the eye candy around here.

But let's be honest, the South Boston Mom's Club is very much the product of the gentrification of Southie and probably why they chose to do an episode about it.  I mean, why the hell would some born and raised Southie locals need a mother's club when they are living with their entire extended family in a triple decker not to mention their grandmothers, grandfathers, cousins, aunts, and uncles all live within a few block radius of one another.  The Mom's club is for people like me.  People who have recently moved to Southie, who were not born and raised here, who aren't related to anyone and therefore need to meet other transplants who have moved here to start a life.  Now, the fact that I have an Irish name has definitely helped with the transition to Southie -- but this is Whitey Bulger territory for Christ Sake -- they know right off the bat when you're not originally from here.

What I learned by being a part of an episode is that it's not really reality.  For the first part of the episode, I had to play a super judgmental, yuppy mother who was actually screening my friend to see if she was an "appropriate fit" for the Mom's Club.  Which the Southie Moms Club absolutely, 100% does not do.  Anyone and everyone is welcome in the club.  So, not only did I have to pretend I'd never met her before -- I had to be super rude to her and her family, asking her if she'd ever used hand-me-down clothes for her children or a second-hand breast pump (both of which I HAVE DONE MYSELF).  So, that was a little awkward.  But once I realized just how much the purpose of the show is to exaggerate stereotypes in the newly gentrified southie  -- the actual filming of it was really fun.  And funny.  I mean, I have no idea how this is going to play out on TV -- so here's hoping it's not the most offensive television show of 2013 that it ends up being banned in certain countries (I'm totally kidding -- it's A&E for Christ sake) -- but nothing takes the cake of how much fun this family is making fun of THEMSELVES -- it's a little hard to get bent out of shape about thinking this episode as being a bad portrayal of the Mom's Club in Southie when -- the butt of the joke is at the expense of this family -- and from what I saw the other day during filming -- they are having a freaking good time making fun of themselves and eachother.

So....we'll see what happens.  Who would of thought.  Move to southie, start a family, join the mom's club, meet some yuppies, meet some locals, end up on an episode of reality TV.

Just another item checked off the ol' bucket list.

April Showers Bring May Flowers

Haven will have her next open heart surgery sometime during the last two weeks in April 2013.

It's official.  We've made it to the Fontan.

I read that back to myself and it brings tears to my eyes.  She made it.  We made it.  We've just got one more major open heart to go.  We are among the lucky in that we have a chance at having a child with half a heart live a pretty normal life once we get through this last major hurdle.

Three years ago with this baby in my belly -- the doctors set out hurdle after hurdle, milestone after milestone -- explaining to us that if we we were lucky enough to find ourselves on the other side of each of these hurdles -- the baby's chances of survival would steadily increase:

• Get the baby/pregnancy to full term
• Have an uneventful, complication-free delivery
• Survive the first major surgery -- the BT Shunt -- and the subsequent caths that go with it
• Avoid failure to thrive at all cost, get her to grow, grow, grow so she's a good size leading into the next surgery
• Survive the Glenn -- the second open heart procedure and the caths that go with it
• Have a successful enough Glenn to ENJOY watching your baby grown into a toddler so that they are as physically active, robust, and healthy as possible prior to the Fontan
• Survive the Fontan -- the third and potentially LAST major open heart surgery -- and your kid -- while never free from needing some additional medical procedures and medications for the rest of the their life -- will live a happy, healthy, pretty much normal life.  
• If you get to this bullet - it means you've survived the Fontan....go enjoy your child.

When we were in and out of the hospital during the first eight months of her life, I remember seeing the Fontan families.  I couldn't even picture my little peanut, my little newborn blob...a toddler.  An actual kid, who could talk, tell me how she was feeling, sitting up in her hospital bed with tubes and wires attached to her and having some kind of child-like comprehension of what was happening to her.

I remember thinking to myself.  God, that looks hard.  Those are real kids.  Kids who can talk and have feelings and can express those feelings and thoughts.  How the hell am I going to do that?  And then I would look down at my little blob of a newborn and think -- god, I hope we're lucky enough to have to go through however hard that's going to be.  Please God, get her to the Fontan.

So we're here.  And as scared as I am to take this talking, walking, feeling, thoughtful, expressive, feisty, PERSON into her next open heart surgery -- I feel so lucky that we've made it this far -- that we get this chance at normalcy.  And I feel equally as grateful at how uneventful the past almost TWO YEARS has been for our family.  Because that's also just about as unheard of as anything else.  She has done so well.  Remarkably well.  We are forever grateful.  Forever grateful.

She knows something is coming up.  Just the sheer amount of time I have to spend on the phone with her different doctors and specialists, the health insurance company, whomever -- she hears the word surgery, she knows I'm talking about her, she gets it means she has to go back to hospital.  Sometimes he even cries about it -- saying she doesn't want to go to the hospital -- she doesn't want to have surgery.  So, it's hard.

You can't get too into it with a toddler for obvious reasons -- I mean, think about Christmas.  This was the first year she was really trying to wrap her head around the concept of Santa.  She had lots of questions, she obsessed about his whereabouts and who he was, where he lived and what he was doing at any given moment.  Toddlers tend to obsess.  So, I don't want to get into it too much with her until we're closer to the surgery date.  No need to build up unnecessary anxiety around something she can't fully understand.  

How could she remotely try to understand what's coming, or even worse, why it's coming, especially since she doesn't necessarily feel sick -- although I am seeing signs that she needs the surgery -- blueish lips and fingertips, limited energy and stamina when playing with other kids, trying to run around or exert herself usually ends in a "mommy my body hurts, I need to take a rest."  All of which they told me was normal for her at this stage.  Normal signs that it's time for the Fontan.  But when it comes down to it.  She's really not going to understand why she has to go to the hospital, why she has to have her chest cut open, why she's in a world of pain, and why mommy and daddy are letting it happen.

But we'll hold off on all that nerve wracking stuff -- we'll wait until we're closer to the surgery and sometime, maybe a week before we take her in, we'll start "playing" it through -- you know, play surgery with one of her teddy bears kind of thing -- just to get her even remotely familiar with the hospital life that she simply just can't remember is such a huge part of her little past.

So, in the meantime, to get away from our unrelenting PT schedule, and just our regular day-to-day crazy shuffle in general -- we're so fortunate and so lucky to be able to leave the frigid New England winter for the cloudless, sunny, blue and unbelievably beautiful landscape that is Southern Utah.

We are so fortunate that my family has a little place in the Utah dessert where we can get away from it all, let the kids run around in the fresh air, swim, play and just have some normalcy and get a nice long break before we hunker down for our next major hospital stay.  My husband will only be with us for the first part of the trip and the last part of the trip -- going home to Boston to work in between -- but it's a busy time of year for him anyway and it'll be good for him to get a ton of work done before the surgery as well.  We'll miss him but it's healthier for all of us -- especially Haven -- to get out of the cold and into the sunshine.

All of us will need to soak in as much sunshine as is humanly possible heading into April and we are beyond fortunate to have the opportunity to do just that as we head out to the desert.

Like I've said a million times before -- we are so lucky -- in countless ways -- we are just so so so lucky :)