The Birth of B

Tomorrow Baby B will be 2.

I suppose I will have to stop calling him "baby."

Maybe.

Some day.

A lot of people have asked me about my kiddo's births. And I actually really love talking about them because they were such amazing experiences. So I thought I'd share B's birthstory today.

This is exactly as I wrote it the day after he was born. I don't have time to clean it up or make sure it's PC or anything, so hopefully it's all appropriate.




***THERE ARE PICTURES OF BOOBS. THERE ARE ALSO PICTURES OF A FRESHLY BORN BABY. IF BOOBS, BLOOD, OR BIRTH BOTHERS YOU OR IS TOO GRAPHIC, DO NOT - I REPEAT - DO NOT KEEP READING.***

 

 

 

 

 

The Birth of Basilio Patrick Atticus

 

So, I’d been saying to J how August 27, 2011 would be a good day to have the baby. It was a Saturday, I’d be my 40 weeks and then some, my sister would be around; it was just overall convenient for us. And you know, babies like to be convenient. 

Well, Saturday came and mostly went and nada. There were no symptoms or signs of pregnancy coming. We ran some errands, and I remember telling Jaime at about 6pm that my back really hurt, but it wasn’t like back labor or anything like when I had H, just a sore back from all the weight. And I lamented that my back had to be so sore and there was no action.

Yep, I was awesomely huuuuge!

 

J put H to bed around 730pm, and C brought her boyfriend over for us to meet. At about 830pm J was making mashed potato tacos per my request, and I joked that wouldn’t it be awesome if they were “labor inducing mashed potato tacos”?

Flash forward to almost 10pm, and we are sitting in the living with C and her boyfriend, watching TV and talking and I start to feel a little crampy. Not even as bad a period cramps and it was all in the front, which I’d never experienced as H was full back labor, so I didn’t think much about it. At about 1030pm I told C and M good night, and J and I went to bed. At this point, the cramps were coming and going in regular intervals.

J started timing them, even though I was pretty insistent that they were *not* contractions. It was nothing like with H, so it couldn’t possibly be contractions or labor. Well, they were lasting a good minute and coming about every 2.5 mins so he texted our midwife. Not long after they were coming every 1.5 mins and our midwife decided it was best for her to come over.

J told my sister she should probably take her boyfriend home. I made some coconut water popsicles and walked around while J set up the birth pool. My midwife showed up, followed shortly by her apprentice A. I let her check me, even though I knew it truly didn't mean much. I was just curious. She checked and I was at 4. This was at approximately 1230am. Well, my contractions were strong for a while, and then puttered out to nothing.  At 130am H woke up and so C went upstairs to be with her.

At about 330 my midwife checked me again and I was only about a 7. It was pretty miserable. When the contractions came they came with nearly no stopping in between, and then they would suddenly stop for quite awhile before picking up again. I definitely preferred the steady, slowly increasing contractions I’d had with H. Not to mention, I had no idea how to handle front labor. Although everyone swears back labor is more painful than front labor, I would gladly take back labor any day over what I was experiencing. I just had no idea how to get comfortable.

To make matters more fun, the baby’s head was super low, but my cervix was somehow pushed up and behind the head, so until my cervix came down below his head, he couldn’t get out. So my midwife suggested that during each contraction J put his arms around me and pull up on my belly, helping to shift my cervix forward. This was medieval torture for sure. It was excruciating to the point that I started telling J I wasn’t having contractions; I just couldn’t deal with it. I was starting to feel mostly like a failure at this point, and I was so tired. H’s labor had been so easy, and nearly painless. I made it clear at this point to J that he would never again touch me until he was shooting blanks.  

At some point, I asked my midwife to break my waters, in hopes of things going quicker. At this point I was hoping the baby would be born before H woke up for the morning.

 C came downstairs at 430 followed by H screaming, and declared that she could not stay with her anymore because all H was doing was laying there staring at her. Quite frankly, I didn’t care if H wasn’t sleeping, so long as she wasn’t crying. So I told J to go upstairs with H while I walked around, dealing with some pretty intense contractions, and my sister lamented on how she had to be at work at noon and hadn’t slept yet. Super annoyed and in waaaay too much pain to listen to her, I told her to go to bed. She had said earlier she couldn’t lay down and sleep with H since she hadn’t washed her face or removed her contacts. So she did so, and then went to sleep with her, since J at this point had her back to sleep. Needless to say, she was lucky at this point that I was in too much pain to really talk or tell her how I felt about the situation.

 

Now *those* are some beefy arms!

 

At around 530 I said I wanted to push. But when I tried, my midwife realized I still wasn’t dilated enough to push. So I leaned back on J and was in a pretty comfortable position, so even though my midwife suggested I walk or get in the shower to help things get motivated, I refused. I just needed a break from the pain, and this was the best I was getting. And for some reason I had zero desire to be in water of any sort. I had been planning to have a water birth, and yet my birth pool stood completely untouched. So I sat for about 30 minutes before finally deciding to get up and walk around. I really wanted the baby out before H woke up.

The contractions started coming on top of each other and I got up on the couch and leaned on the birth ball, trying to deal with them. And then suddenly, I was pushing. I couldn’t control it; the baby was going to come. I moved off the couch, but remained in the same position, using the couch as my support and being on my knees in front of it. It was 653am when I started to push.

I felt like I was going to explode. But I could feel him sliding down with each push, which was actually pretty incredible, even though I was exhausted and would have been in tears if there had been any energy for them. For the last two big pushes I turned around and then voila! At 713am, I was holding my baby.

 

 

I looked down at him, and had to do a double take, sure I was seeing the cord and not a penis, but there it was! I had a boy! “I have a boy! He’s a boy!” was pretty much all I could say. My mommy intuition sucked mucho with him. I was certain without a doubt in my mind that I was going to have another girl. So much so that the possibility that I could have a boy truly never entered my mind.

 

Within 10 mins of him being born H woke up and down she came with C. She loved him instantly and proceeded to climb into my lap and try to show him how to nurse. B, however, was not nearly as interested as she was, and didn’t bother to latch on until 810am.

 

 

My midwife asked if we had a name and I told her “no.” We hadn’t really discussed boy names. We had planned on calling H Basilio if she were a boy. We’d talked for about half a second about Atticus at the beginning of the pregnancy. But since I was sure he was a girl, we didn’t discuss it more than that.

 

So, I told J after a few minutes that he was Basilio. My little Lio. And later decided on Patrick Atticus. J agreed. I’d just birthed an almost 9lb baby; I don’t think he was in a position to disagree.

 

 

So my little Basilio was born at 713am on Sunday, August 28, 2011, weighing a whopping 8lbs and 15oz, and being 21 inches long. Perfection.

B's 2nd birthday party

B's not *2* for four more days - but today we celebrated his two amazing years of life with some good friends and family.

 

Two years. How can that be!? Sometimes I hear him talking or watch him coloring and I just cannot believe that my sweet tiny babe is all ready a walking, talking, busy two-year-old.

 

But he is.

 

And let's be honest.

 

It's freaking awesome.

 

Babies are cute and all, but toddlers and preschoolers are just fun and hilarious.

 

We started out our day with breakfast at our local co-op. They both needed sunglasses before venturing outside, of course.

 

 

I didn't spend half as much time on B's party as I have the four previous birthday parties that have gone on in this house. Call me terrible, but I'm okay with it. And B had chocolate cupcakes, so I'm pretty sure he was okay with it, too.

I kept food uber simple. Cucumber and cheese sandwiches, almond garlic chicken bites, cucumbers and tomatoes, cheese cubes, raspberries, blueberries, and apples. And of course, cupcakes. Chocolate and vanilla honey. And only J seemed to notice or complain that the chocolate were gluten free, so I call it a success!

 

 

 

Our coffee bar became the drink bar, complete with cucumber water (can you tell we've had a lot of cucumbers in our garden this year?), black raspberry sage tea, cherry lemonade, and juice boxes. Plus snack robots. Because who doesn't want a snack robot?

 

You know this is ridiculous and adorable all at the same time!

 

So the theme was robots and then B decided he wanted trains, too. So we had a Thomas balloon and piñata. We like to keep the birthday boy happy 'round here.

 



 

Of course, our smallest guests need a treat too! H and B put the bags together all by themselves (though Momma might have added the tags at the end).

 



B decided he wasn't keen on wearing clothes. Never mind Momma made him a robot romper just for this day. He was having none of it. So he wore a pull-up all day (and getting him into that instead of wearing his train chonies took some cajoling. I was afraid he'd be too busy and have an accident - but per typical, I was wrong. I just need to listen to my kids when they say "no" and trust they know their bodies - which they do!).

As soon as the first guest arrived, B went for the cupcakes. He held out as long as he could!

Papa held the pull string piñata when the time came.

This girl is just so dang beautiful.

B was more than pleased to find chocolate in the piñata!

B was pleased with his "water sticker" from Aunt B.

H was more than happy to help baby B open his gifts.

 

 

And after everyone left, B didn't last too long before passing out on Papa while reading books.

 



 

 

All in all, it was a great party. The kids had a blast, and really, that's all that matters.

 

I still can't believe my tiny boy is 2.

 

Two.

 

I am blessed. 

What my daughter knows

Today while we were waiting for story time to begin at B&N, H picked up a simple book and began to read. Another mom with a girl who appeared about the same age of H said to me, "Is she really reading that?"

H was slowly sounding words out, and then making up her own on some pages where the words were too big. I replied, "Yes, sort of. The parts she can."

"Oh my gosh. S (her daughter) is no where near close to being ready to read!"

I just smiled, because how do you reply to that?

Honestly, I loathe telling people or people finding out all the things H "knows." It's like being able to read and write and count, etc., etc., is worthy of an award.

It's not.

Not even at 3.

Don't get me wrong, I'm proud of H. And I'm proud of B. Regardless of their "accomplishments."

It drives me insane that people think their kids are brag-worthy. Or that mine are. Kids are kids. It doesn't matter what they know.

Quite frankly, they're all going to learn to read and write and do geometry, and maybe even chemistry. The when of it doesn't mean anything. If they're two, great. If they're twenty-two, great. It doesn't affect how well they know these things, just when. And as I said, the when doesn't matter.

I don't get credit for what H knows. That's all on her. She is the one who works hard. I despise that people think that it's okay to put their kids on display like little trophies.

Children aren't trophies.

H knows a lot. I will admit that. She knows a lot for her age, especially. But all those kids who are her age right now will know the same things in a year or two and then it won't be a big deal. And there are certainly kids her age, and younger, who know much more than she does, too.

You know what things my daughter knows that are important? Let me tell you:

She knows she is first and foremost loved. Loved unconditionally. Loved deeply. Loved without question for exactly who she is.

She knows that she is more important, more cherished, and far more valuable than any thing in the world.

She knows she owns her own body. She knows she can say "no" to hugs and kisses. She knows she can say "no" to certain people getting her out of her car seat or touching her or picking her up. She knows that if anyone makes her uncomfortable for any reason it is completely acceptable to not be around them.

She knows her voice will always be heard, especially by her parents. She knows she can object or question anything she doesn't agree with, any request made of her, and we will listen to her. She knows she has a strong voice, and she can use it and assert herself in all situations - to stand up for herself, as well as others.

She knows how to laugh. She knows how to be brave and silly and dance to the music in her heart.

She knows what interests her. She knows her passions and what she enjoys. She knows that those are things she can spend her days doing, and those are the things that will take her places some day.

She knows, oh goodness somehow she knows, that this world is a magical place. That she is a beautiful, magical creature. That she is marvelous and compassionate and hilarious. She knows that it's okay to draw houses with wings and she can play soccer with her hands and make up her own rules to Candy Land.

She knows she is safe. She knows how to stay safe. She knows that the people who love her will keep her safe.

And most importantly, she knows that all of these things are so much more important to know than how to read or multiply or name the planets in the solar system. Those are good things to know at some point, of course, but knowing those things don't make people happy. The smartest kids in school aren't necessarily the happiest. Because knowledge doesn't equal happiness.

So yes, H (and B) know a lot for their ages. But the things that they know that are most important can never be taught with a workbook.

And to me anyway, that's far more important.

Our "Play Space"

So a friend requested that I blog about our play space so she can see what types of toys/activities we have and utilize and how we set it up. Okay, technically she said "play room" but since it's definitely more than one room (if we're being honest, it's the whole house, though primarily two rooms), I'm going to call it a play space since it seems a bit more appropriate.

Firstly, I'm not like some play space expert. There is no genius that went into setting this all up. It just kind of went where it fit. But anyway. I digress...

So here is what I guess would be the actual "play room" looks like. It is technically a formal dining room, I suppose, but you can see how well that worked out. (Ignore the atrocious wall paper. It's on our list of things to do...some day...it's at the bottom).

This is looking into the play room from the kitchen.

 

 Going in a circle here. B is vacuuming. One of his favorite past times.

 

 And the rest of the play room. You can see into the living room from here where there books and art stuff is, but we'll get there in a sec.

 

 

So because specifics were asked for, here's some close-ups. I apologize for the terrible iPhone pictures in advanced.

 

So here they have a wooden work bench and then a shelf with lots of toys. On the top in the green basket is all their food/kitchen accessories. Their abacus. A puzzle that's too large to fit with the others.

 

The top shelf has first their doctor kit. In the pink monkey box are their dinosaurs and animals. Then the animal bucket and owl box have finger and hand puppets. And the last cubbie is a shape size sorter.

 

The bottom shelf has all their musical instruments in the first little box. You can't see it here, but on the other side of the ride-on toy is their little play piano as well. This way all of their musical stuff is together. The next cubicle has their two pull string toys - a snail and alligator. These toys get so much play time use that I think everyone should have one. Also in the same cubbie is one of those round stacking things. In the next cubbie are two hammering toys. One with pegs, the other has four balls that fall down when they are hammered. B really loves that one. And the last box holds a million and two wooden blocks. Which are the best toys in the world. Seriously.

 

 

 

Okay, so this is like caddy corner to the last shelf. You can see the piano here at the bottom.

 

The top shelf are two large floor puzzles - a farm one and a dinosaur one.

 

The second shelf is a box of lacing beads. Then a box of letter puzzles. And lastly a box of number puzzles.

  

The third shelf holds our lacing cards. These are some serious favorites. We also have wooden stacking animal cubes, and a pink tower.

 

And the bottom shelf has a conglomeration of wooden puzzles which include this, this, this, this, and this. Then there is small boxed puzzle which is great for beginners putting pieced puzzles together. And lastly a box with four puzzles, that is a bit trickier.

 

 

Then they have their play kitchen and way too much food and accessories to even try and tell you about, but does include this, this, and this. They also have their play mailbox, which they loooove.

 



 

Next is the homemade sensory bin. I was too cheap to buy a "real" one so I had J make one instead. It does the job. Painting it on my list of DIY projects before it gets too cold. Underneath is an old lap top. It no longer functions but the kids love playing on it. And we still have a learn and groove table even though it's a bit young for them now, because I just love it and am not ready to part with it, ha!



 

Then we have this little nook. On the wall is this fantabulous felt map that I scored for a whopping $3 at Kohl's! All the pieces are stored in a box on the side of the sensory bin table. All their cars and play vehicles are there on the road rug. The car ramp is a favorite, and we have a different version up in B's room, too.

 

Then we circle around to this shelf (directly across from the car and map nook). The top two bins contain different arts and craft stuff I don't particularly want them to have free access to all the time - paints, sequins, scissors, etc.

 

The seconds shelves contain an animal bucket full of pipe cleaners and wooden beads. Seriously, I would have never thought of getting them this because it seems a bit random, but they freaking love these and play with them every. single. day! So I think everyone should invest in some. Beside that in the plastic container is a fossil digging kit. They're slowly working on it.

 

The third shelves include a book of magnetic animals, as well as a box of magnetic animals and two blue board things that they can stick the animals onto. Beside those is my old iPod speakers that they use as a cash register, and a yellow basket which contains their jump ropes and binoculars.

 

The bottom shelves contain a bin of miscellaneous stuff. Mostly baby dolls clothes and accessories, as well as happy meal toys (yes, we do eat fast food on occasion - okay, way more than I care to admit sometimes). And then there are also three sets of magnetic dress up dolls. These, these, and these. Oh, and their push-cart is there beside the shelf, as well.

 

 

 

Next to that vertical shelf is all of their dress up stuff. Currently it's all on this great dinosaur coat rack that used to be their cousin's, and the smaller pieces are in the little crate below it. I want to get some pegs to stick on the wall to give them better access to all the clothes, since there is a lot more than it seems, and they could access it more easily.

 



 

And the circle around the room is completed with their train table. It's Imaginarium brand, but I got it off Craigslist and cannot actually find it online. We have a super basic wooden train track and this awesome farm set. I eventually want to get them the stables that go with it, and someday, a girl can dream anyway, the whole doll house and city. But they both play with this soooooo much, I think it'd definitely be worth it.

 

Oh, and I should have taken a picture, but above the train table is a ton of kid art. There is a framed painting, some canvas paintings, and a string that I clip their newest pictures to. It's not exactly "high class" wall art, but it's the best wall art in my house, I think!



 

Okay, so then their stuff continues into our living room. They have a book shelf with all of their books. It's a lot of books (that I badly need to organize). I get that. But dude, they read all. the. time. We spend hours reading every day. And they "read" to themselves all the time, too. There really is no such thing as too many books. Seriously.

 

Oh, and those cute little chairs their tia made for them.

 

 

And then they have this little art area on the other side of the reading area. We have this little table for them, so I don't feel too bad that it's been, err, decorated. And this great easel. On the shelf we keep all the "art" stuff that I'm (mostly) comfortable with them utilizing any time. This includes construction paper, coloring books, dry erase books, tons of stickers, crayons, colored pencils, markers, and dot paints.

 

And it keeps going. In between the living room and library couches is their tent. They have bean bags and blankets in there. And oftentimes things I don't want to know about like moldy raisins and curdled milk... Folded up and stored back there is also their tunnel. And also these fantastic blocks.



 

And finally, last but not least, in our very disorganized library they have a book shelf full of their board games and more "academic-y" books, flash cards, counting bears, etc.

 

 

So there you've got it. This is clearly a kids house and J and I are just living in it.

 

I must add that most of this stuff we have been given or gifted by other people. We are truly blessed that we have awesome friends, and the kids have great godparents whose kiddos are a bit older so we get awesome games and toys from them. There are a few things not included in all of this, like H's baby dolls. She has a crib upstairs that my paternal grandfather made me. Her Bitty Twins and double stroller are also hanging out in the living room, and I didn't show that. Or the floor of my library covered with games currently. Trust me, you didn't really want to see that any way.

 

Also, I do realize that they've got it made. But we're also home a lot - especially during the winter months, which are, you know, like 9 months out of the year. And since they are home, and not in daycare part of the day, it all gets utilized. Everything in this house gets played with at least once a week, though if we're home the entire day, typically at least a minimum of once a day. 

 

We are always on the look out for new and cool activities. I love getting ideas from other people, so if you know of something really awesome that we should include, let me know!

"I look just like you!"

Growing up I had a lot of body image issues. Like, a lot.

I never felt pretty. I always felt fat.

Which is sad.

Because I'm not modest enough to sit here now and say that I was ugly or fat. I was pretty. I am pretty. I've never been "fat" in my life.

But I was made to feel like that.

It wasn't by any one person or magazine cover. It was a conglomeration of the people in my life and the media that I witnessed every. single. day.

You're only beautiful if you're face is gaunt, your arms and legs are twigs, your tummy perfectly flat. Heck, even having muscles wasn't pretty.

More than one person, included those I was related to, flat out told me I was fat on a regular basis, or at least insinuated it.

By the time I'd reached the age of 18 I'd been on every single fad diet out there, starting at the age of 11. I'd cry if an 11-year-old H ever cared about a "diet" in the sense of trying to lose weight.

Everyone warned me that after I had H my body would be worse. It'd be stretched out and disproportionate. Clothes would never fit the same. I'd probably hate it even more.

Funny thing was, before I got pregnant with H I didn't hate my body. And I was at the heaviest I'd ever been in my life weighing in at a whopping 145lbs. I'd graduated high school at 120lbs. So I'd never been "tiny" anyway.

And yet it's funny that at 145lbs I was finally, for the first time, very comfortable in my skin. I was soft and fluffy. I was far from what Shape said was sexy. Maxim and Cosmo would have never allowed me to be on the cover of their magazines without some serious photo shop.

And yet I was okay.

For so many reasons.

Because I was surrounded by people who never commented on my weight. By people who truly thought I was beautiful. Because I was eating whatever and whenever I wanted and not upholding to a "diet."

And because J loved me regardless, so long as I was happy.

I was so prepared to hate my body though, after H was born. Because everyone told me I would.

But I didn't.

I loved all those red, and eventually white stretch marks that not only riddled my stomach, but also my sides and thighs. Each one was a reminder of the beautiful baby I'd carried in my womb.

I didn't care that I didn't have an awesomely elastic body. I didn't lament that I got more stretch marks from one 7.5lb baby than many women get after having carried five babies. It just didn't matter.

I was so in awe of what my body was capable of. Growing a human being. Going through labor and birth without aide from any medicine or other artificial "help". I loved that my body could nourish my child. That it could feed my baby while growing another, and then feed them both! I didn't have time to care about it's size.

After I had B I got down to my lowest weight since being with J. 123lbs. That was mostly due to a very strict Paleo diet, which I did give up after B was over a year (but still loosely follow, but now I eat my raw cheese and ice cream and occasional other "band" foods).

I will admit, that after I had B, and only when I got down to that extremely low weight (for me) I started to slightly obsess about my body image. Again. It was like all those thoughts and words from being a kid suddenly came back and I was afraid I wasn't "enough." I didn't wear cute and trendy clothes. Hell, I was happy just if they mostly fit. I never wore make-up or did anything to my hair. Seriously, I didn't even shower every day.

And it's funny how that works. At my "best" according to media and society's standards, internally, I've always felt my worst.

Obviously I surpassed that and said, "screw the world" because I'm good at that. I ate a cheeseburger and moved on.

And I loved my body anyway. Even as the pounds crept on slowly but surely. Especially when H (mostly) weaned and seemingly overnight I went from 126lbs to 133lbs.

Someone told me not long ago that I was getting "beefy." All I could do was smiled and say, "Thanks! That's the look I'm going for."

Because I am. I have some pretty great muscles going on right now. I just got a hula hoop, so despite my terribly bruised hip bones (who knew a hula hoop could do that !?), I'm fixing my diasis recti (that's where you abdominal muscles are greatly split. In mine, I can stick my whole hand in between them. Totally cool and creepy at the same time). I work out when I have time or want to make the time. I eat my weight in ice cream.

Most days I don't feel gorgeous. Pretty, sure, but not gorgeous. But I'm happy. And I'm "enough." I love my body.

Today I threw my hair up in a messy bun before heading out for a long morning at the park with my sweet H and B.

H looked at me as said, "I want my hair just like yours."

I rarely put her hair up because I love the curls. I love her gorgeous brown hair. But I obliged her and swooped those curls up into a messy bun.

I held her in front of the mirror afterwards and she said to me, "I look just like you!"

I smiled and said, "You do indeed!"

Then H took her hands and placed one on each of my cheeks. "You're just so beautiful!"

And pretty much simultaneously B was right below me going, "Tummy!" as he squished my belly with his hands, one of his favorite things to do.

And I know I'm doing it right. I know that, as long as I'm living anyway, my kids won't have a distorted view of body image and what is beautiful.

They'll know that a girl doesn't have to wear make-up or be stick thin. She doesn't have to wear tight clothes. She can be a plain Jane with a squishy tummy and "beefy" arms, who still gets black heads. And she's still beautiful, regardless.

It's a love story, baby

Today marks four years of marriage.

Four.

And yet it seems so much longer than that.

And not in, "Oh Jesus this just keeps on going and going and going" way. Because I freaking love being married and cherish and adore J to absolute pieces.

It's in a "all the beautiful parts of my life I share with you and it seems it's been this fantastic for much more than just four years."

Yes, we are one of those married couples. You know, those couples whose relationship is all roses and sunshine. I can't even pretend we're not.

He's my best friend.

He's too smart to let me fight with him.

He's too thoughtful to give me a reason to.

We are a team. And we're such a team. On everything.

We parent equally and together. We hold the same beliefs and uphold them with our children.

We see eye to eye on most everything, and the things we disagree on are the little things in life, which we can amicably agree to disagree on.

Being married to J is awesome. It's definitely in the top 5 of "Best Things to Ever Happen in My Life." Obviously H and B are tied at #1.

It's funny, too, because I was never going to get married. Ever.

So the fact that I did, and at such an incredibly young age is laughable. Even to me.

Before J and I were ever even serious, my dad asked me where our relationship was going. I remember telling him, "Dad, I'm not a marrying girl. But if I was, I know he'd be the one." And we hadn't even said I love yous at this point in our relationship. I just knew.

Truthfully, J and I never dated. He whisked me away to Spain my sophomore year of college, while I freaked out that I was going to be human trafficked or something. It was the first spontaneous or adventurous thing I'd ever done in my life. Because up until that point, everything had been well thought and laid out. I had a life plan, and J, nor any other man, was a part of that plan.

And then suddenly he was.

It was like a whirlwind love story, baby.

Just the other day J said to me, "Remember when you broke up with me?"

"Yes," I answered. "And we never got back together. We just got married and had kids."

We were officially "dating" for like a whole weekend. Then I freaked out and was like, "Whoa, Ki! This is not a part of the plan. STOP."

But it didn't work.

Because he was it for me. He is it for me.

A proposal in Paris, a wedding I didn't have to plan, and wham! We became forever, baby. Just like that.

And he's been so amazing. Such a trooper and a pillar of support.

I've grown so much as a person and human being, and he's supported that growth through and through, even when some of it made him raise his eyebrows - healthy food, home birth, peaceful parenting, etc., etc.

Sometimes I think it was because of him that I was able to find my voice. That I was able to shed the people-pleasing, quiet, sweet girl and not give a fuck what others think about me. I can be loud and definitive, and although my intention is never to hurt other people, I also don't have the need to be so P.C.

I got blessed with J. I certainly wasn't looking for him. I wasn't hoping for a white knight to come in and sweep me off my feet because I was a woman warrior and I knew I could take care of myself, always.

I wouldn't call J a knight anyway. He's charming enough, for sure, but his personality and sense of humor is as twisted as mine; he'd never be knight material.

But he's mine. He's my partner. My equal. He's the person I look forward growing old with (admittedly, one of us will get older sooner, bahaha). I love that we get to share everything together. I love that I can talk to him about anything and everything and know he's always got an open mind. That he will never judge me. That he is willing to tell me like it is and doesn't feel the need to sugar coat things.

I was a girl with a plan who shunned romance and love in favor of all things concrete and definitive. I thought love was a cosmic joke, but it turns out the joke was on me.

Because I'm hopelessly in love with a man I have the honor of calling my husband.

And it doesn't get any better than that.