BBC Banner

Natural Birth Classes

Monday, April 27, 2015

To the Moms of All Boys Who Keep Writing About Being Moms of All Boys

There is a simple formula for a viral mom post right now.

Have more than 1 boy and no girls.

List all the things people say to you in public about having all boys (you must be tired, your hands are full, they must keep you busy).

List all the ways having boys is awesome.

Bonus if you have an interaction with an older mother of all boys.

Yay moms of all boys.

*good feels*

This isn't going to be eloquent.

I'm a mom of all (four) boys.

I'm over the "mom of all boys" posts.

I'm kinda annoyed with the idea that all boys is any different than boys and girls, or all girls. Babies are babies, children are children. They are all loud. They all wake up at all hours. They all poop on the floor and put gross stuff in their mouth, sometimes in that order. In addition to being a mom of all boys and I've been in childcare for over 10 years, so I know what little girls are like. I've cleaned their poop off curtains too (shout out to Hailey).

But wait Cori, I've been a longtime follower (thanks!) and you said when you found out you were having a boy you were filled with a little dread.

You are right. I hate blood and I do think boys probably get stitches more. I'm not sure if that data has been compiled, but that is just my personal experience. So... that is that.

Also... they probably pee on the bathroom wall more.

... but other than that, if you have little kids in the house your hands are full. If you have any number of kids, even one, and you have hands... they will be full. Boys do not require more hugs, more nose wipings, more diaper changes. In my daycare I'm pulling little girls off bookshelves as often as little boys.

All moms of littles are tired.

All moms of littles are busy.

And so are the dads... shout out to them too.

I'm not buying into the weird comradery with having all boys as if we are experiencing anything harder than other moms. Like we have anything better than moms who have boys and girls, or just girls. These are cheap good feels... fluff pieces counting on getting lots of shares by other moms who just happen to conceive boys.

I do feel a little comradery with moms of all boys who might be a little afraid they will never know what it's like to have a daughter. Or moms with all girls who would like to know what it's like to raise a son. Those are genuine feelings, I get that. That, however, is different than the sentiments in these moms of all boys articles.

They are annoying.

Now I have to get back to having busy, full, tired hands.

Tuesday, February 17, 2015

and how about some body shaming with your morning coffee?

This won't be a long post.

I have lots of thoughts on bodies, and of course tons on my own. I spend a lot of time on my body: keeping healthy, usually unsuccessfully as I work uphill against metabolic disorders and hormonal imbalances; flexing in the mirror, feeling my body getting stronger but never seeing the results under that layer of fat that never goes away and I've never been without; trying to imagine what thin would even feel like and wondering how amazing my race times would be with 50 fewer pounds to haul over the finish line... and always of course bitterly jealous of anyone who has ever not had to live with all of the above.

This is what running usually around 20 hours a week, lifting heavy and often, squeezing in PiYo before bed instead of watching tv with my husband, eating a ridiculously clean, whole food plant based diet of only 1600 calories when breastfeeding and 1200 when not... and chasing after my four kids and four additional daycare kids daily gets me:

If you are thinking "if she just ate more calories, did paleo, was vegan, ate more healthy fats, ate fewer fats, drank these shakes or took these pills or read this book..." save it. I already have. I have also been employed by several gyms and have helped other people lose over a 100 pounds. Actually, I'd probably still be in fitness if a trainer and colleague didn't tell me that if I was going to be successful I would probably need surgery, and he was right. This is my lot. I don't love it, sometimes I hate it, sometimes I'm ok with it for a while because this literally has been my every day for so long and might be forever... 

I'm writing this for a few reasons. I think I mentioned in an earlier post that a friend said that is wasn't until she started working as a doula and seeing other women's bodies that she started to feel better about her own. I think seeing what other women look like, whatever that is, is important. Especially what we look like after we have babies... see that awesome skin over my pants... even 30 pounds thinner that is still there. Turns out, you can't run or lift or kickbox skin off.

I also had a moment with another doula in a hospital room, I was already pregnant with my fourth and didn't know it yet, and we were talking about postpartum bodies, and people have surprisingly told me how fit I am and I really wanted to take a picture of my belly and post it... because in reality, I am always so tempted to show those people my belly and be like "this is what is smashed under my spanx."

But none of that was enough to grab a camera.

A friend that is a mother, smart, very successful and old enough to know better posted this:

"Why is everyone so excited over Cindy Crawford's baggy,post baby tummy and giggly thighs? Aren't more of you wondering why she didn't get a tummy tuck with all that money? Come on already. And honestly, its kind of embarrassing - I can think of several women I know right off the bat ( 
___________ and ___________ ) who look 10x better because they WORK OUT - and ___________ has had 5 kids! I just don't understand the point of Cindy's pics. Are we supposed to feel better because she looks bad?"

It was such a blow, really, and I'm normally not that affected by internet ignorance. Maybe it's because I'm feeling particularly discouraged today...

But seriously... isn't it hard enough already? 

It's nice to not feel alone, or weird, to know other people go through what you are going through.

That's not particularly what I felt when I saw Cindy's photo, I wasn't thinking "oh, she's just like me!" because you all have no idea what I would give for visual confirmation of my abs, I have never seen them. They are a myth as far as I'm concerned.

What resonates from me is the shaming. If this person that I know in real life thinks that of her... fuck... there is no hope for me. It's already soul crushing to go to the gym and know people assume you are at the beginning of a fitness journey when you are actually 14 years into and have figured out there is pretty much no destination... just this... forever... and you feel shitty about it. It's awesome to know that when you start to feel a little better, someone will be there to let you know "oh no... you still look bad."


I feel better now.

Thursday, December 18, 2014

Baby 4 Week 40: Rejected Birth Story Beginnings

40 Weeks

I'm very aware that every contraction could be the beginning of the birth story I'll write. I don't know if other women think this way... maybe it's because I'm a writer and I'm always thinking about where the story is in normal life. Or maybe everyone is thinking this. Either way, it's something I'm aware of, and there's been a few times that I've been like... yeah... this is not how I want to start my birth story. I'll share a few examples...

There was Monday night when the nausea was so bad I spent the first half of the night making myself throw up in the bathroom until I couldn't anymore... and could finally sleep. Induction by bulimia... not charming.

My midwife said that she knows I don't want to drink castor oil, but it can also be applied vaginally because there's lots of prostaglandins... cut to "honey... you are going to put castor oil on your penis..." Eric really wanted to post about the whole thing after... but he's not me and chickened out. Of my rejected birth story beginnings I think this was my favorite.

For some reason a prenatal turned into comparing movies we love, and my midwife left A Dirty Shame at our place (and I sent her with The Brown Bunny... we are both weird I guess). So Eric and I are watching the movie and I'm having contractions and thinking "no... this cannot be how we start this..." Eric rounded out the evening with making us watch the Lonely Island Creeper video, which is inspired by maker of the film.

I hope I didn't just violate some kind of confidentiality thing...

I don't feel too pregnant. Physically, I feel pretty comfortable. I'm still working out, RIPPED and BodyPump.

Baby is very low but not uncomfortable low, like he or she is falling out... just settled in.

I am not frantically trying to induce, but we are very actively encouraging. I had a great acupuncture session with Maureen Manning on Tuesday, and yesterday I had a labor encouragement massage with Danielle Rodhouse. I also asked my midwife to do a membrane sweep... or stretch or strip... she calls is cervical stimulation because that is the most accurate description of what is happening. What's a fourth term I guess. Either way it was definitely different than the other 5-6 sweeps I've had in other pregnancies! Way more intense, which I appreciate because if we are going to do it, then let's do it well! She stretched me from a 2 to a 3, I'm 70-80% effaced, and baby is at 0 station. I've been a little crampy this morning... hopefully all our efforts amount to something... but it's ok if baby isn't ready too.

Baby is around 8.5-9 pounds, active and happy. I'm up around 10 pounds total.

40 week belly compare? Ok...

40 weeks with baby 4!
40 weeks with Indy!

Ash was already here!

40 weeks with Milo!

What this week was like with my other pregnancies:
             Milo, Week 40: Strip Tease
             Ash was here already!
             Indy, Week 40: So What If We Aren't Ready

- Cori

Thursday, December 11, 2014

Baby 4 Week 39: Puking Out The Baby

Week 39

So when we left off I was having contractions and writing my 38 week post around midnight, feeling like there was a decent chance I wouldn't make it to this post, let alone be able to wait til morning to post that one.

So hi... I'm still here... pregnant...

After I posted I went to bed, couldn't sleep, drank some water, got in the shower, the contractions changed to just one long, terrible cramp, with occasional stronger cramps... kinda like Pitocin contractions. I made Eric start cleaning the house... just in case... while I willed my body to chill the fuck out in the shower. This also came with mind numbing nausea. I was ok with baby coming, but that's not the birth I wanted so I was feeling pretty bummed. I don't want one of those labors where you puke the baby out... but I know I don't get to pick.

I decided to get back in bed and I'd call my midwife if I still couldn't sleep an hour later. I slept for 4 hours, until my alarm went off. I woke up still cramping, really sore, still terribly nauseated, so I called my midwife and she came over. She thought I had probably dilated a bunch, had a wave of hormones, basically my body was warming up.

Since then I've woken up nauseated every morning. I go between not wanting to eat anything... or waking up and falling asleep starving. The last few days it's been mostly starving and I hate it. It's not like I can snack constantly because I need to check my bloodsugar... and not gain a pound a day...which I will totally do. I know this will happen again when I'm breastfeeding but at least I wont have the bloodsugar to deal with and I'll have a couple weeks before that kicks in anyway.

We retested after taking lots of probiotics and I'm still GBS+. That's ok. So we didn't do a sweep this week and instead we were ordered to have sex and I booked a labor encouragement massage for Monday and an acupuncture appointment for Tuesday. Normally we would not have to be ordered to have sex, but Eric has been very "that'll make you have a baby, and we aren't ready" and my hormones have been so weird... I'm just like... meh... fine... snore... or just cut to snore. If I wasn't me I would totally be lecturing myself... I've lectured plenty of classes and I've ranted on this blog about how important this is. Anyhow, we've been called out...

I'm also eating dates everyday... which I'm super into.

So we are encouraging baby at this point... this also means trying to drink plenty of water and sleeping enough so my hormones all work as they are supposed to. It doesn't mean I'm frantically bouncing on a ball using a breast pump like last time, we are being much more relaxed now.

I only made it to the gym once. With everything going on in my body I felt like I needed to rest, and then as soon as I had a calm day I went to BodyPump. If felt good to feel my body do something that was normal to me.

Baby seems to be around 8 pounds now, and he or she is very low... like my midwife was shocked. She had me feel where baby's head was. I don't feel much bigger, but I gained almost 2 pounds.

I don't mind being pregnant so much... but I think I'm done now... mostly because not knowing when it'll happen, which something is happening all the time... is hard.

What this week was like with my other pregnancies:
             Milo, Week 39: The Good, The Bad, & The Girl That Screams at Strangers
             Ash was here already!
             Indy, Week 39: Puffer Fish

- Cori

Friday, December 5, 2014

Baby 4 Week 38: Then I Lose All Birth Cred...

Week 38

There are things birth workers hear women say all the time that become these cliches... these lies that many women believe are true. And we here them all the time so sometimes we have to try to not roll our eyes when we hear them... it's nothing personal... it's more about our birth culture and medical system than about you...

"The cord was around the baby's neck, so (insert dramatic outcome)."

"I would have died if I was at home."

"I just don't go into labor."

Nuchal cords (cord around the neck) are normal and almost never are a cause for concern; it's impossible to compare hospital and home birth outcomes because midwifery care has better outcomes, so those hospital complications would have happened; and... no one is pregnant forever...

All true.

Doesn't matter... I still have beliefs about my body that I can't seem to shake. For me, it's that I will not go into labor on my own. My midwife said it at this last appointment "no one is pregnant forever." Totally true, I've said it myself and if a woman came up to me and said "I just don't go into labor" I would explain to her about due dates, and cycles, and 40 weeks is not a deadline, that she probably would have eventually gone into labor... all of it... and I believe it... just not for me... which bothers me. What bothers me most is not the idea of not going into labor on my own... it's that I believe I won't. Will I then definitely not because I believe it?

Lots of birthy people would say yes. I hope they aren't right.

Here are my thoughts and why I don't think this is an irrational fear. I have long cycles... Stupid long cycles... 32-40 day cycles. Long cycles can mean longer pregnancies... from what I've heard. I don't believe that I would NEVER go into labor on my own... but I think it's very possible that if left to our own devices... baby and my body may not get the show on the road until 43-44 weeks... which can be normal and fine for some women.

I also have gestational diabetes and grow big babies. Normal woman at 43 weeks... probably normal birth... me at 43 weeks... 12 pound baby that I did not naturally grow, it had help from the GD and therefore more likely to have some issues. And 12 lb baby from a mom without GD... probably uncomplicated because it's what her body naturally grew.

I am not easily swayed by other people... and I'm not easily swayed by myself... I've been trying to tell myself that I totally could go into labor, I can get 90% of myself being like "YEAH this could TOTALLY happen! It's only 38 weeks but I should have that living room clean and laundry done because tonight COULD BE THE NIGHT!" #trustbirth #optimism #earthmamaenergy

And 10% is a grumpy cat meme telling the 90% to shut the fuck up and shave your legs.

Again... I'm not as concerned about not going into labor as I am concerned about believing that I won't... I really did trust everything last time... to pretty much the bitter end. And I don't want to even talk about this because I don't want anyone to be like "Ooooh... yeah she hasn't processed her last birth and her birth fears are going to (insert all content of Ina May's Guide to Childbirth)." No. Stop please. I processed the shit out of my first birth and I feel great about it. But clean slates don't exist. My body has a track record. I'm allowed to learn from its patterns. That doesn't mean I'm processing... it means I've processed and learned something.

I do know that I could be wrong, and I am open to that and fully welcome that. However... the truest, most honest part of me is nervous to take this pregnancy to 40 weeks, and nervous to even try to induce naturally because that has totally failed twice, and nervous to not do a membrane sweep because that worked so well, and most of all nervous of what I and everyone will think about my worries. When I had my plan, that I established as soon as I had an EDD, to start herbs two weeks ago and do a membrane sweep today... I worried about zero things... well some things... but nothing big. Now I'm having to face stuff.

So there's my big confession. I cannot believe I'm even writing this... I'm sure someone is already well into writing their nuchal cord horror story in the comments and is totally missing the point... and someone else is probably already pitying my birth that I'm totally ruining with my stupid thoughts.

I'm still excited. My birth team is awesome. I believe I'm going to have a great birth and I'm so excited to meet this baby... and I am trying to be welcoming to this baby. I'm trying to not tell this baby it can't come until (insert whatever I want to get done) and make sure baby knows we are ready for him or her... though a little part of that is still a lie... because I'd love to get a few things finished here. I hope that he or she just doesn't listen to me... baby you can't trust me right now... I'm too pregnant.

Physically I'm overall ok. If I was a first time mom I might be complaining more but I know everything I feel in my pelvis, legs, sometimes back are totally normal and will be gone soon. Baby is super in my pelvis. I have tons of space by my ribs which is nice. We are re-testing for GBS on Monday, been taking probiotics from every direction. I may have a doula. Lots of good things. Don't judge me too harshly. Sharing here means I don't have to worry about it.

These contractions I'm having right now will probably be "it" and this will be the most ironic post ever.

Monday, December 1, 2014

Baby 4 Week 37: The GBS+ Post

Week 37

We found out at this week's appointment that I am for the first time, GBS+. Actually, I found out via a facebook message from my midwife... because we are super modern. I have extensively explored my options with GBS in the past even though I ended up not having it, I wanted to know what I would do if I did.

Basicly, GBS is Group B Step, a group of bacteria that 10-30% of women carry in their digestive track. You can be a carrier always, or it can come and go, it can even come and go during your pregnancy.

Standard hospital protocol is to treat all women that are GBS+ with IV antibiotics every 4 hours. I had decided in prior pregnancies that I would choose to not have IV anitbiotics unless there I had added risk factors, and that we would instead monitor the baby for signs of infection. I'm choosing the same route this time. Even though I am having a home birth, my midwife can start an IV of antibiotics if, for example if my water has been broken for a very long time, which normally would not be an issue. We also wont be doing any cervical checks and very likely not doing a membrane sweep which was something I was planning on.

Of course with this happening Eric had a night of "OMG, should we have a home birth? Are we going to have a dead baby?" Being informed and having reassuring (and sometimes not reassuring, because GBS can be really scary) stats and studies sometimes doesn't matter. Eric was great and read all the literature I gave him, a really helpful article my midwife gave to me on the risks and options, as well as Evidence Based Birth's article. Once we reviewed all the information we felt good about our decision... very few babies will have an infection, 1/200 if I don't have antibiotics (though this is compared to 1/500 with antibiotics). If baby does have an infection we will know almost immediately, unless the baby has late onset, for which antibiotics in labor would have done nothing for anyway. Antibiotics in labor also does not make it less likely that a baby will die, even though death is a risk factor of infection... which I get is weird. It seems that the babies who are not going to be able to fight off the infection will not be able to whether mom has antibiotics or not. Considering how negatively I react to antibiotics, and IV's... we feel like we are making a reasonable choice.

We are also choosing to retest, maybe at 38 1/2 weeks? We need to talk more about it. And I can always change my mind.

This week we also took our maternity/family pictures. All I can say is that Kirsten is amazing and if you want wedding, family, maternity, birth, or newborn pictures... you should look her up. She will also be doing our birth pictures... here is one she recently shot... I'm so excited.

Here are a couple teasers...

I haven't been to the gym much this week because we have been so busy getting the house ready. I will have to kick things back up this week.

I swear this baby is the most active. Eric says I always say that. It's really crazy though, like... there's probably 10 babies in there.

Baby is still measuring right on, 6.5-7pounds. I'm up 6 pounds.

Oh... crazy leg cramps... hamstring... nothing relieves it... so insane. Taking a liquid magnesium now.

What this week was like with my other pregnancies:
             Milo, Week 377 Engagement Party

- Cori

Friday, November 28, 2014

Everything About When I Was Twenty Something...

I started writing this post a year ago. Literally. On my 29th birthday I went for a run and started to write in my head. This is where I have written many of my blogs in the last ten years and where many unwritten blogs hang in the air because as soon as I get home life starts and whatever I just wrote fades.

Where I write.

What I wrote that day was my intention to really consciously live this last year of my twenties and reflect on this decade. I like reflecting. I'm a storyteller and I often retell myself the stories that make up my short history, looking for meaning. It's a hobby. I want to tell myself an accurate story and I'm always really proud when Eric tells me that I'm self aware, because I'm sure to many people I'm a bull just crashing over everyone's feelings totally oblivious of my weaknesses and the rubble in my wake. I want to know who I am the whole time that I'm me... that might seem silly, but how many women do you know who start finding themselves in their forties, or after a divorce, or after the kids are grown (or ✓ all of the above).

Nearly every time it was quiet and there was a road in front of me I filed through my favorite moments, the forks in my road, my war stories, pictures, music, movies, writings... stitching together the short stories and mementos. That is what this is.  It's more for me than anything, but I have to put it somewhere.


There are no pictures of my twentieth birthday that I can think of.

There are engagement pictures from that fall, but I don't remember much else from that time.

To me planning a wedding was an obvious, fairly unexciting process. I was accused of being under a lot of stress, maybe because I was hospitalized for anxiety. I don't remember any magic or excitement in it. If you remember me excited, tell me about it. I do remember being worried that I hadn't found the ribbon to go around the handle of my bouquet... which would arrive dead on my wedding day anyway.

One of my professors tried to talk me out of getting married. Not in general, to my fiance specifically. I was proud of who I was marrying if I was at church, or at a show, or around campus... but she and I knew he lacked ambition and follow through and I think she thought that would make me hate him or drag me down. It didn't.

When I was eighteen I loved falling asleep at the foot of his drums at band practice and being in awe of his blonde hair that he wore as a black mohawk. At twenty I was trying to recapture that awe and make us make sense forever. I became incredibly interested in arranged marriage and falling in love with the person you have made a decision to marry for practical reasons. Interestingly, when I wrote about marriage I used analogies of dying in war... I know I was focusing on honor and commitment, but I had only been married a matter of months and there was no talk of love. I had already lived through the terrible honeymoon and I suppose this was me falling on my sword for the good of a stable society.

Not the figurative honeymoon by the way... the actual terrible honeymoon in Canada, where I drained my anti anxiety prescription as I tried to figure out how to get my new husband to want me.

Note... I hold nothing against Canada.

Our song was Out of the Woods. It's an awkwardly long song to play in a wedding ceremony.

Twenty One

The first time I drank while with my first husband he cried. I was 19, wasn't married yet and kinda flying off the rails being the novel engaged virgin at all the parties as I tried to figure out what I wanted.

Somewhere between then and my twenty first birthday alcohol wasn't so taboo with him anymore. I do actually have pictures of my twenty first birthday... pretty much all with people who hate me now. Let's reflect.

Someone should have told me that when you've been drinking since high school
the cool part of being 21 is going to a BAR and drinking.

I got my first tattoo, in our apartment, around midnight.
I miss this shirt.

Was "my wife" ... we don't talk... it didn't end well.

And then I married her ex-husband. Not awkward.

That's what I have from my twenty first birthday. Some people burn pictures and rip chapters out of books but I refuse... no matter what I was doing to my bangs. There were a lot more people at this party and over the next year or so nearly all those relationships crumbled with my first marriage. I mourned them for a long time. Honestly, I'm not sure I could say I was ok with that chapter until last year... but no reading ahead.

I hope that when I get to whatever age will be my last I can look back and say that I was never again as bitter as I was when I was 21. Nine months of that year was spent on a sinking ship, that was also on fire, with pirates gutting everyone on board. I gripped the wheel though. I was angry, I felt cheated by my husband (and sometimes God) and I took out every ounce of that disappointment out on him, sometimes publicly. Sometimes I also played the martyr in my own head (see dying for country above)... and the in between times I did still love being "The Drummer's Wife" which remained my myspace profile name until the bitter end.

And it ended. Not by me. Those final months I probably was guilty of dumping gasoline over it all but I never touched a match. I was going out, flirting, looking for some validation that I wasn't getting at home... but all along I didn't want to go elsewhere for. The night before I found the divorce searches on our computer history I was out dancing with a guy that I felt like was miles out of my league and it all just baffled me. Someone saw me and texted "Where is your husband?" I stood on a chair in the bar to try to figure out who it was. I still don't know. One of the great mysteries of my life.

I never signed divorce papers.

I took long drives down the coast for hours crying and screaming into the windshield living one of my favorite scenes in Alfie and listening to Blue October.

I cried so hard into my phone one night that it got water damage.

I went to church a lot. Before and after church, I sat in coffee shops in Santa Cruz and wrote.

I fell asleep to Kate Walsh most nights.. usually Goldfish.

Oh and I was blonde.

Twenty Two

I spent my 22nd birthday at the Penny Farthing with many of the same people with whom I spent my 21st, minus my husband. It was a surreal night, it ended in some guy's garage with many of my very adult friends acting like experimenting high schoolers. I felt too old to be threatening to take someone's keys.

I had pink hair and took pictures like this.

I got another tattoo.

I traveled whenever I could, even if it was just up to the city.

Very soon after my 22nd birthday I was driving home from San Francisco, winding down the coastline after staying the night with a guy I didn't have sex with. That morning he said goodbye at the car and added that the night was a mistake, lets not tell anyone about it. I had just taken a running start at a different life and kinda panicked when I think I was supposed to leap. Wolf In Me was on the radio as I had a talk with myself about what kind of girl I was.

I decided that I was the kind of girl who had all the boys.

... or that I was not a "kind of girl," or that if I was, I was not a kind I had ever met. Eric probably wishes the conversation had gone differently because he watched me go through all this, developing feelings for me, but also being disappointed in me. He was still in a band with my husband, so he was around.

Did I mention that?


I wonder if he hates that tattoo that is my art.

I still went to shows. One time my husband stopped a show until I left, so I didn't go anymore. Though these were still my people and I came to parties anyway. One night a group of us were supposed to go to a MC Chris show together. Somehow it ended up being just me and Eric, who my friend had recently left after seven years of marriage. Eric didn't talk much, ever. On the drive to Santa Cruz he played Megan by the Smoking Popes. He was still my friend's husband to me, but I wanted to know more about a boy who played songs like this for girls... and find one of my own.

When we saw the singer of that song at a solo show a couple years ago I wrote that story on an envelope and gave it to him.

For Christmas I went to England by myself.

I had never seen a phonebooth, had to take a picture in it.
Old churches and short skirts with tights.

A graveyard.

I stayed with my old youth pastor and I wanted him to tell me why the road I was on was bad. I didn't feel bad. I was happy. If you have been a high schooler in church you have probably seen the flower petal skit where you give away a petal at a time until there is nothing left for the person you care about or you've heard "there's no condom big enough for your heart." Well now I wanted an explanation. Maybe I wasn't speaking clearly, but all I remember coming away with was "do you have a question or do you just want to hear yourself talk?"

Christmas morning I got drunk in a pub with a random English guy who invited me to his flat and played Snow Patrol while we drank Brandy. He said flat instead of apartment... and he was English... and I was obsessed with Love Actually. What do you think happened...

Oh ps... Brandy is gross.

I shared everything with Eric because I shared everything with whoever I was around at that moment. It's interesting to know now how that made him feel. Not jealous, more like I deserved better. We have had many conversations after our marriage about why I didn't deserve better, I was getting exactly what I wanted. Of course we couldn't have those candid conversations then. Eric was like my Jiminy Cricket that was way too shy and had a crush on me.

Sometimes I thought Eric was flirting with me, and I liked the attention, but it was confusing. There was one time we were staying in a trailer and it was freezing cold. I was complaining and he said I could come stay in his bed with him. An epic battle in my mind ensued as I tried to figure out what that meant. I asked him recently if he would have made a move and he acted shocked, "No! You just were cold!"

He's so pure.

On one of the last days of 2006 I was at Eric's apartment, where I was often now because he had broken his leg and he had no one to help him out. We started talking about God, which was weird because even though I was at his apartment almost every day, we didn't talk much. When I posed questions about the Bible to pastors I usually was accused of having a head faith and not a heart faith. I came to take this as "I don't know, but I'm going to make this about you and not me."

Whatever I asked Eric that night, he had an answer, and handed me a little 80 page book on the topic. I spent New Years Eve pouring over Greek and Hebrew translations trying to prove him wrong.

We bonded over movies and music and doctrine, never our divorces. One time I made a negative comment about his first wife because she was my friend and sometimes made me mad... and he stopped me mid-sentence and said he wouldn't talk negatively of her. We still sat on separate couches and never hugged hello or goodbye but now something was there. One time after a date with some guy I asked Eric why I couldn't find someone like him. I meant it. I liked Eric and all his integrity and mystery, but couldn't imagine how a relationship wouldn't destroy all our friendships and of course his band.

I couldn't destroy this!

The day before our divorce was final my still husband showed up at my work. It was weird. I had fought so hard to get him to stay... and suddenly he was crying and asking if it was too late and telling me how good I looked and a huge part of me just thought "fuck... I have to say it's not too late... I'm his wife." I also felt scared and wounded, and a little nervous and hopeful.

I told him it wasn't too late and he asked me to come to his apartment that night, he'd call. I went to Eric's to wait. We both waited. He didn't call.

On our first date Eric held my hand for the first time and kissed my palm. One of my close friends told his first wife, who I still felt close to, that we were together, which actually wasn't true. Someone with a fake myspace account told me how terrible the whole scene in the bar was and how terrible I was for causing it to happen. I have never been able to figure out who that person was either. Eric's sister-in-law texted him to ask if it was true. I was with him. I wanted to know too. He told her and me that we were not together.

If something was going to happen here, I wanted to handle everything with integrity. I didn't want to do or say anything behind anyone's back and I thought that as long as I was honest everything would be ok. I get how socially unacceptable this all was. Friends' exes are off limits. However, when we finally had dinner and talked about this potential relationship, she gave me her blessing. She said it was weird, but it was ok with her. I agreed it was weird. She was one of the first to know of our engagement and congratulate us. I thought we had beat the system and all conducted ourselves like adults.

We still lost most of our friends. It was a very small wedding that fall.

But it was perfect.

We got married in my aunt's backyard after getting engaged four months earlier. I had caught the bouquet at a wedding in Vegas. Eric blurted out that he loved me.


That bouquet.

I had said I didn't want anyone to say that they loved me until they were ready to marry me. His proposal was kinda an accident but it worked out.

That one time I was tan and had time to workout two hours every day.

I walked down the isle to Valentine by the Smoking Popes.
Our recessional was What a Wonderful World covered by Joey Ramone.

Happy feelings.

We danced to Kate Walsh's Your Song.
... even though Eric doesn't have blue eyes.

I don't think we had ever had an argument, we had never lived together,
never had sex. I definitely remember the last one.

Happily Ever After. 


I mourned the losses of those friendships for years. There were no fights, no explanations, they were just gone. It was not until a phone call last year from my once friend who took it upon herself to blow the whistle on a relationship that didn't even exist yet that I realized that I had no idea what had been said behind the scenes. I had been on a Small World ride where everyone got along, defied social norms, and we peacefully went off to live our happily ever afters... Eric's first wife was also in what seemed to be a happy relationship. Everything should have been perfect. I saw only a glimmer of the campaigning that probably was happening all along one night just after Eric and I were married. His first wife called, screaming and furious, I'm not sure what over. Eric didn't mean for me to hear, he was very calm and let her talk... but I heard myself accused of doing and saying things that never happened. I was shocked, devastated, and the calls continued over several months. I wanted everyone to be ok, and everyone wasn't. I spent six years hurt and confused, mourning those losses, and my friend that I so badly didn't want to hurt. When I saw Something Borrowed, that scene on the street with Rachel and the dry cleaning and running into Darcy... it ripped my heart out.

There was still no doubt I had made the right choice.

Twenty Three

Eric's band went on with a new drummer, I was in the process of opening my own tanning salon and we were looking at buying a house. Grown up life.

My 23rd Birthday.

I'm much less creative when I'm happy. I'll totally take happiness over being a prolific writer. All that kinda died off in a way and that's ok I guess. I left college and we bought a house and traveled.

Tanning salon convention in Vegas.

Backpacking in Klamath.


We of course had our first big fight and we both cried and almost missed one of these trips. It was different though. Everything was so different. Even when we were angry we were safe with each other. 

I got to know the guy who was so quiet. I learned his secrets and he learned that I didn't have any, and would probably fail to keep any we created. If he forgot that, he's probably remembering right about now, and we are only three years into the decade.

And then I wanted a baby. When we were engaged I told Eric I wanted lots of babies. He was like... maybe one. I was like... six babies and a farm... final offer.

Twenty Four

My 24th Birthday. Those nachos... I remember them like they were yesterday.

Nothing makes you want a baby like going off of birth control and not getting pregnant, which is exactly what happened. Turns out, I wasn't ovulating. We just happily traveled and enjoyed our life together while we waited... but waiting was hard. Fertility drugs and monthly blood tests was not how we imagined starting a family.


Vegas for the Punk Rock Bowl.

It took many months, but two years after Eric held my hand for the first time on Valentines Day, I put this in his.

I thought he would hug me and be thrilled, but he just asked if I was sure and if I took two.

We spent 2009 being pregnant. Well not the whole year, but a lot of it. Nothing else mattered. I got incredibly fat. Eric's band went on an east coast tour. Mostly I was just pregnant.

When I was six months pregnant I brought Eric to a family reunion. He was still like... "maybe one kid." And obviously I'm like... "there's definitely one kid." The reunion was of my paternal grandfather's siblings and offspring. He was one of five. At the end of the weekend I asked Eric if he had a good time. He had. Eric is an only child with almost no family. I told him all those people would not be here if someone hadn't decided to have those five kids. I don't think we ever needed to discuss how many kids we would have again.

With my grandfather.

Milo's birth was hard and scary. I don't know how long after Milo's birth Eric shared this, but he said it was his favorite moment with me. Not meeting our baby, but those last moments when I could only bury my head in his chest as I pushed and I asked him if he thought I could do it and he said I could and that's the only reason I did it. I didn't believe anyone else. He said I was so vulnerable and trusted him so much, and I really did. After the baby was born I was still only there with Eric. 

We did eventually notice there was a baby.

Milo was born exactly a month before my 25th birthday. The song I chose for his birth was Heartbeats by Jose Gonzalez.

Twenty Five

I wanted to be married, own a home, and have a baby by 25. I barely made it.
My 25th Birthday. I really don't need much on my birthday, I just want to
walk around someplace and get clam chowder.

In writing this it's amazing how different the first half of my twenties were from the second half. Now we were parents, we loved it, and we were good at it. 

Milo was also an incredibly easy little baby. Too easy, I guess we had too much alone time because it really didn't take long for this...

I was becoming more passionate about natural birth and I looked forward to giving it another shot. I never stopped believing in natural birth. I didn't blame my body or my goal for my complicated medicated birth, I blamed a medical system that made it so difficult to achieve a normal birth. When I was pregnant with Milo I had decided that I wanted to teach childbirth classes, but first I needed to experience a natural birth. Eric and I both again applied ourselves to that goal. This pregnancy went much more smoothly.

One thing I learned from my early twenties was that you can never judge a relationship from the outside. I still catch myself doing it from time to time, but it's really not possible. The happiest couple you think you know might be miserable behind doors... and the most mismatched pair might be the love story that makes it til death do they part. I don't keep up appearances for others. I refuse. If something has upset me and Eric and I need to deal with it, it is dealt with right there where ever we are no matter who is there to see it. It's made for some awkward moments, but we go to bed happy and I don't hold grudges. 

I know what it's like to fight with a spouse every month, every week. And what it's like to go six months without an argument and then for that argument to be over $700 shoe insoles (that still makes me kinda mad). 

When my cousin got married we played a game at the bridal shower. We were all given a word, and we had to give her advice based on that word. I cannot remember what my word was, but I remember one part of my advice was that somehow her husband would challenge her in the one way that would be hardest... but that I think that is part of the design of marriage. That we are paired with with someone who will make us better, but that will probably be hard, and at some point will hurt. I don't think I was projecting, I think this is true... I'm open to it not being true though.

Don't invite me to your shower and ask me to give advice if you want warm fuzzies.

When I shared that I was thinking about a morning a few days before my twenty sixth birthday, a year before. I found out Eric had lied to me about something and it devastated me. Everyone else who had ever hurt me had a long history of hurting me... but not Eric. The one thing I needed was to always believe him. If I could set my compass by his word everything would be ok. Otherwise the world was a chaotic, scary place that I wasn't sure I could handle.

My twenty sixth birthday was apart of a string of very dark days, and I didn't know what the coming days or weeks would look like. 

Twenty Six

We celebrated my twenty sixth birthday with a gender reveal party. No one, not even Eric or I, knew if we were having a boy or a girl. We all thought it was a girl.

Not a girl! Another little boy!

I don't want to be hurt, and I don't want to hurt people, but many of my favorite movies and songs reflect that theme. Eric doesn't love them along with me, he likes a happy ending, and for people to not fuck each other up. For example, I love Closer. When I was single I totally imitated Natalie Portman's character, Alice, in real life scenarios on a few occasions. I think I modeled my flirting style after this scene. I just love her.

However, unlike my favorite movies, I thought we would somehow manage to never hurt each other, but we did. That was four years ago and every once in a while, usually when I'm pregnant, I have to replay what happened, why, and I need to be reassured that I'm not being lied to now, which is the single most terrifying scenario for me (other than our health or lives being threatened of course). 

I feel like I wouldn't be sharing our whole story if I didn't share that. Eric has still proved himself to be patient and understanding, which I sometimes meet with skepticism... but no tearing out chapters...

Ashley Caleb was welcomed naturally in March. Eric was again, amazing. I've often wondered what I would do if he died while I was pregnant. There are a million ways in which him not being here would be... beyond terrible... but this is just one thing that I think about when I feel like torturing myself and making myself cry for no reason. 

I'm glad this is something we do together.

And our little family flourished.

Twenty Seven

Some years are just fun and simple.

My 27th Birthday.

When I was twenty seven we traveled, went to parties, and enjoyed our growing family.

Christmas party turned surprise wedding.

We still go to shows, and take blurry selfies at them.

Hunger Games.

Backpacking in northern California.

And then I got pregnant... because that's what I do.

We went to New York.

And I went to Texas to certify as a natural childbirth educator.

 And our babies grew.


Twenty Eight

I think we just celebrated my 28th birthday on Thanksgiving. We do that sometimes.

My 28th Birthday.

 My birthday is on the 28th of November, so naturally it's one of my favorite numbers (other favorite is 14). So I was pretty excited to turn 28. This year was spent preparing for a new baby, then birthing a new baby, and then living with a new baby.

After a very long pregnancy... 42 weeks and 2 days, we met our third son, Indiana Jacob.

I started teaching my natural childbirth classes. I don't even know what to say about that, except that I think it's exactly what I'm meant to do. I love it.  I meet the most amazing people, I get to share about a topic I'm passionate about, and I get to help them make informed decisions about their baby's birth.

Our babies became kids!

 And we made time to just be a couple.

Twenty Nine

And this is where we started. On a cold November morning on my 29th birthday on a run, writing this story in my head. That night we celebrated with Thanksgiving... because my birthday fell on Thanksgiving.

Turkey cheers!

 I think that I succeeded in consciously living this last year of my twenties. Eric and I lay in bed at night just talking about how happy we are to be together and how much we love our babies... which is good... because they just keep coming.

My pregnancy announcement. That is Indy dipped a phone in yogurt.
This is real life.

I asked Eric to buy me a test... he got four.

Hi Baby Four!

This year was spent like the last several years. Working when there is work. Enjoying our hobbies. Feathering our nest (ie, remodeling) as we prepare for another baby. Traveling and taking the kids on adventures whenever we can.

It's not lost on me that as I wrote this all out, I went from writing about who I am to writing a lot more about our children and family. I have never wanted to be a mom who was only a mom. That's why I'm not a mommy blogger. That's why when I do have free time, I use some of it for what I enjoy: writing, showing my rabbits, running and weightlifting. I love my children, but they will grow up, and they deserve for me to not depend on them for my self worth. I hope they will know me as Mom and a person. And I hope this story continues to be about both.

So today I'm thirty.

I have loved my twenties. I have loved living my story and writing it whenever I can wrestle the pen from the universe. I love sharing my love story with Eric with anyone who will listen. I think we have an incredible one and I'm lucky to be half of it. I love sharing my divorce story too. I hate cliches like "I have made mistakes but they made me who I am" but I recognize how incredible it is to make it through terrible times. I don't feel merely shaped by my experiences, I'm more than clay. I think I made a lot of good choices when I haven't been able to deal the cards myself... and I made some bad choices but for very interesting reasons. No one has to live my story more than I do so I may as well find it entertaining.

I know my thirties will look nothing like my twenties. I'm calming down, caring more for other people, and having and raising our babies. My all nighters look different. Love looks different. What is new and exciting looks different. Everything will forever be different. Sometimes that is something I have to mourn a little. Sometimes I miss the drama and excitement of my early twenties. I miss having no idea where a night might end. I miss those early months with Eric when everything took my breath away. There was also so much uncertainty. And I know so much of that journey was with what I'm living now in mind.

So thank you younger me for knowing when to say when. I have a lot right now for it.

- Cori