"There are some who can live without wild things and some who cannot." (Aldo Leopold) Apparently, I cannot.


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My Husband Put a Ring on It, and then a Firefighter Cut if Off

Today’s post is actually something I wrote for my friend Michelle over at Miss Banana Pants a few months ago. But over the past few weeks, there have been some incidents that have left me needing a reminder about the lesson which prompted me to write the post in the first place. So, I figured it’d be a good time to re-read this and share it with you again. 

ring

So, this happened a few months ago:

broken ring

That is my wedding ring. And that is what it looked like after a fire fighter had to cut it off of my finger. There was no gnarly accident or trauma that required this happen. There was simply my own stupidity. Or stubbornness. We’ll go with stubbornness.

It all started about 7 months into my third pregnancy. My body started getting, how shall I say, extra puffy. It was summertime and I was retaining water like crazy. I was swelling up so badly that I had to remove my engagement and wedding rings. Not uncommon; I had to do it a few weeks before delivering my second, so I wasn’t surprised. And I assumed, just as with the first time, I’d have those puppies back on a week or so after having the baby. No biggie.

Fast forward to 8 months after having said baby, and those suckers still were not fitting on my finger. Every week or so I’d pull the rings out from my underwear drawer (because that is a good place to keep valuables) and try the get them back on. But nope. I was so perplexed. I weighed less than I did when I was able to get them back on after baby #2. What the heck?! Were my fingers just permanently obese after this third kid? Back in the drawer the rings went.

And then one day a few weeks later, I was feeling a little lighter around the fingers. Don’t ask me why, but I could just sense that my rings were going to fit that day. So I got them out, took a deep breath, and tried to get them on. And wouldn’t you know, my wedding band went on. It took just a little coaxing, but not much. “Phew! Finally,” I thought to myself. So then I went to get my engagement ring on. I should have stopped when I felt the initial resistance, but I was so determined to wear it again that I just kept pushing and twisting until it finally went on.

I realized almost immediately that I had just made a grave mistake. In no more than 30 seconds, my finger began to swell up all around my rings. Awww nuts! So down to the kitchen I went. Straight for the olive oil. I dumped nearly the whole bottle on my hand. And started twisting.

Nope. That wasn’t working. So I moved on to dish soap. I’d run my hand under frigid water for a few minutes, pour soap on it, and then twist. After about 45 minutes of this, and some extreme pain, I finally managed to free my engagement ring. Then it was on to my wedding band.

Nope again. After all of the trauma from getting my engagement ring off, my finger was so completely swollen that it looked like it might actually explode. And I started losing a little bit of feeling. So naturally, I started to panic.

After giving my finger a break and soaking it in an ice bath for like 30 minutes (that does not feel good, btw), I was back at it. And over the next few hours (yes, hours!), I tried everything I could think of or that I found on the internet to get that ring off my finger. Nothing was working.

I finally texted my husband at work to tell him what was going on and told him I thought I’d have to get my ring cut off. When he got home, he looked at my finger and agreed.

While searching the internet earlier in the day about how to remove rings from swollen fingers, I learned that most firehouses have the tools to cut them off. So I called our local firehouse to see, and sure enough, the guy I spoke with made it seem like they did that kind of stuff every day. “C’mon down,” he said. “We’ll take care of you.”

And so I went. It was around 8:30 at night, and instead of finding a quiet firehouse like I assumed I would, this night of all nights was a training night, so there were like 50 firefighters hanging around.

I was greeted by a friendly younger guy who said he’d have me outta there in 2 minutes. He already had the ring cutter tool ready and waiting. So he sat me down and went to work. And I’ll tell ya, the sound of metal on metal, the sound of my wedding band getting cut apart, made me cringe.

But you know what? I didn’t cry like I thought I would. In fact, looking back, I hadn’t cried once during the whole experience. And I’m a crier. Like big time. I cry at everything. The birth of my children, touching music, movies, commercials. EVERYTHING.

I shrugged it off and figured the waterworks would begin in the car on the way home when I was alone and didn’t have all of the firefighters staring at me. But no. I didn’t cry then, either. And I didn’t cry when I got home and showed my husband my ring, or anytime that night. Not even the next day. Or the next. My tears never came.

And then I realized why. Although my ring was a symbol of love between my husband and I—till death do us part and all of that—it was only a symbol. A thing. Never before had the words on this wall hanging that we’ve had since the very first place we ever lived together rang more true:

wall hanging

Our love itself…that, in fact, was not broken. All I had to do was look around to see it and the vows we took on our wedding day alive and well. In the home we made together. The children we made together. The life we made together. These are all shining examples of our love. And they are not broken. Far from it.

I may have lost a ring that day, but over the past 10 years, I have gained so much more. “Things” that truly are irreplaceable!

To see my original post — The Best Things in Life Aren’t Things — over on Miss Banana Pants, please click here

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12 Simple Pleasures as a Mom that Make Me Feel Like a Rock Star and Deserving of a High-Five

As I sat down yesterday at 9 in the morning after having finished up some laundry, unloading and loading the dishwasher, and cleaning all three of the litter boxes (did it sink in that this was all before 9 in the morning?!), I was feeling pretty good about myself. Very accomplished. And then I got to thinking about all of the other simple pleasures that make me feel like a rock star now that I’m a mom. I came up with 12. Because, 10 is just so common these days. 😉 What makes your list?

simple pleasures


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25 Reasons You Might Confuse Me With a Preschooler

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  1. I’m always asking “why” and saying “no.”
  2. My diet largely consists of half-nibbled peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, chicken nuggets, and mac ‘n cheese with an overabundance of goldfish crackers, pretzels, and yogurt.
  3. I cut up my food into bite-sized pieces before eating (without even realizing it).
  4. My bed is always full of stuffed animals, toys, books, and random articles of clothing.
  5. You can often find me listening to a Kidz Bop CD while driving (even when I’m alone, sadly).
  6. I pitch a fit when I have to get out of the bath before I’m ready.
  7. I use words like “potty,” “booboo,” and “toot” in everyday conversation (even when talking with adults).
  8. I often talk to my own imaginary friends (aka, the voices in my head).
  9. I can and do watch the same movies over and over (and over and over) again.
  10. I get overly excited about getting a lollipop at the bank drive thru.
  11. I don’t really like to share and will often sneak things so that I don’t have to share.
  12. I don’t like when other people tell me what to do.
  13. Passwords frustrate me.
  14. I’m hungry all the time (and I always like to “taste” what you’re eating).
  15. Some days I have to pull out all of my clothes from my closet and drawers to figure out what I want to wear.
  16. I have a hard time keeping track of my personal belongings. (“Has anyone seen my phone? Or car keys?” “Where’s the baby?”)
  17. I know everything.
  18. I’m afraid of the dark.
  19. I need to read before going to bed.
  20. I have like 5 different toothbrushes.
  21. I think cookies and ice cream are an acceptable meal.
  22. I am oblivious to my surroundings or anything anyone is saying when my favorite tv show is on.
  23. I get distracted by shiny things.
  24. I could swing all day long.
  25. I’d rather poke myself in the eye with a spork than wear socks with toe seams.


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People Really Know How to Make Me Blush

I started blogging as a way to unwind, keep sane, and share some funny every now and then. Little did I know that joining the blogosphere would allow me to meet so many amazingly wonderful, outstanding people. In my nearly 2 months of blogging, I have received so much love and support from so many people I don’t know personally but who I feel like I’ve known for years and years.

Two of these people are Ellen at Bad Word Mama and Joy at ComfyTown Chronicles. Each of whom gifted me with some more awards last week. Man, you all sure do know how to make a gal blush.

Epically Awesome Award of Epic Awesomeness

epic awardI think Ellen put it best in her post after receiving her award: “Holy Shit Balls that is a mouth full!  (That’s what she said.)” Heh, heh. It’s like she’s in my head or something. But really, when I saw this from her I felt, well, epically awesome. And now I have the award to prove it.

Upon accepting this award I have to share 10 more facts about myself and then nominate 10 other bloggers.

  1. I cannot believe that in all the sharing about myself that I’ve done on here that I have not once mentioned to you my LOVE of ketchup. Seriously, I cannot imagine a world without it. I have could eat it out of the container — just give me a bowl and a spoon and I’m happy. My daughter did not inherit this gene from me, but my older son did. It’ll be interesting to see where the baby falls with this one. 
  2. A lot of my friends thought I was an only child growing up because my older brother and I are 10 years apart, and he was out of the house by the time I was 7 or 8.
  3. I am a hypochondriac. I know this and I accept this. So I guess that makes it not so weird, right?
  4. My family and I are getting ready to move from CT down to VA for my husband’s fellowship. Last time we moved, we had only 1 kid. Tons of crap, but only one kid. We’ve upped our kids by two, so I’m worried about the crap factor. We may need to rent a pack of moving trucks.
  5. I don’t like melons. (No, not those melons. Actually, ok, sometimes those melons. Like right now when I’m dealing with melon issues from melon-feeding. Arggghhhh.)
  6. I sleep with no less than 4 pillows every night. My husband knows better than to try to swipe one of them.
  7. I now consider myself an expert on all things dinosaurs, as my oldest son is going through a major dinosaur phase right now. (Remember, he wanted to be known as “Saurus” on here. Yeah, it goes that deep.)
  8. I love that my husband makes it his mission to carry in all of the groceries in one trip every single time. I could have 3 bags or 76, and somehow he always manages to do it.
  9. I dig my in-laws. So does my husband. We love having family visit and find it funny when friends think we’re nuts.
  10. I hate when people spell my name wrong. Ok, I know, it’s not that common, and it could be spelled a gazillion different ways, so let me rephrase — I hate when people spell my name wrong after seeing it spelled correctly. Just pay attention.

And my nominees are . . .

ComfyTown Chronicles

Dadmissions

Suburban Snapshots

Funny is Family

RealMomofNJ

Miss Banana Pants

My Children Think I’m Perfect

the crumb diaries

Fodder 4 Fathers

Buried with Children

The Very Inspiring Blogger Award

____________           Very inspiring blog award from The Mommy ChroniclesThanks to Joy I now have an “Inspiring Blog Award” and a “Very Inspiring Blogger Award” . . . these technically may be the same award, but since the names are slightly different, I’ll count them separately. 🙂

For this one, I’m supposed to share 7 facts about myself, but since I’m combining posts for the two awards, I’m going to use the same fun facts for both. C’mon, you didn’t really want to know that much about me, did you?

And, here are my nominees . . .

Hollow Tree Ventures

Adventures of NinjaMama

Crazy Mommy Keeping it Sane

Slice of Humble

Multiple Mayhem Mamma

Bad Playdate

kissing the frog

Mod Mom Beyond IndieDom

Tripping While Standing Still

Daddy doin’ work

Thanks again to Ellen and Joy for making me feel so loved! 🙂


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10 Things I Still Have in Common With My Pregnant Self

A lot of things happen when you’re pregnant. There are physical changes, hormonal changes, emotional changes, memory changes. Sometimes you start liking foods you’ve never liked before, and sometimes you ralph at the mere mention of a food you considered a favorite before you started growing another human being in your body. Things just start happening that are beyond your control.

And I don’t know who started it, but there seems to be a myth circulating out there that these things start balancing back out once you deliver your little bundle of joy. Pfffffttttt. What a bunch of bull doody. Ok, well maybe it’s true for some people, but not for me.

Here are 10 things I still have in common with my pregnant self:

  1. Bleeding gums. Many people don’t know that bleeding gums are very common during pregnancy. With all of the hormonal changes going on, your gums can swell and become inflamed, which causes them to bleed more easily. Now my bleeding gums are caused by gingivitis because I hardly have enough time in the day to squeeze in two brushing and flossing sessions for the kids, let alone myself.
  2. Food avoidance. When I was pregnant I had to avoid certain foods for two reasons. Either the food was on a “do not eat this because it could harm your baby” list or it gave me heartburn so bad I wanted to rip out my own throat and beat myself with it. Now I have to avoid certain foods because I’m nursing and don’t want to deal with epic episodes of baby diarrhea, like that which comes with too much Mexican or Indian food, two of my favs.
  3. Eating extra calories. Most doctors recommend that a pregnant woman increase her daily caloric intake by 300-500 or so calories a day, depending on what trimester she is in. These days I’m eating extra calories because nursing makes me so freaking hungry and I need to keep up a good milk supply. Thank goodness for Girl Scout cookies and the peanut M&Ms we have around for potty training. Hey, it’s for my milk supply! Don’t judge.
  4. Hairy legs. Fact: When you’re pregnant, especially in the last few months, it can be very difficult to shave your legs when you’re contending with a giant belly and can’t see your feet. I just give up on the whole practice altogether. These days, I have so little time for personal hygiene (refer to #1) that even when I can get a shower I often have to choose between shaving my legs and washing my hair so that I can get out before the baby completely flips his shit. (For some reason my happy baby turns into a shaking, screaming banshee when I attempt to shower.) Washing hair always wins out because I can always cover up my legs by wearing pants, but I can’t walk around all the time wearing a bag over my head. (Although some days I’d like to.)
  5. Insomnia. I’m not sure it’s scientifically documented, but even before I was so hugely pregnant that I couldn’t get comfortable in bed to sleep (and apparently had such labored breathing that my hubby likened sleeping next to me to sleeping next to a water buffalo) I had trouble sleeping. And apparently a lot of women have this problem when pregnant. Now, of course, I can’t sleep because the baby is crying or I think I hear the baby crying. And if it isn’t the baby, the other two are always wandering into our room at all hours of the night because they have bad dreams, they’re too hot, they heard a noise outside, or their eyebrows hurt. The usual stuff.
  6. Not exercising. It’s no secret that I hate to exercise. But before kids I did it and actually wanted to continue doing it when I got pregnant. BUT, the exercise gods had other plans for me. With my first pregnancy, I had placenta previa, so my doctor’s told me to avoid exercising. Didn’t have to tell me twice. Done and done. And then because my first was born 11 weeks premature, my docs advised me to take it easy in subsequent pregnancies. Again, don’t have to twist my arm. I managed to get back to exercising some after both my first and second pregnancies, but now, 8 months after having my third, I have no time or energy or motivation. Or time, did I mention time?
  7. Late-night food runs. I didn’t have too many crazy cravings when I was pregnant, but when they hit, they’d always hit at night, and I’d make a late-night run to Taco Bell the health food store to get something to hit the spot. These days, the thought of taking all three kids to the grocery store makes me all jittery and crazy-like. (Have you ever seen that episode of “Fresh Prince of Bel Air” when Will teaches Ashley how to handle a bully by acting crazy? Yeah, that.) Don’t get me wrong, I’ve done it, but if I can avoid it, I do. Which is why I often wait until they are all tucked into bed before heading out. It’s sort of a double-edged sword because I’m often surrounded by other crazies doing their shopping so late, but I’m alone. And it’s like a mini-vacation. Just with crazies. (Ok, so it’s actually not that different from vacations with my family. Hi family, love you.)
  8. Peeing all the time. When you’re pregnant, you pee ALL THE DAMN TIME. At the beginning it’s because of hormonal changes resulting in increased blood flow that causes your bladder to fill up faster; later it’s because your uterus is so big that it puts a tremendous amount of pressure on your bladder. Now, after having three kids, I still pee all the damn time. Like when I sneeze. Or cough. Or laugh really hard. Or blink.
  9. The glow. People will tell you all the time when you’re pregnant that you have this special pregnancy glow. I’ve never understood if it’s a sincere compliment like, “hey you look really great, pregnancy really agrees with you” or if it’s just something someone made up because they didn’t have a handy compliment for giant protruding bellies. “Hi, you are hu . . . wow, your belly really . . . ummm, errrr, you are absolutely [sees pretty lamp on table] glowing!” I was told this a lot, so I’m going to go with the former. And again, 8 months out, I’m still glowing. Only now it’s more of a glisten. From all the freaking sweating I do. Not sure if it’s my hormones or from chasing around three kids all day, but I swear, if this is even a slight hint at what menopause is going to be like, I’m in trouble. I’m going to be glowing the whole freaking rest of my life.
  10. Looking pregnant. Refer to #s 3, 5, and 6. Oh, and the fact that my daughter recently asked, “Mamma, when is your other baby going to come out?” Guess I really should get back to exercising and eating better. First, however, I’ll need to eat up all the unhealthy food in the house. And get over this plague that is still (yes, still) lingering. Seriously, though, as soon as I can breathe again, I have a hot date with my elliptical machine. Hopefully it still works.

Please for the love of all that is holy, someone tell me that I am not alone here! Or if I am, lie to me, dammit! Then give me a cookie. Then tell me to get my ass on the elliptical machine.


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Smells I Like and Some Other Fun Facts

who-are-you

The missus over at Slice of Humble tagged me in the “Who Are You” game, and since I have some new followers (welcome again!), I figured it’d be a great time to do this so that you can learn a little bit about me. If you haven’t checked out my “Me and My People” section on the blog, you can learn even more, like my favorite punctuation or how I like my toilet paper (you know, the important stuff).

And go check out Humble. She’s funny and tells it like it is. Oh, and she has 5 kids. “Like a boss.”

So, here are my answers to the “Who Are You” questions:

  1. Where were you born Columbia, MD
  2. Were you named after someone? Sort of. If you consider my parents having a name picked out for me but then changing their minds in the hospital after seeing and liking an actress’s name on tv. Going into the hospital, I was going to be Sara, but I came out Mackenzie.
  3. How many children do you have? 3 (5 yo girl, 3 yo boy, 8 mo boy) 
  4. How many pets do you have? 2 cats (Lucy and Charlotte)
  5. Your worst injury?  Besides the three times I pushed babies out of my nether region? Probably the time I broke my nose. But it was my fault–I thought it’d be funny to put some tape on a guy friend’s leg and rip it off. Didn’t end so well. 
  6. Do you have a special talent? I’m pretty ordinary, actually. A lot of people have told me that I have really nice handwriting, does that count? Let’s see, I can tie a cherry stem in my mouth. That seems a little more special.
  7. Favorite thing to bake? A domestic diva I am not. I don’t bake too much. I do however make a mean key lime pie . . . graham cracker crust from scratch, real key lime juice . . . so good!
  8. Favorite fast food? Currently Taco Bell’s Cool Ranch Doritos Taco Loco and churros. Man, all this food talk is making me hungry.
  9. Would you bungee jump? Never ever. I’m too afraid of dying.
  10. What is the first thing you notice about people? Their manners. 
  11. When was the last time you cried? A few days ago when my 8 mo accidentally slammed his melon into my nose. (Again with the nose. Maybe I should get a different one.)
  12. Any current worries? Unfortunately, I’m a chronic worrier. This is something I am trying to work on. But I worry I’ll never be a non-worrier.
  13. Name 3 drinks you drink regularly. Diet soda, water, sunrise orange drink (made with those drink mixes)
  14. What’s your favorite book? I cannot possibly answer this question. I am an editor and avid reader, and I love everything from 18th century British lit to the current vampire invasion.  
  15. Would you like to be a pirate? Definitely not — I am deathly afraid of swimming in the ocean.
  16. Favorite smells? My kids (only after their baths), my husband’s cologne, pretty much anything baking related, cilantro, fresh linens.
  17. Why do you blog? As an editor, I’m often rewriting other people’s work, but blogging allows me to have a voice. And unwind. And share the crazy sh$t my kids do. 
  18. What song do you want played at your funeral? I’m hoping by the time I’m old they’ll have figured out a way for us to live forever. Ok, sorry, I have no idea.
  19. What is your least favorite thing about yourself? I’m short on patience. This is a difficult quality with 3 kids. But I try to work on this every day.
  20. Favorite hobby? Sleeping.
  21. Name something you’ve done, you never thought you would do? Get a tattoo. Get a second tattoo.
  22. What do you look for in a friend? Sense of humor, compassion, honesty, good listener without judgment . . . someone who will tell me when I’m being an a-hole but still love me.
  23. Favorite fun things to do? Ummmm, sleep. 🙂 I also like going with my family to the park and dance parties.
  24. Pet peeves?  Bad manners, saying “could care less” (incorrect) instead of “couldn’t care less” (correct), my kids blowing whistles. 
  25. What’s the last thing that made you laugh? My kids make me laugh every single day, thank goodness. Like tonight, I came home from a quick trip to the store and my 3 yo was hanging out on the couch in a laundry basket. Such a nut!

To continue the fun, I have to tag some others, so I’m tagging Funny is Family, RealMomofNJ, ComfyTown Chronicles, Whoa! Susannah, and With a side order of crazy . . . hey, don’t blame me friends, take it up with Humble. 🙂 If you choose to play, let me know when you share your answers; I’d love to read them.


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How My Placenta Helped Us Name Baby #3

Yup, you read that right.

Fair warning: If the word “placenta” in the title skeeved you out a little bit, you probably don’t want to read this post. It is in large part about, well, my placenta. And other things related to birthing a baby. Similarly, if you know me personally but don’t want to get this personal, stop right here. You have been warned.

Ok, where was I? Oh yeah, talking about my placenta. It did in fact help Super and I decide on a name for our third child. Most parents use more traditional methods for naming their children: They use family names, compare favorites lists, consult a number of baby name books, or even conduct a poll on Facebook.

Not us, nope. We used my placenta. Before giving birth, I had read somewhere on the interwebs that there was some ancient Incan ritual you could do with your placenta whereby the placenta would actually tell you the name of your baby. You know, like what the baby wanted to be named. After all, the baby and placenta are pretty cozy down there for 9 months, so your placenta should be in the know. At first Super was a little hesitant about this, but when I told him some moms and dads actually ate the placenta, and I was thinking we should do this instead, he quickly hopped on board.

So, after my placenta was delivered, my midwife performed the prescribed ancient chant and, with the doctor’s permission, lit some incense. We were then supposed to wait until the smoke from the incense formed our baby’s name in the air…

Ok. That was all complete BS. Not the part about my placenta helping us name our child, but the whole Incan chant and incense mumbo-jumbo. (Although if this an actual practice somewhere that I don’t know about and I have somehow offended anyone reading this who would currently follows or would consider following such a practice, I apologize.) But, you have to admit that my Incan version was sounding pretty crazy interesting, and I can tell you, it is definitely much less disgusting than what actually happened with my placenta and how it came to help us name our third baby.

If you’re not scratching your head wondering what the hell is going on here and you’re still with me, good for you. Here’s what actually happened…

Rewinding just a little bit, I should tell you that Super and I did not want to find out the sex of our third child. We didn’t find out with the first, but we did find out with the second. After having both experiences, we decided we liked not knowing until the birth. So, that was our plan with #3. Until my ultrasound tech accidentally let it slip. Just to me. And then Super still didn’t want to know. So, I had to keep the baby’s sex a secret from every blessed person I know. Do you know how hard that is? DO YOU???

But I digress…Because Super did not know the sex of the baby, we still had to play the name game for both sexes. To throw him off, I’d text him random names for both boys and girls throughout the day as potential options. And I had to pretend to be equally excited about all of the names I was suggesting, even though I knew half of them were already off the table. Although on the plus side, I was able to feign excitement over some of the names he liked that I didn’t because I knew we wouldn’t use them anyway. (Hi babe.)

After a few months, we had narrowed our list down to a few for both a boy and a girl. But that’s as far as we got. Unlike with our first–in which we had THE boy and THE girl name picked out early on–and our second–when we finally picked the name a few weeks before delivery–we just could not agree on a name for either a boy or a girl. So we threw our hands up and decided to wait and see the baby before deciding on a name. Because you know, that purple, gooey, wrinkly thing that comes out definitely screams one name or another.

Ok, fast forward to my delivery. (“Hallelujah, she’s finally getting to the point!”) We delivered at the local university hospital, which of course means it’s a teaching hospital. Which means in addition to all of the normal hospital staff members getting a good look at my area–the doctors, nurses, cleaning staff–there was a med student added to the mix as well. In fact, my delivery was the very first birth he was witnessing in real life. And wouldn’t you know, his name, “Eli,” was on our short list for boys’ names. And we had a boy. All of the stars seemed to be aligning for us to finally pick a name.

But it wasn’t until my OB and the med student were delivering my placenta that it became clear we absolutely needed to go with this name. You see, apparently my placenta was being a royal a-hole and not coming out properly. So my OB was helping to manipulate it out when all of a sudden it felt like a big, slippery gob of goo was flying out of my lady parts. And in fact, this is exactly what was happening. My placenta just flew on out of there. Like a jet initiating a power thrust to reach 3 Gs. My OB had just enough time to catch that sucker before it went bouncing off into the hall.

Unfortunately for our med student, he was directly in the line of fire for all of the other birth matter that came flying out with my placenta. The splash was epic, people. I’m serious, it splattered all over the floor and came out with such force that it made it onto the wall across from my bed. It sounded like what I imagine it sounds like when football players dump their Gatorade all over their coach after they win a game. Only instead of Gatorade it was amniotic fluid and blood and lochia. (Hey, I warned you.) Even my doctor was like, “What the ef?!”

The poor med student was covered. And although he was wearing a gown, he did not have on shoe covers. My doctor and the nurses joked with him that he’d have to clean his shoes up real good and remember the shoe covers next time. But I’m pretty sure he went and immediately burned his shoes. And probably his clothes, too. I know I would have if I ended up with someone’s birth matter all over me. I felt so bad! Even though it was out of my control, I kept apologizing to him, and he kept sheepishly saying, “It’s ok.”

After about 5 minutes of apologizing, I knew what we needed to do. I looked at Super and raised my eyebrows at him. “So, ‘Eli’ it is, then?” He concurred. He had to, I mean we (ok I) had just covered the poor guy with what amounted to 9 months’ worth of the our baby’s waste material mixed in with all of the other ooooey goodness that goes into growing a human being. The matter was settled. And even though the med student smiled and managed a “wow, super” when we told him we’d be using his name for our baby, I think he was too preoccupied wondering how he’d ever get himself clean again (and silently cursing us out) to actually care.

And that, my friends, is how my placenta helped us name our third child.

Sidenote: This is what a post looks like from me when I’m sick as a dog and haven’t gotten much sleep. If I could blame it on being under the influence of some cold medicine, I would. Unfortunately, because I’m still nursing the little one, I can’t take anything that would make me this crazy. This is all natural right here. Hope I haven’t frightened anyone off.