8 Reasons I'm still in my 20's

I don't understand why soooooo much emphasis has to be put on being ' in our twenties'. Can't we ALWAYS be young? Why is that the only age bracket where certain things are acceptable and when certain things need to cease?

I mean, I get it. I'm 30 and I totally think about the energy and smaller amount of wrinkles I had when I was 20. And sometimes I cry. No, I'm just kidding. But really, when I get through crying though, I completely relish in the fact I'm alive and I'm still the same old me just refined.  Yeah-refined, I said it. You can stop laughing now.

Aside from physicalities and some life changes, I really am pretty much the same person I was throughout my roarin' twenties. I've decided to include some examples of how I am totally able to still be young and vibrant. Check it:

1.  I still jam out to the same old hip hop music and head bob like I'm a friggin' boss. Course, my neck gets a little stiff rather quickly now, but whatevs.

2. I can  still dance wherever there's music while clearly yelling, " this is my jammmmm!" to pretty much every single song that comes on. In the living room.

3. I can slap on a pair of stripper heels and walk with the same confidence I could at 22. My recent back surgery makes that walk a ltttle slower but come on, ladies, I mean who would let that stop us, am I right?? Aaaaaand I just ankle rolled and landed on my a$$. Ouch.

4. I am totes mah goats down with all the supa fly lingo I was ten years ago AND am hip to all the new slang and mustaches! Dude, what is UP with the mustaches???

5. I can still fit into the same pair of jeans I wore in high school. Take that , haters! I mean being able to get them up to my knees totally counts. Winning!

6. My makeup tactics are perfected and still greatly enhance my features. It's true, I can use concealer, foundation and powder and totally still see my crow's feet. Talk about beauty enhancement. Sexy.

7.  I still get carded for alcohol. Mmm hmm, still look 21, I guess. Just because I have the ID out of my wallet, out on the counter and I make eye contact with the clerk then look down at my ID then back at them again doesn't prompt them to check it out of obligation.  Nope, still lookin' barely legal.....

8. Staying up late is still my forte. Yup, ready to party all night long. Oh you wanna meet up at 10? Yeah, that's cool I'll be there . I just gotta eat dinner, take a shower, feed the baby, put the baby to bed, pick out a hot outfit, have 4 cups of coffee, drink some Red Bull...yeah we're gonna have to reschedule.

Ok, ok so I'm not in my twenties anymore. Clearly. But who cares? Ok it does suck a little,  but really it's not that big of a deal. We just tend to obsess over youth because society says we're not able to do things past a certain age. Bull, I say.  Bull.
Life changes as we get older and it's inevitable. My main thing is, if we live young within reason then being 21, 26, or " staying 29" aren't things that we need to feel alive. We can still look good, have fun, and kick it like we always have just with a bit more flava now. There's no law that says we have to stop listening to hip hop or rock music, heading out on the town or that we have to stop dancing. We can  still sign up for a 5k race, zip line through the trees or whatever other adventure sounds good as we age. It's all about modifying our lives appropriately and considering our loved ones along the way. I don't know about you, but if I lived my life quite the same way I lived my life at 21, I certainly wouldn't have the life I live now. So live young, people, your twenties is certainly not the only place your allowed to do so.
Xoxo,
Lauren

Squeaky Red Nose Phobia

I hate clowns, ok? I feel like such an epic fail as a mother even saying that because I just KNOW my son is going to grow up and be like, " Hey, Mom...I totes want a clown party", and I'm gonna be all like, " umm, yeah no." Then tears will flow, my son will resent me and grow up to be none other than-you guessed it- a circus clown. Sigh.

So it all started when I was, oh, maybe nine. I used to love watching this show on Nickelodeon where they told spooky ghost stories around a campfire and...wait, what the hell happened to that show? It was actually a really good show. Hmmm, I should Google that. Anyway,there was one episode about a clown that was trapped inside this funhouse with a bunch of kids. He was not a nice clown. I thankfully don't remember every detail of the episode, I just know that that was the beginning of my desires to be a clown slayer. Figuratively speaking.

I grew older, I'd say around thirteen, when my second horrifying clown encounter debuted in my young life. I was at a slumber party and us happy, peppy, bubble-gum-chewing gals were debating over which scary movies we should rent. Some mentioned the Halloween flicks, Chucky, Freddy...the usual classic choices. Then I heard someone say, "well how about 'It' by Stephen King?" I knew who the infamous author was back then but I had not heard of this particular movie adaptation nor the book.

I'm not certain if it was the voice, the teeth, the eyes or...yeah....I'll go with all of those things that literally made me cry with fear after seeing that movie. I had already decided to break up my relationship with clowns from watching the campfire show as a kid and now....now I was swearing a life long allegiance to boycott their existence altogether. Well played, by the way Mr. King, well played. You scared many children.

So here I sit. 30 years old and still afraid of clowns. Quite pathetic, I'm aware of that, but I just can't love them like I did when I was real little. I've tried to come to terms with, oh, maybe a hobo clown? They're usually funny with that squirting flower routine. Yeah, no. Not even them. I've tried  attending public places where clowns and humans gather like Universal Studios Halloween Horror Nights in Florida and a local amusement park here in New England. Nah, still couldn't invite one out for a beer. Ha.

I'm confident I'll get over it. I know I'm not the only one out there afraid of these wise guys, but I still need some time to mull it over. Fact of the matter is, if a clown lost consciousness...ok I'd help it out ( no pun intended with the It) with some CPR or at least call quietly for help. If my son wanted a clown party, by all means Mommy would totally plan one and would never give the clown the wrong address to the party. No sir! Kidding, kidding.

Like I said, I'll get over it. In the interim, they should totally come up with a Game of Clowns series so I can audition for that Clown Slayer role..... ;)

The Truth about Childbirth: Ouch

THE TRUTH ABOUT CHILDBIRTH: OUCH

07/13/2014

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And so I present you with the ever popular, yet not understood unless you experience it, phrase that you hear from new mothers: the day my child was born was the greatest day of my life. It's true, so very true. What is also true, however, is that I only remember portions of the greatest day of my life as it was also the most painful and terrifying experience I have endured to date! 
I went into see my OB GYN only to find out that my amniotic fluid was extremely low and I needed to get to the hospital right away. Now being 41 weeks pregnant at this point, I knew the day would come where I would actually give birth, but it got way too real way too quick. Wait, something of what size was going to come out of where? I'm going to do this, like, now at this very moment? Surely there is time, he can wait a little longer...say, a few more months? No, a few more months he would certainly reach at least 20 pounds and that would really hurt. Ok, now is the time, I suppose.
I was started on Pitocin right away once I reached my delivery room to get my contractions going. Contractions. Those were a real treat, too. I remember thinking so many times at work and at home that I was feeling one and I didn't believe all my friends and co-workers that said, " oh trust me, you'll know when your having them". Hmm, right you were, my friends, right you were. I was in no way feeling anything resembling a real contraction until I was started on the Pitocin drip. At first, I said to the nurse, " Oh, there's a contraction! That's not so bad!". She looked at me and smiled clearly thinking, " How cute". My nonchalant way of dealing with the "not so bad" contractions would soon be typical of the woman in the movies yelling, "give me the drugs, now!!". 
This all began at 10:00 in the morning so by the afternoon, I become quite uncomfortable. My nurses were fantastic and even assisted me in getting into the tub to try and relieve my pain. It was helpful, but not enough. My husband fueled himself on coffee and was there every step of the way holding my hand and reassuring me that everything would be alright. Seeing how my entire pregnancy I was completely off my rocker, I was very thankful that he was able to be so supportive even after the many times I threatened his life just for looking at me funny. Sorry, honey.
Anyway, 11:00 that night I received the epidural injection finally. I know some of you may be thinking how much of a wuss I am for taking the drugs, but I was not doing well at trying to champ it out and stay strong. The doctor ordered me to get some sleep once things started to become a bit numb, but as one could imagine, I really wasn't able to get much shut eye. I thought about whether the baby was okay in there, I thought about whether he would come out with all of his fingers and toes, I thought about whether I was ready to do this ( a little late for that thought, however).
By 5:30 the next morning, the pushing began. I am still unsure if the epidural just wore off or what, but I felt everything. I shook, I vomited, I hyperventilated to the point of needing an oxygen mask and as my husband stroked my hair and kissed my forehead, I began letting anxiety take me over. I told him I would miss him and to take care of the baby as I was surely going to die right then and there. He assured me I wouldn't but I was not convinced. With every contraction and every push, I felt like everything inside of me was trying to turn itself inside out. My son was sunny side up as they like to call it which meant the he was trying to come out face up instead of down. This causes a more difficult descent under the pubic bone during delivery but, thankfully, he was able to be turned the proper way. Whew! One less thing to worry about, right?


Three and a half hours later my son made his entry into the world. After all the Hollywood screaming I did, using a mirror down below for pushing motivation ( quite the sight), letting a student nurse into the room to watch the delivery, and going through several puke bags, I finally held his warm-skinned little body against my chest. Through the tears, I remember my first words to him being, " hello, my little baby". I swear he smiled then.
There was pain, there was fear, there was joy, there was astonishment. There was life. A little man that I sang to, poked at, worried about, and loved for nine months was finally here. It is true that this was the moment I decided that it was the greatest day of my life and that I would do it all again in a heartbeat.
We are all different, our experiences are unique to our own lives and my labor and delivery was definitely one for the books .Many people tried to sugar coat labor to me as they didn't want to frighten me. As much as I appreciate that, I think it is important to acknowledge all of the different things that come along with it and that it's okay to be afraid. Your giving birth to a human that changes your body and exits from an area that geometrically makes no sense. Hello! Totally acceptable to be terrified, my friends. So if any mommy's to be are reading this, just know that yes, it is painful and scary.The most important thing, however, is knowing that it is worth every second of hard work when you see your little angel for the first time and feel their breath on your skin. You got this.

Wishes for my Baby Boy

MY BABY BOY

07/13/2014

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Skin to skin, our first moments were forever heart binding. I looked down at you through tears of joy and astonishment and thanked God for such a tiny miracle. Nine months I spent praying your arrival would include ten toes, ten fingers, smooth heart beats, and steady breaths. Every morning I would drive to work with one hand on my belly as I sang to you and gently tap you to the rhythm. I knew where you were toward the late months , but I took my best guess early on. You always responded to my serenades, even if you were only appeasing your dear old Mom.

I cried when you were quiet and laughed when you were playful. I worried often and needed constant reassurance that you were okay whether that be from family, friends, or physicians. Oh, and the ever trusted search engines of endless information. That usually didn't help Mom, too much....

I had so many prayers and wishes for you. I still do now and I always will. I hope you don't mind if I share them with you.....

I pray and wish that you see with beautiful colors, purity, and non-judgemental eyes; remember, son, you never know where someone has been, is now, or will end up. And let's face it, no one has time to spend in the "gray area" of life so we might as well go after the rainbows.

I pray and wish that you hear with patience, understanding, and reasoning. You will not always be right and you must learn to truly grasp the core of what is being presented to you by listening. When you have patience, you understand and when you understand, you can then reason. This, my baby boy, is listening.

I pray and wish that you feel with empathy, compassion, and appreciation. Don't be ashamed to befriend the underdog, cry when you see fit, or forget to enjoy the little things. Sunshine on our faces and air in our lungs are things we all tend to take for granted when it comes to the physicality of feeling; stop and be thankful for it.

I pray and wish that you grow up to be exactly what you dream of and that you do it because you love it. Money is important and money is great but money won't always bring sheer satisfaction. I would rather you be a happy poor man than a man that does work only for the green of it.

Never let anyone make you feel inferior or make you do anything you know is wrong. You are your own person and if you don't do the right thing,quite frankly,no one is going to do it for you.

When you can give, give but don't let anyone take you for granted.When you decide to love and truly love, do it with your whole heart. Don't give up on love or be afraid of it just because it may not work for you the first time. There is no such thing as a perfect person just the person that you still desire when the gloves come off, the river runs dry, and the true colors shine through. Make sure, dear boy, that when you offer your name to a worthy woman that she is the only thing that you see when you picture eternity. Cherish her, respect her, and make her your queen. Love....well love really does make the world go round. Remember that.

Right now, as I write this, you are young. Young enough to still yield to the innocence of this not-so-kind place that we live in yet the place that truly does posess so many special wonders and treasures. You will learn to speak, you will learn to walk, and you will learn to do all of the things that I wish and pray for your life. I will always kiss your boo-boo's, check for monsters under your bed, support you, tell you the truth, and above all...love you with all of my soul. You are my son, my first born, my buddy, my life. If only for a while, I will cherish the days I have right now where you are just a little boy that holds his mother's hand and won't let go.