Nasty Gigi Gives Birth

Preggo me at Portos

My baby, Huckleberry, has turned a half a year, it's about time that I write about the chaos that was his birth.

I worked up until my due date because I am an idiot. He was due on a Tuesday and my last day was on a Friday. But, he ended up being ten days late, so for a time you could find me laying on the couch binge watching, eating, playing video games, and sleeping. It was fantastic. But, my doc said they needed to get the baby out so they scheduled an induction. My mom flew in a day before my induction. The morning I picked her up I took her to this cuban bakery called Portos. Delicious.

We got a lot done that day, we bought a rug, we found an amazing thrift store near my house, we had sushi while sitting in the blaring hot sun, and we watched a movie. All in all a good last day of freedom.

My mom thinks this picture is funny

In the late afternoon I was on the phone with my friend when a gush of water came flowing out. At first I shrugged it off, "It's probably pee."  I walked into my bedroom when, "Goosh!" more came out. I informed my friend, "I have to see if this is pee or not." She laughed and we hung up.

I'm holding on for dear life.

My husband and mother were sitting in the living room when I yelled from my bedroom. I stared at the brown liquid on my white tiled floor, "Do you know what's going on?!" They both assumed that I was still on the phone with my friend. I opened the door, with my long skirt up to my thighs. They both jumped up and then the contractions started.

I'm huge. I had no idea.

Before we headed to the ER my husband had to make a quick run to Target. Yes, in all of his neurotic episodes he had to make sure he had all the materials for his sub for the following day (he's a teacher). If you had walked into Target that night you would have seen me bent over in pain. Sorry not sorry.
When we got to the intake room the contractions were getting crazy. Apparently that brown pee was a sign that the baby was in distress, so they had to hook me up to a machine, so I couldn't get up and walk around. I had gone to all these hippie dippy birthing classes, learned all these exercises, and I couldn't do any of them. I couldn't even use the flipping birthing ball. My husband bought two. Instead I became nauseous and I vomited sushi all over my mother. Sorry mommy. Blame the nurses. They couldn't provide me with a barf bag quick enough the entire time I was there.

Me getting the epidural. Not fun.

The only thing that brought me comfort through the contractions was this relaxation exercise about a red triangle. "Imagine a blank slate. Draw a red triangle. Fill it in. Breathe. Erase it..." I'm paraphrasing but it was semi ridiculous. I made my husband and mother recite it like 1000x. It helped because for some reason I was having contractions back to back. It was like being kicked in the stomach and vagina over and over again. I have never been in a knife fight, but I assume that labor is a lot like a knife fight minus the stabbings. I was trying to hold off on the drugs to avoid a c-section, but I couldn't do it. I looked at my mother, who was against me doing drugs, with painful eyes. She said, "Do you need the drugs?" I nodded uh-huh and she raced out into the hallway. It was our Terms of Endearment moment. 

After that it was easy street.  My mother, husband and I took naps through the night while the night staff monitored the baby. His heartbeat was slowing down, because he was in distress, so my husband and mother were worried. I wasn't because I felt like I was floating on a cloud of marshmallows.

Once early morning hit my friend came equipped with Mcdonalds which I couldn't have. All I was allowed was ice chips. I kept dreaming of apple juice. So weird. I was all ripe and ready for pushing and everyone thought that the baby would poke his head out by the afternoon. Once I started pushing I did manage to push out some poop. It happens. My mother said I was doing what she called the "Nacho Libre" which I didn't get until recently. I was trying to be nice during all of this, and as you all know I am a funny guy, but I did yell at my mother for making jokes during labor. I remember saying, "This isn't funny and it's not a time for jokes." She retorted,
"It's good to have a little levity." Stop. Seriously, Mom.
I also yelled at my husband for rubbing my legs with his long ass fingernails. I asked him nicely a couple of times but the forth or fifth time I definitely called him an idiot.

So, I was pushing and pushing and he wasn't coming and his heartbeat was dropping so they decided to get out the vacuum suction cups thingys. When they brought these out a whole swarm of people filed into the room. It was like a crowd of baby hipsters rushing the stage at Coachella except the stage was my vagina. So they were holding my legs, giving me encouragement, and attaching the suction cup to the baby's head. The doctor told me they would try three times and if they couldn't get him out they would have to do  a c-section. It popped once. It popped...this time when it popped I felt this rush of something and then SPLAT, all of the people viewing my vagina became covered in my blood. They weren't wearing masks. One of the nurses got some in her eye. I was unaware that this was happening at the time. My mother told me the blood went all the way up to the wall. And then it popped a third time and this black nurse spoke up, " Ya'll need to stop she's had too much. I know I'm stepping out of my boundaries, but ya'll need to stop now." That was when I was informed I would be having a c-section.

I cried. My husband almost fainted. I was immediately put on a stretcher so they could shave my pubic hair. I made jokes like, "Wow! spa treatment and I don't have to pay for this? Could you give me a Brazilian?" I always attack fear with humor. But I was scared. Mostly because at a dinner party I hosted my husband's friend told me that at her c-section she could actually feel her guts out on the table. I was trying not to think of that. The nurse was having a hard time getting all the hair because I don't really trim down there. I know this because when I was taken to the operating room the doctors questioned the nurses if they had even shaved and they made them shave it again. What service!

So, they gave me more drugs. And when I say more I mean the good stuff. They gave me what I refer to as the Michael Jackson drug: propofol. I can't believe he took that on the regular. It made me feel like nothing. My husband came in looking all crazy and horrified. I started shaking because of the drugs. So, they gave me more. While I was waiting for the second dose to kick in I heard the anesthesiologists talking about how they were going to go clubbing after work. And then I passed out only to wake up the sounds of a baby cry and my husband's wide eyes of hysteria as tears fell from my eyes. I wasn't crying because I heard my baby, although maybe that was part of it, I was also crying because the ordeal was over.
I don't remember kissing my baby because of all the drugs I was given, but I sort of do. Anyway it turned out to be a nice photo of Huckleberry and I and then I passed out.

I woke up as I was being rolled into the room where my mom, husband, and friend were. They were gazing at the baby. When I saw them I yelled, "He looks just like me!"  My mom told me that his legs were wrapped around the umbilical cord and that's why he wasn't coming out. She decided that his nickname would be Bungee because of this. They immediately had me feed him, let my friend hold him, and then gave me these large pads because apparently I was going to bleed for awhile. I took a shot of the giant pad because I am Nasty Gigi and texted it to my best friend in Oakland to announce that my son had been born.

Nasty Gigi for Life

Bye Bye Braces: an ode

May the 4th of 2015 is the saddest day that has ever been, for today I bid farewell to the finest festoon I have ever seen. 

Goodbye sweet braces, my grill, my bae. I can't believe you will be gone in less than a day.

We have been through sexy moments. We have been through traumas. We have shared laughs. You were there for me when I became a mama. 

You helped me eat my first Dodger Dog. With you, I've jumped over hurdles. You were my plus one at weddings. You helped me breeze though an epidural. 

I love you braces. I'll miss your blisters, I'll miss you being the topic of awkward conversations, and the cat calls we've received by black misters.   

But, mostly I'll miss feeling special because of you. You heightened my personality. With you as my side man my witticism was rarely blue.

It's only been two years, but it feels like five. Although, I have been wondering what it's like to bite into a burrito without food sticking to my teeth. Maybe that will make me feel more alive?

You are a part of me and without me you don't exist. It will be hard to say goodbye to you, for you will be dearly missed. 

It's Cinco De Mayo tomorrow so let's pour the tequila. It's a mere coincidence that tomorrow you will find me at my local taqueria.

                            

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Gigi Pee Pee

Me at the "false alarm"

My husband likes this picture of himself.

I stopped working the day before my due date because I am a powerhouse.  I was a week overdue so, I sat on my couch and waited for my baby to arrive, which was kind of boring. People kept texting me. "Have you had the baby yet?" My thought was, "Bitch, when the baby happens you'll know. I promise."

I woke up one of those boring mornings, climbed out of bed, and some liquid fell out of me. It was brown. Was this labor? I called my husband, sent him into a panic, he came home from work and we went to the ER. After a couple of hours and tests the labor and delivery department told me that I was in fact, not in labor, and that I had in fact peed on myself.

Pee and me have a history. When I was in kindergarten I was called Pee Pee by a kid named Nacho. I hated being called Pee Pee especially because I was being teased by a kid named Nacho. The only insult I could come up with was, "You want some cheese with your Nachos?" This did not phase him.

Another time with me and pee was when I was playing Sardines with my after-school program when I was about six? I was the one hiding and people had to find me. I had to pee but was unwilling to give up where I was in order to urinate, so I rationalized that if I peed with my pants on that the fabric would collect the pee and I would empty it out after I was found. So, I peed. The fabric did absorb the pee, but it didn't work in the way I had expected.

When I was eight I lived in a neighborhood that had a lot of kids my own age within blocks of each other. We would play until we were called in for dinner. I am not sure why I had decided not to go home to relieve myself but I remember running home about to explode. I turned the corner of my driveway, jumped over the flower bed, went to turn the knob of my front door, and found it locked. My front door was made of glass, so I could see inside. I did not see my mother. I did the pee pee dance and started to bang on the glass. BANG BANG BANG BANG! I saw my mother turn the corner of the hallway. When she saw me she rushed to open the door. I was so relieved that I peed on myself.

My mother woke up once to me banging around the hallway in the middle of the night. She got up as the banging stopped and found me in the piano room, pants dropped, and about to pee in the piano bench. She stopped me. I didn't pee.

I went to college in New York and would come home twice a year: Christmas and Summer. It was very hard to come home during the winters because I would fly TWA and their hub was Chicago, so I would occasionally miss my connecting flight due to inclement weather. I missed a flight and there were no more flights going to my parents location. So, I got a flight to Las Vegas that connected to San Francisco. SF is a 2.5 hour drive from my parents house, but I had no money and couldn't afford a hotel. When I arrived at the Vegas terminal all I had was the change in my pocket. It sucks when you have no money and slot machines outline the terminal. This is back when there were smoking sections in terminals and when I was a smoker. I decided to purchase the largest soda at McDonald's with the change I had in my pocket. I sat in the smoking section of their terminal, read The Great Gatsby (which would change my life) and smoked the last of my Parliament 100's. I was enraptured by the book as I finished my large soda. I couldn't stop turning the pages. I decided to call my mother to let her know how amazing The Great Gatsby is. I used a pay phone because at the time you could afford to be against cell phones. It was my last quarter. As I was on the phone with my mother I started to get the urge to pee. The entire soda I consumed was knocking on my bladder's door. I kept talking to my mother until my bladder slowly made it's way to answering my urine's incessant knocking. I didn't want to hang up because it was my last quarter. It didn't occur to me that I could call back collect. I hung up the phone and dashed to the restroom. As soon as I opened the stall I was relived when I glimpsed the toilet and I peed all over my jeans.
I had no extra clothes. It takes a long time for jeans to dry. I tried to dry them with the air dryer, paper towels, the whole shebang, but they were still wet. I gave up at went back into the terminal. I finished my last cigarette and let the rest of the The Great Gatsby soothe me as my jeans dried. I still had a long journey to go in my soiled jeans. I feel very sorry to whomever sat next to me on the flight and even more sorry for my step father who had to pick me up smelling the way I smelled. I wish that I hadn't wasted my change on that soda.

But, the mother of all of my pee stories was when I went to visit my BFF in Oakland. He and his boyfriend had just bought a new home. I was their first house guest. We danced, we drank, we sang, we drank, and I passed out on their couch. When I woke up I was alone in their living room and my pants were undone. I went to their downstairs bathroom to pee and then ventured up to my actual room and fell asleep. When my BFF woke up he walked into his new pristine kitchen and found the stove open, one of his linen drawers open, and a pool of water on the floor. He thought nothing of it. He started to clean the water off the floor and noticed that the white paper towels were absorbing a yellow liquid and then noticed that linen drawer was damp. He immediately woke me up laughing hysterically, "Did you pee in my new kitchen?" I gave him a blank stare. I had no idea what he was talking about. We determined that in my sleep I had thought the linen drawer was the toilet, and that I must have held onto the stove for support as I peed in it. His revenge was that he texted and called all of his friends poking fun at what I had done. It had been years since I had been Gigi Pee Pee, but I couldn't blame my BFF for calling me Pee Pee in the years following my peeing in the kitchen incident.

After all, I have always been Gigi Pee Pee.

Do you love it? I love it? I'm having a baby at Ross

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I get compliments about my attire all the time and I always tell the person complimenting me that I got it at Ross. In the 90's some genius came up with the add campaign,

"Do you love it?"

"I love it."

"I got it at Ross!"

To this day whenever I get a compliment from a Ross purchase I hear that simple jingle in my head. I am not the kind of person who is proud at paying a shit ton of money for an item of clothing. I am proud to pay a little amount for a one of a kind item. Ross is one step up from finding a gem at a thrift store. When you find something at Ross there are no duplicate items like in most department stores, so it feels special and unique.  Here's an example of the genius campaign slogan. This one is for Father's Day.

                                    

 

My mother is a bargain shopper. We always skip to the back of the store to check the clearance rack. Why pay full price one week to have an item go on sale the next? We both share a love for Ross.

 

We were in Camarillo, California visiting family and I was nine weeks pregnant. This was the weekend that I would tell my parents. I was planning to lead with some joke and show them my sonogram. But that half ass plan flew out the window when my mother decided to take me clothes shopping at Ross. As I was looking for clothing I thought about what kind I could get that would accommodate my growing size but I could also wear after the pregnancy. So, I gathered up some random clothes to try on and headed to the dressing room with my mother.

 

My mother and I follow the same trying on routine we have performed since I can remember: if we find something we like we ask the other one to give it a look see. My mother was changing across the hall from my dressing room. I found a striped toga thingy that I thought would be appropriate for before/after pregnancy. I asked my mother to give it a look see, we both opened our doors, she gave it a nod, and I gave an hers a oh-no! and in unison we shut our doors and began trying on our next items. But, I needed my mother's advice, so I decided to coyly ask her questions while looking at myself in the mirror at the toga, "Do you think that toga will look good on me if I get fatter?"

"Fatter?"

"Yeah, you know, if I gain weight?"

"You can't afford to get any fatter. What do you mean fatter?"

"You know...fatter?"

"What do you mean? Like Alden and Allie fat?" Alden and Allie are my cousins. Allie was fat because Allie was pregnant.

"Sort of."

"What!" The high shrill of my mother's 'what' probably alarmed all of the Ross customers inside the women's dressing room, yet she continued, "What?!"

In unison again we opened our doors, but this time I was still in the toga and my mother had no clothing on to show me. There she stood: in her mismatched bra and panties, wide-eyed, almost drooling. "You're kidding me?"

"Mom!" I looked around the dressing room hallway.

"You're kidding me!"

"Nope."

"Oh, that's so cool." My mother then proceeded to walk across the hall into my dressing room. She hugged me and kept repeating, "That's so cool." She didn't bother to shut the door, so I closed it for her. There's a certain point when you're hugging your almost naked mother that you want to release. It was a little awkward especially because I'm the kind of person that is not so wild about sentiment when it comes to all things girly like: hope chests, weddings, and babies. I remembered this as my mom kept saying, "That's so cool." Was it cool? I know now that the answer is yes, but then, I was a little overwhelmed by the pregnancy. I mean, I am not Money Bags Malone. In order to have my mother quit the embrace I politely asked her,

"Mom, do you want to wear some clothes on your way back?"

"Nah." My mother sauntered into the dressing room hallway in her undergarments a new woman, a future grandmother.She bought me all my clothes that day. I get compliments on them. Every girl should tell their mom they're pregnant while clothes shopping, because your mom can't help herself. And why put her out and make her buy you stuff at Nordys? My advice: tell her at Ross.