I was positive I was going to never have my baby. I had missed my due date by almost two weeks and my co-workers were taking bets behind my back on when I would deliver. When I found out one of them had bet on the 28th day, I thought I would literally be the first woman to die from the sheer agony of carrying a baby for 42 weeks. A little melodramatic, I know, but I was desperate, and a tad hormonal.

On the 19th, I had tried to induce myself into labor by drinking 3 ounces of castor oil mixed into a Braums milkshake. I have not had a milkshake since. And let's just say, one week later, still no enema was needed. Which is also not surprising since my acid reflux was so bad I could eat nothing, and yet, I would still spontaneously puke egg yolk. I won't even go into being nine months pregnant in August, in Oklahoma. Total strangers would come up to me and say oh honey, I am so sorry.

Have I been able to convey how miserable I was? I had even tried attaching my electric breast pump to the only thing fabulous about my pregnancy, my large breasts (I would love to have those babies back because they were, SPECTACULAR). Instead of starting contractions as it did for my high school friend's sister, Julie, (who ended up having an emergency c-section that we all secretly thought was due to messing around with the breast pump) I was only able to get a jump start on my colostrum. And the humiliating and awkward crab/squatting tribal woman walk? nothing, but I was so hopeful. I remember crawling around my living room during an entire episode of Oprah.

But when the time to deliver actually did arrive? Whoa mama! I woke up at 1:30am with a pain that went around the front of my stomach and felt like I was tying a knot at my spine. I thought oh wow, this really is it. Five minutes later I was laughing that I had even confused Braxton-Hicks for labor contractions. I woke my mom up who told me to get into the shower. She woke up my dad, and after driving me three times to the hospital just to drive me back a few hours later, went back to sleep. I remember taking my shower and thinking how pathetically huge I had gotten that I couldn't even control my bladder. I started crying and when my mom asked, in a panicked voice, what was wrong, I cried that I could not stop peeing on myself.

By the time we got to the hospital, only a couple of miles away, I was having contractions about every two minutes. I think my mom was a little freaked out and my dad could not understand why I insisted on crawling, on my hands and knees, to the hospital doors. (you know what I just thought? why didn't he drop me off at the door?) Anyway, after stopping every minute to rock back and forth while moaning on my hands and knees, I was now in a labor and delivery room.

My friend, and constant support even during my hormonal rages, LouAnn, had told me to opt out of painkillers before my epidural. She had told me that it would just make me feel out of it. So when the nurse said I needed to take some Demerol because they needed to slow down my contractions, I tried to say no; but no matter how much Lamaze breathing I did, I could not get on top of them. The nurse went ahead and gave me the Demerol and then told me that I would have to wait almost four more hours for my epidural because the doctor didn't come in until 6 am. I didn't really care. I was more focused on the fact that it felt like I had a gigantic wooden corkscrew, like the kind they used to use to raise and lower orchestra pits in a theatre, being turned every few minutes and consequently spreading my hip bones apart.

After the Demerol kicked in I no longer cared about the pain, I still felt it but I had calmed down. I panted and focused while my mom rubbed my back. After a series of particularly hard contractions, I told my mom that this was just like having an orgasm, but not quite being able to get there. She pretended to not hear me, and I will always thank her for that.

Then came the checking and the rechecking. Apparently, my baby was facing the inside of my leg. I had so many different people checking me that I just hoped they all actually worked at the hospital. There was one petite nurse, I really liked her, when she would check me I would have dilated to a seven and then an eight. However, when my big burly man doctor checked me he pushed it back down to a six.

Finally, after nine months of hell, and as my mom so clearly remembers, two remaining months of depression and misery, my beautiful baby girl was born, at exactly 9:30 A.M. on September 26th of 2000. I remember my mom and I both looking at her and then at each other. My mom said it first, oh my goodness, she looks just like Mark (my soon to be ex-husband). But from that moment on all of my worries, all of my hang ups about being a single mom, and most importantly, my anger disappeared. She was absolutely perfect and she was ALL mine. I am still amazed that this was eight years ago, it really does seem like it just happened. Happy Birthday baby girl!

*A side note regarding having a baby in the small town you grew up in:

Go through your yearbook and familiarize yourself with the people and faces. You never know who your nurse will be that will help you to the toilet, kneel down in front of you to look at your stitches in order to tell you how to perform a sitz bath. Because as my recovery nurse was kneeling in front of me and squirting water on my stitched up waa-waa, I was reintroduce to Julie Laramore, from junior high. They should have a sign at the entrance of the maternity ward, "Check all modesty and pride at the door".

We have had a change in the visitation schedule for my stepkids. Which parent's home are the kids visiting when the split is 50/50? My answer: both parent's homes. When you put your head down on a different pillow every two nights how can you feel like you have a home? Even the terminology "visitation schedule" gives no sense of home or stability.

We changed last week to every Thursday night and every other weekend, EOW. The Thursday night, preceding a weekend spent at their mom's, will be a date night. On that night my husband will take his 9 year old daughter and 4 year old son out to dinner and have them back to their mom's by 7:30.

This change came about the week before school started. Their mother called and said that their daughter had asked her if she could stay at one house more. She felt like she didn't have a home, and she wanted to stay longer at her mom's. This is understandable considering how close my stepkids are to their mom and how they spend a large amount of time, each week, with their extended family on their mom's side. But my husband was crushed.

A couple of days later my husband, his ex, and their daughter met together at the ex's house. The normally passive, timid, and daddy pleasing little girl was able to express her wish to change the current schedule. She has hinted around at this possibility before, but very indirectly just testing the waters. I think staying at her cousin's, two times, for an entire week this summer made having one place to stay more appealing.

During their conversation several ideas were tossed around. Every weekend was pitched by their daughter which both parents agreed was not practical. Their mom's idea was Tuesday and Thursday nights they could come over to our house after work for dinner and be back to her house by 7:00 or 7:30. In addition, she would like the weekend schedule to end at 7 or 8 Sunday night so that they could sleep at her house the night before school. I think my husband stayed quiet, just taking it all in and suggesting that they all think about it and decide in a week. Did I mention he was crushed? His ex told him later that their daughter asked if she had hurt Daddy's feelings. Could you imagine? How sad for her, and him. Before they started talking he told her to just be honest and say what she would like to change. He told her that even if it hurt his feelings he still wanted what is best for her and what she wanted. He knows, even though it is painful for him, giving her a home she can stay in more than two nights is important.

Divorce completely sucks; even though I absolutely love my husband, I know in my heart the best thing for those kids would be for their parents to be together. He feels like he already had limited time with them and now it will be even less. What can you say to that?

My daughter and I have not seen the kids since the Monday morning the 18th. It has been weird, especially for their father, and my daughter misses them. For me, I have noticed my stress level decreasing, not because they cause me stress, but because of the stress I put on myself when they are around. I tend to need things to be "just so" and I need to stay busy just to relax and deal with the family dynamic change that happens every two days. But it has gotten a lot better for me as we are now in our second year of marriage.

We have them this weekend and I know he is looking forward to it. I think he is coming to terms with the necessity to provide stability for his kids but as he says, "It just hurts, you know." I think he was hoping, when the time came for a change in the schedule, our house would be the primary residence. We moved to a large house, together, so that each kid could have their own room and space to call their own. His daughter's room is almost as big as ours and their rooms are right across the hall from each other. We have a new puppy, a trampoline, a sister that adores them, neighborhood kids that play until dark, and they have their rock, their dad; but, no matter what all we can give them, we can never replace their mom and their love and adoration for her.

She might not act or do things the way we think is best or proper but her love for them, or rather their complete love of her, has not been questioned. There were times, when she first hit the dating scene, that the kids were put second but I think that is common with newly divorced people, and she was no different.

I think this was the best decision, not just because I am the wicked stepmom, but because I could not imagine moving back and forth between two houses every other night. I know they say the kids adjust but do they really? or is a 50/50 schedule just selfish on the part of the parents? See, divorce sucks.

When you have young children under the age of, let's say five, and you are single and dating, as opposed to married and dating, your children are part of the dating dance, the tango or cha-cha-cha, if you will. For example, when the phone rings in the middle of bath time, your child gets to be snatched out of the tub sopping wet and run, dripping, with you to get the phone, just in case it's him.

That is why, while my daughter was spending time with a recent college grad and this grad drove by a guy's house because she wanted to see if his car was there, I was able to alleviate her worry that no, she had not initiated Anna into stalking. The difference was that Anna was too young to repeat my moment (by moment I mean monumental) of weakness to anyone.

However, I did tell this young twenty-something that if she wanted to teach my daughter how to keep her arms down to her side in a V while locking her elbows then I would be all for it. To which my husband responded by saying, Whew! So I wasn't the only one that got that move. We assured him that no way, that is the universal signal for shirt stays on and hands off the breastesses. But then we were left to explain the drive by. He does not get it.

My little girl started second grade today. When did I get to this point? How did she and I together make it to elementary school? That first year after she was born seemed so dreadfully long that I never thought about elementary school. When I bought my first house I didn't even know what school district I was in much less what the test scores tell you about a school.

I was in complete denial. Similar to when I found out I was pregnant. Oh no, it was not happening to me. I was still going to work at Warner Bros. eat in the commissary, go to Starbucks and Trader Joes every single day. At eight months I told everyone I worked with that nothing was going to change, nothing. They chuckled, completely under their breath, because in my hormone induce psychosis no one was willing to burst my delusional bubble.

Part of my psychosis while I was pregnant and getting a divorce, was to give my daughter her father's last name. I mean if I was going to go through the humiliation of having my mother as my Lamaze partner, then by God the last name will prove that I was married dammit, not just knocked up by some guy. Like a name makes everything okay.

Fast forward to our life now. My daughter is the ONLY one with her last name, even my ex's mother has a different last name. My various last names are a source of many jokes. Professionally, I have always gone by my maiden name but my passport and license is my ex-husband's last name. I wanted this so Anna and I would have the same name. Easy fix, I started to hyphen it. But then I got remarried and since I am not royalty three last names is a little much. At my company's Christmas party I got an award and the Director named off all three of my last names and said, well whoever you are come on up. Super classy.

Now my daughter wants to change her last name. She wants to be the same as our new family. I don't blame her I would want that too if I didn't know anyone that shared my last name in my immediate family. This year we were going to change it.

Last week during orientation, Anna went to the bulletin board to see who she had for a teacher. She saw that her last name had not change and she got a little teary even though she had the teacher she wanted. I told her I would handle it, thinking it can't be that big of a deal just some white out should work. Uh no. I was told, ever so patiently brusquely that her records would not change, she can "Go-By" her desired last name but nothing will change at the office and she will have to let her teacher know. In addition, she will still have to submit anything for the office using her name that is on record.

All this is fine and good, got it. But then the school receptionist said that her state lunch card will have to be in her legal name not her "Go By" name, and that is when I used The Tone. The Tone that ends all further conversation, The Tone that wins all arguments, The Tone that let's you know I think you are a complete idiot. Using The Tone, I told her that we don't have a state assistance card, we bring our own lunch. Thank you very much. And that all I was trying to do was allow my daughter to have the same last name of everyone else in her family, AS SHE REQUESTED. Not only was this woman suggesting I couldn't afford to buy my daughter lunch she was also confirming, in front of my daughter, that no matter what you call yourself you are still an outsider. I was hot and probably taking all of this too personally. Just sensitive to this I guess.

But this morning when I took her into her new classroom there on her assigned desk was her full name, the name of our new family. She pointed at it and smiled up at me. I hugged her and told her that see it was all taken care of.

Now, not only is my little girl a second grader but she is now has written proof that we are all one family. And I had more proof that The Tone is still effective.

TD and I both took a vacation day today to chaperone Anna on her field trip to the zoo. After choosing not to go on her Kindergarten zoo field trip and being the only parent not to go, yes out of four kindergarten classes Anna was the only kid that had to stay at the school after the field trip. They let her stay in the teacher's lounge and have a pop from the off limits teacher only pop machine. After that "Most Horrible Parent" moment I will never again miss a field trip.

Anna didn't know that her step dad was coming with me. She thought it was going to be just us.

I was telling her that when TD and I drop her off we will run and get the lunchables. She said, "What?! He is going with us?!!" (crying started) "I wanted it to be just us."

"I am going to be the only one with a dad there."

All these years I have carried this feeling of dread/guilt that Anna would feel left out when the other kids were making Fathers Day cards and she wasn't. Before I married they would make them in Sunday School, Pre-School, and Day Care and she would give them to me and I would tell her how beautiful they were. Today she acted just like any kid would that has had a dad their whole life. I didn't know what to do with my guilt. LOL

By the way, she perked right up when she remembered her step dad is friends with the guy who runs the primates.

Updated:
We had a great time at the zoo! It was very cold but we were able to see all the animals being fed breakfast, it was pretty cool. TD wasn't the only dad on the field trip either. Another dad was there too. I thought I was pretty lucky to have a husband that would want to help chaperone a bunch of first graders and spend time with me and his stepdaughter. I really love him.

I have kept every piece of "art" that Anna has every created. I thought if I didn't, I would be a horrible parent that didn't see the significance of macaroni glued on construction paper. I even kept the finger paintings that just looked like one color of stiff tempera construction paper. But maybe there was meaning in the swirl of paint? What if she asked me for that particular "art" piece later? Would I single-handedly have destroyed a future artist's career by admitting I threw it away?

But then there were the folders that came home every single day in kindergarten and the after school day care at church. Her art was taking over rubbermaid bins. My OCD won out over my bad parent complex. From then on I would review her artwork and decide if it was a keeper or not; praising her and telling her how wonderful she did. After she would go to bed I would throw away the pieces that I did not want to keep. She never noticed! Typical of a single mom, worrying about the future guilt that will be heaped upon me just because her father and I didn't work out......bleh!!

A couple of weeks ago someone had a great idea for storing kids art work on Works For Me Wednesdays at Rocksinmydryer. Saturday I went to Hobby Lobby and bought a Memory Album and some extra inserts. I divided up Anna's artwork by age and put it in the folder by category.

Isn't it great? Easy to see, easy to look through.

Look at that Q-tip snowflake and puzzle piece Christmas ornament. Is there a more talented child than mine???

Once I had filled the pages from her preschool days when she was four I put the back cover on.

Obviously, I still have some issues with guilt. TD suggests zip ties........

When Anna was born it was a welcome relief. Not just because I was hugely pregnant and miserable being nine months pregnant during the late summer in Oklahoma. No, it was more because my sense of fear and the anger of having to do this without a husband no longer seemed to matter. The embarrassment of going to Lamaze with my mother was such a distant memory. This baby girl was so perfect I had no idea why I was worried.

My pregnancy was nine months of riding an emotional roller coaster. After the initial shock of finding out I was pregnant and telling my husband, who had a vasectomy appointment scheduled, I had some major ups and downs. Mostly downs. Being served divorce papers at 10:30 p.m. just before leaving the next morning for Oklahoma was quite the downer. I thought I was going home to my parents so we could work through this.

It never happened. Many, many phone calls later it was a done deal. To this day I can't hear the factory Nokia ringtone without my stomach lurching. The conversations always ended the same way, that I was choosing a baby I didn't even know over him. We had an agreement don't you know. No. Kids.

Fast forward six years.

Last night TD, Anna, and I went to Target. They had both gotten out of the car before me and were walking toward the doors. When I came around the vehicle there they were. Holding hands. She had just automatically reached for his hand. He automatically took her hand. When she saw me she took mine too and the three of us walked hand in hand through the parking lot.

(Until she swung up so hard that she about ripped both our arms out of socket....but that kinda takes away from the moment)

The love of a step parent and step child may never be the exact same as the biological parent but watching the fondness progress to love is a humbling and gracious experience.

TD has stepped in to help me when I lose my cool. Like I did during my cousins wedding reception this summer. But this picture was taken soon after and she doesn't hold anger toward him like she sometimes does to me.

He has taken the time to teach her what Fly-Fishing is while on vacation with my dad and his wife. TD has so much more patience then I do with her.

He took her for Dads and Doughnuts day at her school. Those special times I knew were coming and my heart was breaking in advance.

She can irritate like no ones business. And spazzes out without any warning. He takes it in stride and waits for the moment to pass.

She is still not sure what to call him. She has tried out Daddy but she said that didn't seem right. She refers to him as her dad to all her friends. But right now it is his first name that she uses. Her stepsister, TD's nine year old, has said that Anna can call him dad because she doesn't have one and so it won't hurt the feelings of anyone. He already has two kids call him dad another one won't matter. We all still struggle with mine, yours, his, and theirs but eventually we will get it.