#vegasstrong

In light of Sunday night's events, I have had a lot weighing on my mind. You see, I am a native Californian but now call the beautiful city of Las Vegas, Nevada my home. This is where I live, I work in a hotel/casino, this is where my friends are, and where both my husband and son were born. Las Vegas is my city, and we are hurt and grieving from this tragic event. Fifty nine people lost their lives, and some 500+ sustained physical injuries. Sadly, we expect the number of deaths to rise in the coming weeks when the stress from injury and surgeries may become too much for some. Though some may only be focused on the physical injuries, the mental scars the concert goers, first responders, and the entire city of Las Vegas feel may be far worse. I can only speak for myself when I say that I feel a sense of unease walking through the casino to get to my office at work. Events such as these truly prove without a doubt that no matter how well you believe you know someone, you never know what's going on in their head or what they are fully capable of. Walking past each and every stranger as I make my way through the casino, I can't help but wonder if any of these people are as evil as the man that took those 59 lives and scarred hundreds more.

A lot of my friends have said they don't want to have kids. They don't want to bring a child into such a messed up world. Believe me, this is not the world I wanted for my son. And yes, this world is messed up and there is so much evil and negativity. But I have to believe that my child will be some much needed good in the world. Maybe my son will be the one to change the world. Just because things aren't rosy and perfect, doesn't mean you can't improve it. I think every mother wants to shelter and protect their child from all of the bad out there and keep them safe. It's just a motherly instinct regardless of species. Bears, dogs, cats, even some fish all protect their young from predators and possible threats. But eventually your children grow up and they have to confront all that you've sheltered them from. Honestly, I had hoped that a lot of the evil in the world would have been conquered before my children were born. Unfortunately it seems as though the opposite is occurring. Evil is breeding and multiplying and making it more difficult to raise children without becoming a helicopter parent. I remember from the time I was 8 years old on through high school, I walked to and from school. Granted, I was born in 1983 and those were different times than the present, but present day parents have to live in fear for their children every single day. Will anything happen to my child today that I could have prevented?

It's a sad thing to think that I may not be here to see my child grow up because of a sick or disturbed person, but it's an unfortunate reality. I sat in my car before heading into work and texted my husband with tears running down my cheeks:

"If anything ever happens to me and I'm not here anymore, I hope you know how much I loved you and Bash. Just make sure he knows how much his mama loved him. And when it's time for you to move on and find someone else, just make sure she's a good mama to Bash too."

I never thought I'd have to say these things or have these thoughts, but the sick, sad, twisted, messed up world we live in today has made these thoughts a reality. And not just for me and my family, but for so many American citizens across the nation. Earlier this year my husband was trying to make his way into law enforcement. First in corrections, and then as a Las Vegas Metropolitan Police Officer. Fortunately, he was not chosen after all and he was able to find another job that he truly enjoys. Although the pay and benefits would have been great for our family and I could have been a stay-at-home-mom with our son, Sunday's events made me grateful he wasn't chosen and did not enter the LVMPD Academy.

In the end, all we can do is be the best parents we can be while we are here. Instill morals and integrity in our children and hope for a better future. In the mean time, my city mourns and begins the healing process.

We are Vegas. We are strong. 

Happy Thanksgiving! Oh yeah, btw Tara's pregnant!

I remember back in October 2016, Charles and I had discussed the possibility of getting pregnant and what would the plan be if that were to happen. Fortunately, I'd found a wonderful man that loved me and was willing to "man up" and take care of his responsibilities regardless of our relationship status. Now keep in mind we weren't exactly taking all of the precautions to ensure a child wasn't conceived, but at 33 years old and not having conceived previously in any other relationships, I was beginning to think perhaps I wasn't able to have children (I was absolutely wrong). But anyway, we talked about it and agreed that if it happened, then it was meant to happen and we'd raise the child together and have a family. If it didn't happen, then it wasn't meant to be. Either way the coin fell, we agreed that we were okay with the outcome.

Halloween came and went, and I started to feel sick shortly after. I thought it was the flu or something because it wasn't constant and it wasn't food poisoning. I had headaches, and dizzy spells, and every time I was around food I wanted to hurl. After talking with one of my co-workers that had a 2 year old, I was a little anxious so I stopped and got a box of home pregnancy tests on the way home from work. I was so scared and nervous to take the test, but I knew I had to. I had to know for sure if I was pregnant or just sick, because who wants to be sick during the holidays when there's so much good food to eat?! It was only the first week of November and Thanksgiving was two weeks away. I started thinking about how my life was going to change if the test was positive. I started thinking about how I would tell Charles, how we would tell our families. I started imagining sending out a holiday ecard with a picture of Charles and I on it and a caption that read "Happy holidays from the three of us. Baby Barber arriving Summer 2017!" I had basically convinced myself that it was positive before taking it, so when the time was up after peeing on that tiny life changing little stick and I only saw the one line indicating a negative, I was bummed. Actually, we were crushed. We had discussed having a baby, and all of the things we were looking forward to. Picking out a name and decorating the baby's room. Christmas with a baby, and how happy his mom would be to finally be a grandmother. I remember just standing in the bathroom holding the test in my hand and tears started welling up in my eyes. I buried my face in Charles' chest, wrapped my arms around his waist and cried. We were both devastated that it was negative. We didn't realize just how badly we wanted this until we didn't have it anymore. Charles has a way of knowing the right thing to say to me exactly when I need to hear it. And this moment was the perfect example.

"It's okay babe. We'll just keep trying."

So we continued on with our days but with a bit of disappointment hanging in the air for the first few days after the test. I continued to feel horrible and had concluded I had a flu type illness since the test was negative. Now, I am the type of lady that keeps pretty good track of my cycles and my "activities" so I knew when to expect my symptoms to begin. I knew that I was due exactly a week before Thanksgiving and fortunately I have a body that works like clockwork and I was always on time or within 24 hours of the day I was due. The closer it got to the day I was supposed to start, I'd had not a single symptom like I normally had. No PMS, no cramps, no cravings, no bloating, nothing. So when that Thursday came and was uneventful, I half figured it would come the next day and half thought "Holy shit, I'm late. Am I'm pregnant?" And then the wheels started turning in my head and I started panicking that I might be, but it hadn't even been two weeks since I'd taken the last test so how could it be possible that this one would be any different?! So I waited until Friday morning and first thing when I woke up around 6am and Charles was still at work for another two hours (he worked graveyards). I pulled that little stick out of the box and opened the wrapping and followed instructions. I remember thinking there was no way it was positive. That I couldn't believe I was doing this again. That I couldn't handle the disappointment again when it came back negative. That I wasn't even going to tell Charles I had taken another test because I didn't want to see the disappointment on his face again. But here I was, waiting for this stupid little stick to tell me "no" again. Anyone that's taken a pregnancy test knows the instructions. Step 1: unwrap. Step 2: pee on stick. Step 3: put cap on stick. Step 4: sit on counter and wait 5 minutes. And finally Step 5: either freak out or cry. Well, unlike the previous test, before I could get to Step 3 I saw the first and second little pink lines as clear as day. Before I even got the test on the counter to begin waiting, the test was positive. I honestly couldn't believe my eyes. My heart started racing, my hands were shaking, and I started tearing up. 

Without thinking, I grabbed my phone and texted Charles and told him to come home immediately after work. He had planned to go to his mom's house that morning after he got off (remember graveyard shifts). He asked why and if I was okay, I said no and I just kept insisting that he come home immediately after work and not stop anywhere. He finally agreed. Needless to say when he ran in the door he was near panicked. I was laying in bed trying not to cry and told him to go look on the bathroom counter. He looked confused and I told him again to go look. He walked in and looked at the test sitting on counter, and it took a second for it to sink in but when it did his shoulders relaxed. I walked toward him and we just wrapped our arms around each other not knowing what to say. I cried of course, but I was going through a flood of emotions. I was happy, excited, nervous, anxious, and above all I was terrified. But after some reassurance from daddy-to-be, some of the terrifying feelings went away but not all of them. 

That day I decided I wanted to get a jump on educating myself so I went to Barnes and Noble and got the stereotypical first-time mom reading material, "What to Expect When You're Expecting" by Heidi Murkoff. Honestly, I think I read maybe up until month 4 and then I stopped. Pretty much everything I was experiencing was what was being explained in the book so I figured I'd just read up on things I had questions on, or look to the book when I wasn't sure about something. Of course the next step was to tell my family, which began okay. My mom was more concerned with my health and finances than anything. I've had severe back problems for years that will eventually require surgery. And I had just started a new job three months prior to this. I was barely getting back on my feet. And then there was my never supportive older sister, who's response was a snarky "What did mom and dad say?" I should have known she wouldn't be the support system I was hoping for. And then there was my dad. My loving, protective, and now openly racist father who was happy enough for me until he learned the father wasn't white. Then of course his true colors came out. More details on that in a future post. 

For whatever reason, Charles was terrified to tell his family. He was worried his mom would be disappointed or upset despite the fact that she'd been asking him for a grandchild for years. The next Thursday was Thanksgiving and we'd decided to tell his family then. they'd all be together and if his mom was upset, she'd unlikely cause a scene in front of the whole clan. We showed up, acted as normal as possible, ate, chatted, and enjoyed the holiday with family. It was about time to go home since we both had work that night, and we started for the door. He opened it and we walked outside. I looked at him and I believe my comment was "Chicken shit!" we had decided that we'd tell them tonight and he was trying to bail on that agreement! He finally caved and we walked back in the house, he said "I have an announcement!" and he essentially announced to the entire family (not just his parents) "Tara's pregnant!" Holy crap, if only I could have captured his mom's face on camera! Her jaw hit the floor and she just looked back and forth between the two of us. She couldn't believe it. Might I add that she'd asked him that very night while holding his cousin's 3 month old baby boy "When are you going to give me a grand baby?" And of course his youngest sister shouted with joy and disbelief and literally ran across the living room and hugged me so tight I couldn't breathe. His step-dad congratulated us. And the older of the two sisters immediately volunteered to babysit (which I'm sure she's going to regret one day). Everyone was so happy for us and the whole family, aunts uncles and cousins included, were smiling and congratulating us. At that point, I knew this baby was going to have an amazing family, and was going to be so loved and spoiled. Over the next couple of days the joy faded and was eventually replaced with sadness and disappointment in my own family. Why couldn't they be as happy and excited for us as his family was? Why couldn't they see the joy in my life and share in that? All they've ever told me my entire life was that they wanted me to be happy. Now that I was, they weren't. Even now ten months later, it still stings when I think about them not being involved and not being a part of my son's life. Everyone says "It's their loss!" when in fact it's not. It's my son's loss too. It's not fair that he won't have his grandparents in his life. It certainly doesn't bother him now seeing as he's barely able to hold his head up, but in the future I don't know how I'm going to explain to him why mommy's mom and dad aren't around. 

We left my husband's aunt's house feeling relieved, excited and happy as we could possibly hope to be that night. A weight had been lifted off of our shoulders and we were ready to tackle the next 8 months head on with the support of his family. Good thing because their support is what got us through one hell of a birth.

Definitely a Thanksgiving we will never forget.

Right of Passage POSTPONED Until Later Date

Anyone that knows me, knows how head over heels in love with my son I am and how grateful I am that he came into the world as healthy and perfect as he could have possibly been. But along with being overjoyed, I've also felt a lot of guilt and depression. I didn't really get to experience a third trimester since Sebastian was born 6 weeks premature. I didn't get to experience the end of my pregnancy like almost everyone else. It came so much sooner than I had expected and wasn't given the opportunity to essentially mourn the loss of that time. I've tried repeatedly to push these feelings to the back of my mind and not allow them to get in the way of every day life, but it's exceptionally difficult when I'm reminded nearly every day.

Being 34 years old and having a group of friends in roughly the same age range, I've seen countless pictures of their baby showers and I couldn't wait from my own. I had pictures and visions in my head of how it would look and who I would invite. I was so excited when my two sisters-in-law volunteered to throw my shower when my best friend wasn't financially able to. I originally wanted to have it in May, that way we'd have time to still get the things we needed that we didn't get at the shower. It was planned for June 24th. Almost one month exactly before baby was due to arrive. Not a lot of time, but I was still grateful and excited. Well, that all came to a screeching halt when our bouncing baby boy decided he wasn't waiting for July 27th and came into the world six weeks early. Funny enough, he came home from the NICU two days after the party had been scheduled to happen. Scheduled. The shower was "postponed until later when he's a little older" which for us kind of sucked because we really weren't prepared at home for baby to be there yet. It was a last minute scramble to get the things we immediately needed that were an absolute necessity, and even then there were things we didn't/don't have that we should have gotten. So then the shower was planned for the weekend before I went back to work, baby would be ten weeks old. But that day came and went and shower was postponed again until mid September due to financial needs. Mid September has now come and gone and still no sign of a shower happening any time soon. Honestly, I'm about to say just forget it. Or just throw a party myself but how narcissistic would that be really? The whole thing just depresses me even further than I already am.

Then there's the maternity pictures I never got to take. Again, as a pregnant woman raging with hormones, you look forward to the small things like this that are supposed to make you feel good, and treasure the last few weeks with your little one safely inside your belly. The last picture I have of my pregnant self is standing in the bathroom mirror taking my "32 week" progression picture after a shower completely unaware that that night my world would change completely when my water broke on the way to work.

Sometimes I wish my son hadn't come early and that I would have had a normal labor. No complications, no bed rest, no uncertainty, no fears. Things may have been easier if there hadn't been complications, but I just keep telling myself that there's a reason everything happened the way it did. Doesn't make the depression any easier to deal with, but maybe I just need more time. Maybe I'm just bitter that God jipped me out of something so important to me. I don't know. But I do know that even 13 weeks after my son was born, I still struggle with PPD and it seems to be getting worse the longer it is. Not sure how that works, but I've never really done anything the easy way.

Due dates and depression

Yesterday was my son's original due date. When we found out what his due date was, I smiled and giggled because my husband (who is not really my legal husband as of yet, but for all intents and purposes I'll just refer to him as such) and I met at work. Okay, I know that makes no sense to you so let me give you some details that will help it make sense. You see, we live in Las Vegas, NV. Though there are hundreds of thousands of other jobs and other fields out here, we both were working at a "hotel and casino" in the downtown area. He had been working there in security for about 6 months before I was hired to be a lead at the hotel's Front Desk. We met within a week or so of my first day, and everything just blossomed from there like nothing either of us had experienced and we just knew this was meant to be. And now here we are roughly a year later with our son living as one happy little family. Okay, I'm sure you're still not getting the connection and why his due date made me smile and giggle. Yesterday's date was 7/27/17. Still confused? 7/27/17 Sebastian's due date had three 7's in it. If you know anything about gambling and/or slot machines then you know 777 is a jackpot. Get it now? Our son was going to be our jackpot. Two casino workers were having a jackpot baby. Of course we had no idea that he had other plans and decided that being a Father's Day present was better than being a jackpot. Okay so you're probably not laughing, and most likely didn't even crack a smile but to us it was funny. More on the Father's Day joke later.

So back to my original train of thought, my son's original due date was yesterday and I can't help but feel a little sad, a lot guilty, and just depressed honestly. I love my son more than anything in this world and I love that he is happy and healthy, but it makes me sad that things didn't go quite like they were originally intended. When you first learn that you have a little human growing inside you, it's natural to imagine their birthday and how you think things will go. Maybe your labor is planned. You picked the date and you're being induced. Maybe you plan to ride out the pregnancy until baby is ready and debuts on their own. Either way you see it, you never imagine that your water will break at 32 weeks pregnant and you'll be confined to the hospital on bed rest with antibiotics being dripped into your veins every few hours. You never think of the two steroid shots (in your ass that burn like hell btw) you'll have to get 24 hours apart to help your baby's lungs develop faster in case they aren't developed enough. You definitely didn't plan for you and baby to be constantly monitored for two weeks straight until the doctors decide it's time to get baby out because there's a risk of infection. But that's the short and sweet of how my labor began.

Every nurse and every doctor that I saw during my near three week stay at the hospital repeatedly assured me that my water breaking eight weeks early was not my fault and there wasn't anything I did that caused it, and nothing I could have done to prevent it. But I guess it was the mother in me that developed an immense amount of guilt because of it. My poor baby was going through so much already and he hadn't even taken his first breath. The neonatologist that came to speak to us advised us that our son could be in the NICU for up to 6 weeks (up to his original due date) or less, but it depended on how he was doing once he was out. Obviously I was a wreck at that point and highly emotional and I couldn't help but cry into my husband's chest every time I thought about it. Even taking the tour of the NICU (which was an amazing facility with incredible nurses) made me tear up and cry so hard I didn't think I could do it. I kept thinking to myself that if only my body hadn't given up, if only my water hadn't broken so early our son wouldn't have to be in the NICU facing a number of challenges. He wouldn't have to be monitored and have a ton of tests done. He wouldn't have to live his first however many days/weeks in another part of the hospital away from me and away from his father. I heard the words every time the doctors said it wasn't my fault, but my heart felt otherwise. Even now as I look at my son sleeping (and farting) next to me in his bassinet as healthy as he could be, the guilt just tears at my heart. Today is the day we were supposed to be recovering together from delivery. Today is the day where all of our family was supposed to come by to meet the new addition. July 27th 2017, that was the day I was supposed to meet the man of my dreams, the love of my life. That's what I had spent seven months preparing myself for. Not for the emergency C-Section because I wouldn't dilate completely. Not hearing he was stuck and had swelling on his face and head. And definitely not the ten beyond agonizing days he spent in the NICU.

Every day I am grateful that my sons birth went as smoothly as it did and that there were no major complications. He came out at a healthy 6lbs 4oz and was 17.5in long. No respiratory issues, no other major problems. Ten fingers, ten toes, and a face that made my heart melt the second I saw it. I suppose over time the guilt may fade, but I doubt it will ever go away completely. Regardless, my son is here, he is healthy, he is beautiful, and he is loved.

This is my story

I sit here on my couch with my newborn son next to me in his rocker reflecting on the past 9 months of my life and realize I missed out on quite the opportunity. I know that overall most pregnancy and birth experiences are (for the most part) the same or quite similar. However looking back now that my pregnancy is over 6 weeks sooner than originally planned I'm wishing I had chronicled the experience in a way which I could go back and relive the moments that tend to be forgotten with the passing of time. So I suppose that's the reasoning behind beginning now, nearly 4 weeks after the birth of our son. As good as I'd like to pretend my memory is, I know there are things that are going to happen and experiences I'd like to remember which I know I'll end up forgetting without them being written down.

So, welcome to my mommy memory. Welcome to my experiences, my tears, my joy, my laughter, my fear, and my everything I have yet to feel.  Anyone with children knows what it's like to be a new parent and will gladly share their best stories with you. This? This is my story. It took me 34 years to start it, and it's going to take the rest of my life to finish it.