How I Became A Mother, A Wife, And Divorced (condensed version)

This Sunday with be the twenty-seventh year that I have been on the receiving end of Mother's Day gifts.

My first Mother's Day was May of 1981. But before that, I will interrupt this story to explain a few key things ...

I got pregnant in January of 1981, and married my baby's daddy (that was mandatory in Wisconsin during the eighties) in March of 1981. This unborn child was growing at World Record Guinness Speed, for real. Here's a great example:

I got married wearing an off-white business suit with a generously pleated skirt. Now, I had just purchased this "wedding dress" the Saturday before the my wedding and my baby was growing so fast that my skirt had to be held together with a rubber band (used as a button hole extender) and a safety pin (to keep the zipper from sliding down).

But here's the strange thing ... I didn't gain any weight during my entire pregnancy. I lost ten pounds from the day I conceived to the day I delivered. My entire body just shifted ... belly and boobs increased at warp speed while the thighs, arms, face dwindled away.

Twenty-five years ago statistics like that didn't really bother doctors too much. You went in for your appointment, they listened to the baby's heart beat, you got your uterus measured from the outside with a Dritz tape measure to go from your belly button to your pubic bone and these numbers got recorded with a number two pencil on the inside cover of your manila file folder.

The weight loss was caused by the morning sickness I experienced from sun up to sun down. I was queasy and nauseous and lived with stomach bile riding up and down my esophagus just ready to spew at any given moment. I couldn't go to our mall because it had a tire store in it (like who goes to a mall to by tires) and the whole mall smelled like tires mixed with the smell from the cookie store mixed with the powerful smell of fabric from clothing stores. It was like smell hell on earth, people.

Now follow me back to the wedding. It was the last weekend in March and as you know, the weather in Wisconsin could go either way. Well, it went warm and the church had some kind of automatic money saving pre-programmed heat-o-meter and no one could figure out how to operate it. We've got a freakishly warm sixty something degrees outside with a constant flow of seventy two degree air blowing in from the duct work.

Twice during the ceremony I almost fainted and eventually I ended up getting married with my pregnant, fully-nauseated body propped on a chair with everyone kneeling around me as we listened to how the priest talked about this being a fine example of "for better or worse" and what could be "worse" than having your bride walk out of church not once, not twice, but three times only to return (the fact that I always returned, I guess, was supposed to be the "better" part). Three times I was ushered out of church because I was on the verge of hurling or fainting, maybe even secretly wishing I could just keep walking right on out the door and down the street, I don't remember.

I remember on my last trip outside (before the "I do" section), I ripped the safety pin and rubber band off my skirt and unbelted the supposedly slenderizing jacket. I re-entered the church with one hand holding my rapidly expanding belly with and the other hand had my skirt cinched together. For some reason I think I had a corsage and a bouquet (both silk so I could cherish them forever) that someone generously spritzed with a rose-like fragrance but the smell of the fake flowers got to me so they were both ditched during one of my first exits from the ceremony and were now laying outside with my belt.

Now back to that first Mother's Day, needless to say my gifts were a trio of much needed maternity tops. All three were matronly in style with large collars. I think the giant collar was to draw the attention to a pregnant woman's face and away from the big, round belly. The thought process then may back then may have been, "look at my radiant face" and not so much about the "I had pre-marital sex and had to get married" that is so popular today.

In summary, this entire pregnancy was unique. I know they all are unique, but mine was the uniquerest.

First, I those lost ten pounds from conception to delivery.

Second, I was in labor for seven full days with contractions ten minutes apart. This baby's head was literally shaped like a cone, not like the Coneheads that were so popular from Saturday Night Live, but a real cone that you studied in geometry class. You know, like the shape incense comes in, yeah ... that kind of cone.

Third, twenty-one hours of intense back labor, which may or may not have been God's special way to get back at me for the pre-marital sex thing. I am not real sure and no one has been able to prove otherwise on that one.

Fourth, those few minutes of friskiness back in January of 1981 resulted in seven pounds, twenty one inches of boy joy.

Although the marriage to this baby's daddy only lasted eleven months, I am now celebrating the twenty-seventh anniversary as the recipient of top shelf Mother's Day lovin'.

This year will the most uniquerest of all because now my first born has his very own first born.

Happy Mother's Day, everyone.