Age Appropriate

I have to say I recently felt a little sorry for Madonna.  Here she is – the epitome of sex from the 1990’s and still trying to rock it at 56 – wearing hot pants, black thigh high boots, a tank and serenading Drake.  At the end of the song, she leans over and lays a passionate kiss on him.  At first it seemed appreciated and then it became a something out of a Pepe Le Pew cartoon – Drake trying to get away and Madonna oblivious to his resistance.  Then, the look on his face and immediate need to wipe it off his mouth made it seem all that more unseemly – a woman hitting on a man half her age and him definitely not digging it.

I like everyone else, wanted to poke fun at it.  Madonna’s ego – had been taken down a few notches because she stepped over the line of sexy into ridiculous.  But then I began to wonder at the tender age of 52 if trying to be sexy in your fifties was crossing a line.   Of course – it’s important to know when to flaunt it – and hitting on a guy who’s young enough to be your son was probably not the way to go about it even if you were the ultimate sex goddess in 1993. 

It’s a tough road from your 30’s into your 40’s into the 50’s and beyond –

particularly if you’re a woman.  I really feel for female celebrities hitting those milestones and having to compete against their younger selves thanks to YouTube and Netflix.   Now the movies you made 20 or even 30 years ago are a reminder of how things used to be – when you were forever young– free from the worries of Botox and the necessity of a nip and tuck.  The worship of youth has always been there – but the availability of plastic surgery and the practitioners who claim to be able to fix all your problems is way too alluring to those that make their living with their appearance and sadly those physicians don’t always deliver the desired results.  It’s not like a haircut – a botched face lift will not grow back.  It will require more surgeries to fix and with each one – new news stories on someone leaving the back end of a cosmetic surgery center trying to be unrecognizable – and sadly they are.  Those parts of their face that made them interesting and unique have now been replaced by a face that is shiny and immovable.

Of course, men rarely have to do those things to mask their age.  George Clooney can look as rough-hewn as he wants.  But if Jamie Lee Curtis decides not to color her hair – she gets flack for giving up and looking old rather than being celebrated for her authentic self and forgoing hair dye and plastic surgery.  It’s a very confusing message.

So why do we have such a hard time allowing a woman to grow old naturally and at the same time we condemn a woman who wants to celebrate the fact that she’s still a sexual being well into her 50’s?  “The Most Interesting Man in the World” is in his late 60’s and has young women around him – in awe and laughing at his jokes.   He has charm, wit and money – that apparently transcends the fact that he’s old enough to be their father.   He is even a little over weight but his worldliness overcomes that as well.  Now, put a woman in her 60’s surrounded by young men and either it’s creepy or more like Mae West where the tongue was firmly in the cheek.  The message is clearly an older woman could never really attract this much attention from young men in real life.

In the films of the 1950’s and 60’s – a fifty year old woman was regulated to being a grandmother and probably was one – since she more than likely started having children in her early 20’s and then her daughter would follow suit.  At 40 back then – the best you could hope for was being handsome – sort of like Lucille Ball and definitely not sexual.  A woman in her sixties would probably be like Barbara Stanwick but at that point – her face would became softly fused with a filter so her features would be slightly out focus – a silly way to mask her age because it only made it that much more glaring.

But even a woman’s weight at any age is not off limits.  Look at someone like Pink or Kelly Clarkson – who are not anywhere near their 40’s or 50’s but God forbid they gain a little weight doing something as prized as being a mother.  The expectation is that if they don’t immediately get rid of their postpartum Lbs. – they are excoriated on social media as being too fat.   Luckily they both have the wisdom and strength of character to take their attackers to task and being proud of their bodies. 

But for those of us that grew up during the Twiggy years – the unrealistic

expectation of weight and beauty has become ingrained.  The curves of the 1950’s gave way to the boyish waif look which was impossible for 99% of young women to pull off naturally.  It touched me so much that when I was in middle school – I developed an eating disorder and tried to keep my calories to fewer than 400 a day.  I was 5’3” and about 90 pounds.  I kept fixating on my thighs and how big they looked to me compared to the rest of my body.   My chest looked bony and my shoulder bones were poking out of my shoulders but still in my mind I was too fat.  It finally took my sister to point out that I was too thin before I snapped out of this self- induced haze of body hating to see the truth – I was radically too thin.  I put on a few pounds to look healthier – but my weight for most of my life has been a slippery slope.

I guess pregnancy can put that all into perspective because having a big belly that was full of my future progeny was a wonderful and blessed thing.  I even got a pretty nice set of boobs!  For the first time in my life I had crossed over the A-cup line and was spilling out of a B-cup.  My husband Max got the fringe benefits.  I knew that he loved me for better or worse but having an awesome set of knockers was definitely the better.   Once the babies were here and I was breast feeding they got even bigger – I was easily a 38C cup and curvy like Marilyn Monroe to the point that even the gay stage manager at the theatre where I was working at was checking me out. 

It took me 20 years to finally get it but it turns out men aren’t necessarily turned on by waif like bodies – they want something they can hold onto.  So I’m okay with not weighing 105 pounds– but I’ve always gotten a certain amount of attention because of my looks.  At the point that I was at the end of my pregnancies, I rather enjoyed it because I got attention for being the pregnant lady and not necessarily being the pretty lady (although people were quick to assure me that I was still beautiful even as I waddled up to thank them). 

But now that I am hitting my 50's, I know that the days of being able to rock

a pair of white shorts and a short sleeve button down shirt tied to my waist with a pair of sneakers are well behind me.  Unlike Madonna, I have not made my bread and butter on the fact that I used to wear a corset and belt buckle that said “Boy Toy.”  I never had my father preach that I needed to be “Like a Virgin.”  For the bulk of my career, I’ve had to look professional and not provocative. 

But I still feel for Madonna who is not ready to lose her sexy but has to tread a fine line between edgy and creepy.   Being confident is sexy but being arrogant can add years – so maybe a little humility can go a long way to make you seem younger.   There’s definitely a glow about women who feel good about themselves at any age.  Even entertainers who have had the media focus on mostly their good looks vs. their talent have had to make that transition into their 50’s and self-confidence can go a long way to achieve that. 

I also think having a sense of humor about yourself is important in keeping your sexy up and your angst of aging down. My husband Max recently showed me a sketch Amy Shumer recently did on her show about aging in Hollywood with Julia Louise Dreyfus, Tina Fey and Patricia Arquette. It’s a hilarious reflection on the double standard of a woman’s sexuality in tinsel town as the group celebrates Julia’s last f**kable day – the last day that a female movie star is can screw realistically on screen.  Click here to view the sketch.  I was laughing pretty hard and Max mentioned that in his eyes they were all still very f**ckable.  It’s nice to have a husband who appreciates beauty at any age.  

Most people would tell you that Sandra Bullock is downright hot and she does it effortlessly which is the key to her allure.   My guess is if she, Mary Louise Parker and Laura Dern could give some advice it’s that you don’t need to work so hard to be hot – just let it happen and people will still notice you.  For God’s sake – don’t buy into having to get so much work done that people can’t take you seriously anymore.  Meryl Streep is Meryl Streep and she has the street cred to do just about anything –but  she doesn’t need to look younger to get roles.  Granted there are less and less roles for 60 year old women, but people will watch her perform because they believe who she is – her face is still as amazing as it was when she started back the 1980’s – it’s just older as it should be.  Max recently commented that he would nail Helen Mirren in a New York minute which was reassuring but made me think I need to be in the room when he’s around other women over 50.  

Betty White is a beautiful woman in her 90’s who can tell you that being relevant is key but not so over the top that you look like you merely want attention.  The night she hosted Saturday Night Live was the highest ratings that show had gotten in 18 months – she was great because she has the show business savvy to know how to play to her audiences – both old and new.  When she was on the SNL 40^th Anniversary – she locked lips with Bradley Cooper and he didn’t try to wipe it off – probably because it was rehearsed and he was in on it.  Just about every woman watching would have loved to have switched places with her – and she pulled it off with just the right amount of tongue in cheek – acknowledging that she still had it.   

Which brings me back to Madonna – and my own struggle to reconcile the fact that I’m getting older and not the fresh young thing I once was.  Interestingly enough, I actually I agree with one statement she recently made: "I don't understand. I'm trying to get my head around it. Because women, generally, when they reach a certain age, have accepted that they're not allowed to behave a certain way. But I don't follow the rules. I never did, and I'm not going to start."  So maybe we need to ease up on her and see where her blazing trail takes her. 

I’m way past the shelf life of most improv performers – and yet I still go out there and perform because I love it and I’m okay with making fun of my age.  Hell, I even poked fun at Madonna in a recent show in her get up in which I felt sexy and just a bit ridiculous at the same time.  Maybe the road most of us need to go down is confident in our own skins and not worry about what the world thinks.  I need to not hold myself to unrealistic standards as I have in the past and accept the fact that you can get older and still be sexy and interesting.  And if you happen to be out in public and a younger guy checks you out – smile back.  You never know - maybe you just made HIS day!

Birth of a Notion - Part 2

I was sitting on the exam table in a doctor's office because I had a terrible sinus infection that had been going on for a week and I could barely breathe.   The nurse came in and asked the usual questions including asking if I was pregnant in case they needed to prescribe some medication that might be bad for a developing fetus.   I mentioned that Max and I had been trying and that we'd only been at it for a few weeks so the chances of me being pregnant were remote - after all it took my about four months to get pregnant with Amber.   As a precaution, they had me do a pregnancy test.   I sat in the room -- not thinking too much about it.   Then I heard the excited sounds of the nurses talking - "Oh my God, she is, she is!"   Since this was a general practitioner's office, they probably didn't do many pregnancy tests.   Then the nurse came in with a big smile on her face and said "Guess what, you're pregnant!"   I took a deep breath (at this point most of my breaths were big because inhaling from my nose was difficult) and looked at the pee stick in awe.   There was a bright blue cross - which meant pregnant.    I mean, it must have happened a few days after my last period - I wasn't even late.   My head began to swim - me pregnant - now.    I figured I had at least until the spring but this baby wanted to come into the world now and there would be no delays.   The doctor gave me my estimated due date:  December 7th - Pearl Harbor Day - a day that would live in infamy.   He asked if I had an OB-GYN which I did.    I walked out of the doctor's office with more than a sinus prescription - I had another person growing inside of me. 

I called Max immediately in the car and told him.   He told me he knew it.  "How could you know it -- I didn't even know it and I'm the one whose knocked up?"  I replied feeling that newly pregnant buzz.   "I can even tell you which night it happened," he recounted.   I won't go into all the details, but yeah, that was an awesome night.   I then started to think about Amber.   She was not yet four years old and now she was going to be a big sister.  Luckily she loved babies, but would she love the baby that might be stealing some time with Mommy away from her?   Now would not be the time to tell her - it was too soon.   It was way too soon to tell anyone.  I usually like to wait until past the three month mark to be sure and that seemed like a long way out.  I was at best maybe four weeks along - just 10% of the way there and another 36 weeks to go.   I always felt bad for people born in December - they seemed to get gypped out of presents and I was determined not to let the happen to this little to-be.   I drove home in a bit of a daze - a very different person then when I had left the house.   Max met me and gave me a hug.  Amber just wanted me to have a  princess tea party. 

I went to my OB-GYN, a woman who seemed really nice especially because I had insurance.   Things seemed to be going well until we got a call from the insurance company asking if I had given birth.   No, it had just been a couple of months since we found out and I was nowhere near delivering.    Apparently, the doctor's office knew there was a maximum to what the insurance company would cover and put in for the delivery in advance to make sure they were covered.   That didn't seem right and we called the doctor's office who assured us that this was their normal procedure.   We decided to change to another OB - one that had nurse mid-wives so I still had a women's touch during this time and only saw the actual OB a few times.   The pregnancy progressed normally until I had an alpha-fetal protein (AFP) test done which came back a little low.   I had a feeling that they had taken it too early.  I was being pressured to have an amniocentesis done (that's when they stick a large needle into the pregnant belly take out a small sample of amniotic fluid to test for abnormalities).   My gut instinct was that it was a wash - the chances of them finding anything wrong versus endangering a health fetus didn't make sense.   I decided not to do it much the dismay of June, one of the mid-wives who I secretly hoped would not be there when it was time to deliver.   She was a Debbie Downer - always letting you know the negative side of things.  They did another AFP test a week later and it came back normal. 

Unlike my pregnancy with Amber, I did get nauseous in the afternoon which is when I was teaching after school acting classes in a few local elementary schools.  I remembered the advice of my country Cuban doctor from Miami and kept some fruit Lifesavers with me to cut the acid.  It worked most of time although there was one class where I prayed another adult would be standing by in case I needed to run to the bathroom and toss my cookies during class.   I managed to keep it together and was hoping that these afternoon attacks would pass quickly.   

At the three month mark, we told Amber that we were going to have a baby and that right now it was in Mommy's stomach.   She patted my stomach and said "Hi, baby."   I told my parents on a trip to Tallahassee to see my sister and her family.   I snuck a picture of the ultrasound in with some pictures I had taken of Amber.    My parents and sister were so excited and showered Amber with all sorts of praise for becoming a big sister.   It's hard to know what a four year old understands, but if having a baby meant you got hugs and new toys, then this second kid thing was not turning out to be that bad. 

As time wore on, I got bigger and bigger.  First I got big in my boobs which is always a bonus, especially for the fathers.  Then the fifth month hit which is when you don't have a prego belly yet and people who don't know you're pregnant try to be nice about the fact you've put on some weight and no longer have a waistline.   At the six month mark it's pretty obvious you're pregnant.  When I hit six months, I looked huge.   Not just from the side, but all around.   It didn't really hit me until I was shopping at Pea in a Pod, a maternity store with Amber and happened to see my behind in not one mirror but three at the same time.   I gasped and said "Oh my God, my ass is huge."  Amber started to laugh, ran out of the dressing room and in the middle of the store shouted "Oh God, huge ass!"  I managed to put a robe on to get her to come back into the dressing room as a room full of sympathetic women looked on.  "Don't worry honey, I think you butt looks just fine," said an older sales lady which was reassuring and creepy at the same time.  

Since this was my second baby, I was acutely aware of the fact that he or she (I never found out the sexes of my children before hand - call me traditional - I liked to be surprised) might come very fast.  Since my hard labor with Amber was only 26 minutes I was afraid to sneeze.  At this point, I was working for as a marketing director at an Atlanta theater which just made my phobia about delivering while driving on I-85 even worse.   As my delivery date got closer, I tele-communuted - attending staff meetings via phone and e-mailing press releases and media packages to the office for approval.    Worse, I kept on thinking I was in labor when I wasn't and dragged Max to the hospital twice in the middle of the night only to be turned away empty handed and still very pregnant. 

My parents came for a visit and I felt like I could relax because if I went into labor, there was someone to look after Amber.   I had already gotten her stickers that said "Amber is a Big Sister" for her to hand out to her Pre-K class and a big sister t-shirt.   It was getting to be the first week of December and her assignment for school was to have her family talk about about holiday traditions on audio tape.   It was really sweet and while were reading The Night Before Christmas with Mom, Dad and Max, I felt a little contraction.   I didn't say anything since I had lugged Max out of bed twice before to go to the hospital - so I kept my mouth shut until about 2:00 a.m. when they seemed to be pretty regular.  I woke him up and told him I was pretty sure this was it.    We got my bags (they were packed and I had a fresh pedicure this time) and we headed through the snowy night to Gwinnett Medical Center.   We got there and were met immediately but June, my least favorite mid-wife.   She asked me if I had ever gotten the amino to which I answered with a very curt "No, and what difference does it make now?"   That probably was not the right thing to say but I was very uncomfortable.   She decided not to give me much in the way of pain killers (I had one little dose of something that dulled the pain for about 20 minutes and then wore off).   Luckily another midwife showed up so it wouldn't be all June in the delivery room.   

The midwives both left Max and I in the room while they consulted and I remember being aware of the fact that giving life was very much like death.   I was in intense pain and when it was all over, things would be very different.  My life would never be the same.  I also thought I saw an angel hovering near by which was very comforting.   

Then came the time to push without an epidural like I had with Amber so it was full on painful - take no prisoners child birth.   I prayed that this baby would be as fast to push out as Amber.  The pain and the burning were intense. I was trying to take yoga breaths while I was pushing.   I was looking at everyone's face when they told me the head had just come out.   The cord was wrapped around the neck and the baby looked very pale.  June informed Max that he wouldn't be able to cut the cord - to which he replied "That's fine just do it!"   They cut the cord and he was finally delivered - my little Daniel was finally here.  However, his APGAR score was around 2 or 3 which meant a baby in distress.    They called the NICU nurses in.  Max felt like if we had let them take him away, we'd never see him alive again.  He asked if he could hold the baby's hands which they allowed  him to do.    Max, who is a Reiki Master (Reiki is a form of energy healing) held Daniel's hands and gave him the biggest shot of Reiki he's ever done.   Max's eyes were closed for maybe a minute when the nurses said "Mr. Grimm, you can let go now," just as Daniel took a big breath and started to cry.   He turned a healthy pink and he even had enough strength to do his first official act of defiance - which was to pee on everyone standing around the table.  His level of trajectory was very impressive.   

The look of relief on Max's face was immeasurable.   I got a chance to see him and touch his little hands before they washed him.   He had strawberry blond hair and weighed in at 8 pounds 14 ounces, but they weighed him after he pissed, so I say it was closer to 9 pounds since I delivered a full bladder.  Then, I finally got to hold him.  He was the most beautiful baby boy I had ever seen and nothing could ruin this moment, with one exception.  June, always the bearer of good news, mentioned that his second toe was bigger then his big toe on his right foot which could mean it was a sign of mental retardation.   I smiled and pointed to my manicured feet which both had second toes which were bigger then the big toe.  "I guess it hereditary and by the way - my IQ is 128 - just 12 points from genius - I think we're good."  

Later that day, a pediatrician came to look at Daniel and true to form, he tried to pee on the doctor as well - to which the good natured physician remarked "That is the most ambushing kid I've ever seen."    Amber came by with my Mom and Dad.  We had a present from the baby to give Amber which was a Mermaid Barbie that she'd been wanting for a long time.  She immediately tore the box open and started to play with it.   She gave Daniel a little mobile that converted into a baby musical toy.   She smiled at her new baby brother and patted his head.  "Nice baby," she said.   To this day, they still get along amazingly well. 

Christmas came three weeks later in the year 2000.    When people asked me what I wanted for Christmas I replied, "A healthy baby."   I got my wish and I've been very grateful ever since.   December 5th is definitely a day that will live in infancy. 

The Birth of a Notion - Part 1

When Max and I got married we knew we wanted children.  I had come from a big Irish Catholic family with five kids and he was an only child.   He knew the stories about me about growing up:  seven people in a 22 foot Holiday Rambler trailer parked on Fort Myers Beach managing not to kill each other during the hot Florida summers.  The time my mom and sisters took a cruise to the Bahamas.  The image of my sister Sharon and I sitting my Dad's lap and saying at the same time - "Aren't you glad we married you?"  For the both of us, it seemed like having a family was part and parcel of saying "I do."   When we decided to get engaged and did our pre-martial surveys (which you had to do before you got married at St. Louis Catholic Church) our compatibility was 90% which was very high.   When we did our conference with Father Fetcher, Max mentioned that that he wanted to have six children which was news to me.  I was thinking more around three - but the good news was that we both wanted kids - the number was negotiable. 

We had been married for about three years and had dealt with Hurricane Andrew and the death of both of Max's parents when we decided to get pregnant.   Our marriage had been tested any number of times and yet there was no doubt in my mind that this was the man that I wanted to spend the rest of my life with.   We were ready to welcome a third person into our family - someone who would bring light  to two people who already knew how to keep love alive even under the most trying circumstances.   I never really worried about whether I would get pregnant.  My mother was pregnant seven times and had five kids and both of my sisters got pregnant without a problem.    Interestingly enough, our favorite show "Mad About You" had Jamie Buckmann trying to get pregnant at the same time.   I bore a pretty good resemblance to Helen Hunt and seeing her struggle each week trying to get to pregnant made me wonder if it would go the same way for me.  

The first month we tried it seemed like it would be pretty easy.  Fertility seemed to run in my family.  In addition to the two children each of my sisters had, my brothers both had four kids.   My period was late that month and I was sure I was pregnant.   I brought two pregnancy kits just to be sure.   I peed with a certain resolve in the morning hoping that the strength of my urine would give me the result I wanted.   The pregnancy tests were negative that month and the next month.    Jamie Buckmann was having the same problem and I began to worry that getting pregnant might not be the slam dunk I hoped it would be (no pun intended).    I had been taking pre-natal vitamins for six months and had given up caffeine which I heard could interfere with fertility -  so there I was all full of extra vitamins and without a Diet coke or a colada of Cuban coffee in sight which just made me grumpy.  

When it was coming up on my third cycle and two months of trying - I couldn't take it any longer.  I didn't want to have another month of disappointment so I told Max we could go to the drug store and get a pregnancy test and a Diet Coke.    That way it was a win/win - if I was pregnant, we'd celebrate and if I wasn't I'd have the caffinated diet soda I'd been jonsing for.   We walked to the mall from our apartment.    Max decided to wait outside while I got the tests.    A little toddler came up to Max, put his hand on his knee, pointed and hummed while shaking his head.    He said nothing else and his mother called him back over to him.   Max knew at that point I was pregnant - but let me pee into a cup anyway just to get that second opinion and probably to see if I could do it.   That night we knew that Amber was on her way. 

My pregnancy rolled along nicely.   No complications - no need to call the doctor.   I had my pregnancy books and "What to Expect When You're Expecting" at my bedside and another copy at the office.    I used to watch "ER" around that time but after the episode when a pregnant women died of very high blood pressure I decided to stop watching right then and there (it didn't matter how hot George Clooney was).   My doctor marveled that I was only one of a few of his patients who didn't call him hysterical after that episode.  

Of course there were awkward pregnancy moments, like when I would misjudge my fetal girth and knock over displays in the grocery store.  It got to the point where Publix stockmen would follow me around and get me whatever I needed to keep me from pushing over  another carefully arranged display of Little Friskies.    As my stomach continued to get bigger, my coworkers would stop mid conversation watch my belly as it would shift from side to side as Amber's butt tried to find a comfortable place to rest in uteral - her once roomy mansion in the first trimester was becoming a broom closet in the final weeks.  

We went to pre-natal classes, breast feeding classes (which at that point is all theory until you have a real baby and the milk-filled boobs to really get the hang of it), baby proofing classes and delivery classes.   I had read at least four books on the subject so I should have had everything in place by the time my due date was supposed to arrive.   However, as the big day drew closer, I kept putting work before packing the all important suitcase.   The nursery was done, the baby showers had been completed (one just a few days before I delivered) but still it was surreal to think that we'd have a baby in the house.   I knew she was in there - I just couldn't really conceive of her ever coming out.   I was due on July 1st and it was June 23rd, which meant I had at least three more weeks since no woman in my family - not my mother, two sisters, aunts or cousins had ever delivered less than two weeks late.  I figured I still had time.   That night I was going to pack my bag and the bag of the little to-be but decided to work on some volunteer applications for Children's Home Society.   It was a Sunday night and I really had to get the applications processed so that I could do the volunteer orientation later that week.   At that point and time, work seemed way too important.   I was up until after midnight and then went to bed -- to our full size mattress which me with my 42 inch waist and my 6'3" husband Max all shared.    In my third trimester, I would try to spoon with Max only to have him say, "Bear, I'm getting kicked in the back."   Nighttime was the right time for a womb party as far as Amber was concerned. 

I went to bed, and woke up a few hours later feeling some wetness around my legs and nightgown.    I got up wondering if my water had broken only to see that it was blood.  Not just a few drops, but enough for a Friday the 13th movie.   I tried to stay calm and was really pissed that I had not packed.  "Max," I yelled as calmly as I could, "We have to go to the hospital - I'm bleeding!"  Max woke up and looked at my side of the bed and knew immediately that something was very wrong.   He got my OB-GYN on the phone and he told us to go to Doctor's Hospital.   I was not in pain, I was just very scared.  Max tried to help me pack and at that point I was not thinking clearly and told him to pack a hair dryer and make-up before anything else (because at a time like this - good hair was really important).  He told me to change, get in the car and he'd come back later to pack.    We got to the hospital and had tests run.  The best that anyone could figure is that I had a biopsy years before and when my cervix started to dilate, the biopsy opened over a blood vessel.  The bleeding was all external - the baby was fine.   My doctor decided to induce that night anyway-  a week early so that we could make sure that Amber was alright.    I began to panic - I was sure I had another three weeks - all the women in my family did and I still had so much to do. 

I tried to beg off painkillers as long as I could until a nurse told me that "We don't give medals for natural birth" and having something to take the would feel good.   I decided to go with an epidural and had the weird sensation of not having any feeling from the mid-back down.   At that point, I was as floppy as a rag doll and around 3:05 p.m. I started to push even though I couldn't feel anything.    At 3:26 p.m. on June 24, 1996, Amber Rose Grimm took her first breath and at the same time I felt like I had broken through the surface of the water and was taking my first breath too - as a mother.  They handed me this perfect little infant and the reality of being a mom still had not hit me yet.   How could something so amazing come out of my body?   How did Max and I manage to make something so miraculous?   Why had I not given myself a pedicure because for hours I had nothing to do but stare at my nasty chipped toenails?  

The next day, we went home as a family - this tiny stranger, Max and I.   The reality of being a mom set in which included the sleepless nights and the incredibly large lactating boobs that would make a Vegas show girl jealous (yes, there is an upside to breast feeding).  The old perception that I was only responsible for myself was gone forever when I first held my baby girl and let her wrap her little fingers around my pinky.   I had broken through the surface and began to live anew.   Motherhood was no longer a theory or concept anymore - it was real.   June 24th was the birth of that notion.