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a (honestly messy) birth story

I spent the morning of my due date crying.

I was so certain Ender James would be born early. Certain because my doctor said it first. Four weeks earlier. That’s when my baby dropped, a process also known as “lightening” (so funny medical community) when the baby literally drops into the mother’s pelvis. Imagine carrying a bowling ball around with your crotch. I couldn’t lift one leg up to step into bed or the car or put my pants on without wincing in pain. I waddled everywhere. And I went from peeing 10 times an hour to peeing every .006 seconds. This is supposed to be a sign that labor is coming soon. Supposed to being the key phrase. I am not a patient person. I am the one who melts a stick of butter in the microwave while trying to soften it, leaving behind pathetic lumps drowning in a greasy pool in the butter dish.

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21 weeks

Today I am officially 21 weeks pregnant which means I’ve been rolling this post around in my head for approximately 17 weeks now.

Three years ago I was sitting in a hospital psychiatric ward scowling at a very nice lady. We were setting goals.

“What would you like to be doing in two years?” She asked.

I really hated that question.

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of jasmine

I’ve tried to write this post more than once. So if you’re reading this now, I either finally succeeded or a cat walked across my keyboard.

This is the sort of post where I let very personal words loose into the wide expanse of the internet. This is the sort of post I’ve debated over a million times. But if I’ve learned anything in my life, it’s that staying silent never helps. Staying silent doesn’t fight stigmas or stereotypes. It doesn’t build up people who need to know they are not alone. Ernest Hemingway once said, “Write hard and clear about what hurts.” So if these words sound familiar, this post is for you.

Who is Jasmine?

Let me start at the beginning. Continue reading

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