All posts tagged “Family

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Baby Gumbeaux & Ugly Hospital Gown

Reader discretion is advised. This blog post contains TMI and may be considered a long read for people with small brains.

Each trimester was worse than the previous. At this point, I got accustomed to sleeping maybe a few hours a night, experienced acid reflux and heartburn all day, could not find a comfortable sitting or sleeping position and spent most of my waking hours agitated. How agitated? Enough for coworkers and bosses to keep asking me “when are you going on maternity leave?” On the other hand, a lot of those symptoms ended the moment I gave birth.


On November 12th, I arrived at the hospital 15 minutes after my scheduled check-in because I wanted nachos. I had to complete a couple of forms filling in basic information then got to the dumbest question on earth: “Why are you here?” Let’s see… 9 months pregnant, checking into “labor and delivery” and you’re asking me why I’m here? My response? To get this baby out of my body! The nurses thought it was a funny response.

As a result of my cervix not softening and not dilating, I agreed to be induced using a method called Foley Bulb Induction. My bed was lifted to what seemed like the ceiling then the balloon was inserted. I instantly started cramping and was informed it would likely be a painful and uncomfortable night. I was given sleeping pills that did not work.

12 hours later, Pennywise (OBGYN) removed the ballon. I had dilated 1 f***ing centimeter. Plan B? The use of Pitocin which I was on for 11 hours! Contractions got more intense but wasn’t enough for me to get the epidural they kept trying to shove down my throat. After dilating just 2 more centimeters, Pennywise informed me that she would give me 2 more hours but that it was highly likely I would have to get a C-section. I used that final hour to cry. I never considered a C-section, didn’t know much about C-sections, am not here for needles and sharp objects, IT’S MAJOR SURGERY, and recovery would be tougher for Baby Gumbeaux and I.


They “graciously” allowed Husband to be with me while I got the Spinal Block (which immediately numbed my body). I asked Husband not to look while they conducted the C-section, I didn’t want him to be scarred for life. Thankfully, the process was super quick. They showed me Baby Gumbeaux and she is gorgeous. I was relieved because ugly babies exist.


24 hours after being sliced like a pizza, hospital staff made me walk the hallways. This is the most challenging and painful thing I’ve ever encountered in my entire life. Of course I needed help walking, in and out of bed, when showering and using the bathroom which resulted in me being super comfortable with doctors and nurses seeing me in the nude. Side note: Why are those hospital gowns so unattractive? Who the f*** designs them? Most importantly, why do hospitals keep buying them?


I felt it when I got pregnant and again after the baby. I don’t know how women do it without support. Husband has witnessed a blood clot the size of a baseball dropping out of me, has changed my bedpan and wiped my butt. Just to think, a few weeks ago I didn’t even poop in front of him.

My younger brother has witnessed me pumping on more than one occasion and has the pleasure of cleaning and disposing of bloody, poop and or urine-filled diapers and pads.

Mom’s in town, is super helpful, has been taking some of the midnight shift so we can sleep, telling me that I’m not feeding the baby enough, that I hold her too much (and that it will spoil her) then when I put her down, she proceeds to hold her…

Last but not least are my friends. I kind of struggled with the thought of raising a baby without my family. I had my parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles and tons of cousins. While Husband does have family here, I think they’ve aged out of the category where they can be super active. These friends are my family now. They have given me tons of advice, hosted my baby shower, bought Baby Gumbeaux a ton of stuff, volunteered to babysit, arrived at the hospital before me, have visited and been supportive postpartum. While I’m at it, I should spread the joy *gag* Family, coworkers, acquaintances, church members and even internet strangers have been helpful, supportive and made this transition a little easier. I mean, as easy as it can be when one is getting no sleep and peed on (4xs at this point).

Read and share past pregnancy posts:

Second Trimester: The Rise and Fall of the Incubator 

Shit Pregnant Wives Say to Their Husbands

Shit Husbands Say to Their Pregnant Wives

The Ultimate Guide to Being Knocked Up

Another Blog Post Complaining About Pregnancy

My “New” Maternity Wardrobe

The First Trimester

Hell Has Frozen over, Pigs Are Flying & I’m Pregnant

Like and follow Baby Gumbeaux on Facebook, Twitter and Instagram.

May the odds be ever in MY favor. What? I have a newborn, ain’t nobody thinking about you guys.




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Disclaimer: No feelings were hurt during this interview; however, spouses remain severely agitated. 

Now, the list of common words and phrases by yours truly also known as Incubator also known as Me also known as the Person Formally known as Ashlee who sometimes goes by the Pregnancy Emoji.  It’s kind of a Prince reference, get it?

“You don’t like me, do you?”

Husband: When Incubator says this, I think she’s being extra.

Incubator: Of our entire relationship, I know I am most annoying right now. I’ve caught him rolling his eyes several times which usually results in me asking him if he dislikes and or hates me but I assure you, being pregnant is way more annoying then whatever I do to him. The nerve. 


Husband: While I do understand Baby Gumbeaux has increased Incubator’s appetite, I think she’s milking it a tad bit.

Incubator: That does not sound “understanding” at all *stares*

“Do I look pregnant today?”

Husband: She asks me this everyday. I think she is still in shock and that it hasn’t set in yet.

Incubator: From my angle, it often looks like a potbelly *shoulder shrug*

“I have to pee.”

Husband: She says it’s because the baby is sitting on her bladder but I don’t think Baby Gumbeaux would do such a thing.

Incubator: She’s controlling him and not even here yet. He’s going out like a sucker.

“Don’t touch me.”

Husband: She doesn’t want me to get her pregnant again.

Incubator: *points to belly*

“Are you going to ditch me after your new toy arrives?”

Husband: No, who’s going to feed her?

Incubator: My parents and grandparents have told me they are ditching me for the new model, I don’t think he’s being honest. I predict the following scenario:

Baby Gumbeaux: “Hey Dad, whose that old lady who stays in the basement?”

Husband: “Oh that’s your mom.”

“Rub my feet.” 

Husband: I know the baby is causing the Incubator’s feet to swell but it could also be those heels she’s still trying to squeeze into.

Incubator: Really? Could you not put my business in the streets? 🗣 I ONLY WEAR HEELS LIKE ONCE A WEEK!

“Pay attention to me.” 

Husband: Incubator needs extra attention during this time.

Incubator: So, I read this is likely because I need help protecting the baby. It’s some type of extraterrestrial instinct or something because I really don’t like him like that.

“You’re annoying me…”

Husband: Likewise.

Incubator: 🙂

“Like” Baby Gumbeaux on Facebook, and follow on Twitter and Instagram. Read and share my previous post: S*** Husbands Say to their Pregnant Wives

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It all started when I received a text from an aunt asking me to stop by her house after work. I found this unusual because I’ve never received a direct invite before. I consider myself as Husband’s plus-one. On the other hand, I think pregnancy makes family want to be closer so I agreed to drop by but spent the next 2 hours of work wondering what she could possibly want with me. So I figured it was likely because she has millions of dollars hidden in the walls of her home and wants to establish an inheritance for Baby Gumbeaux or because she wants to kill me because I don’t have the pedigree to continue the family line.

Once inside of her living room, I saw tons of shopping bags. Did she buy stuff for Baby Gumbeaux? How sweet but I hope she kept the receipt. However, she just kept walking until we reached her bedroom. It was the first time I had been that far in her house. I don’t remember what she said word-for-word because it was an out-of-body experience but it was along the lines of don’t shop for maternity clothes because I have tons and tons of plus-sized clothing scattered throughout several closets and you’re welcome to it. That’s super nice, right? Sure, but plus-sized clothing does not necessarily equate to maternity clothing. Most importantly, she’s 70 and I am 31 but it gets kind of worse. I had to try on each piece of clothing. This is the most compliant I have ever been in my life but quiet honestly, I never got the opportunity to say “no thank you.” Also, the situation is a little complex because I did recognize it as extending an olive branch. Me rejecting aforementioned olive branch would result in me being deemed ungrateful and uppity which is mostly true.

My new “maternity” wardrobe is very colorful and consists of materials and patterns I have yet to identify. Note: I need cotton and breathable materials. I am already a sweater but worst since becoming an incubator. Anyway, there were a lot of 3-piece sets. You know, tops and bottoms or dresses that come with the buttom down shirt because a lady never shows her shoulders or elbows. However, you should be happy to know that I drew the line at pantsuits. I detest them.

Although the plus-sized clothing is twice my pre-incubator size, I know that my growing boobs, belly and butt could easily fill up certain sections of the new wardrobe. And quiet honestly, it was not all bad. There are some basics that could be altered to look more like the sexy pregnant woman that I am but she wants her clothes back; as a result, there will be no altering or delivering clothes to the Salvation Army in the middle of the night.

The last stop on the “maternity” shopping tour was a closet full of coats. I thought I saw a fur back there and because I am new money, I would definitely wear it. Year around and everywhere such as shopping for groceries, pumping gas, getting a manicure, etc. If this post does not get me banned, I am coming for that fur.

Last but not least, no I have not worn anything yet and yes I’ve seen here since my shopping spree. The last time she said “you better get out of those tight clothes” which was actually a maternity bodycon dress because it’s 2017 and pregnant women no longer have to hide their bumps or dress in circus tents. Yeah, so… “like” Baby Gumbeaux on Facebook, and follow on Twitter and Instagram. Read and share my previous post: Faux Product Review 48: Sacha Buttercup Setting Powder

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Yes, you read correctly. The end of the times are near because the infamous toddler-hater is 13 weeks pregnant. So, how did I find out Husband trapped me? 

It was nothing we planned but not anything we were trying to prevent either. When you marry someone who wants kids, it’s inevitable. I literally had a dream where I was told I was pregnant, woke up, took a pregnancy test, screamed explicits then had it confirmed at my employer’s clinic.

My family and friends needed proof before believing I was knocked up. 

Most didn’t believe me but when I provided proof, excitement ensued from mostly everyone… Dad had a hard time processing it (likely because it forced him to realize I’m an adult and that he’s getting older). He’s come around now, has named baby “bun” (because bun in the oven) and has already asked to babysit whenever we travel. My grandmother (his mom) response was bland potato salad until I learned that she thought I felt pressured and was not going to celebrate my pregnancy until she knew I was OK. How does Ashlee feel? This is why she is my ride or die. Anyway, she came around shortly after and has now volunteered to babysit a week out of each mom #saynomore #thankyouinadvance

There are benefits to this pregnancy thing.

I’m coddled and everyone wants to feed me which is awesome because I am always hungry. I don’t have any wild cravings yet but nearly everything I drink tastes like pennies. Family is already volunteering to buy baby furniture and my grandfather stated that the baby will probably be spoiled which is rich coming from the man who spoiled me. Baby will be the first grandchild from my parents and Husband’s dad; as a result, I expect to buy nothing.

What’s next?

After the shock of being knocked up wore off (which is approximately 5 minutes ago), we started giving thought to how we plan to raise Baby Gumbeaux. I am hoping for a girl because who wouldn’t want Ashlee 2.0? Smarter, fashionable, sarcastic and a mouth that kept me in trouble? Yes, please! I am leaning heavy towards private school, the only decision that I’ve made that’s nonnegotiable. And, I already talk to baby a lot. It usually goes like: “Hey baby, what are you doing? Oh nothing? Well, it’s the perfect time for you to start thinking about your future since you obviously don’t have anything better to do.” I’ve also shared with baby a list of my enemies so baby can know who not to go to, who to vomit on and when to scream baby head off. 

If you haven’t guessed, I will be documenting my pregnancy and parenting journey and will likely have personal stories that may or may not affect if family and friends give me gifts at my baby shower. Because I stand in solidarity with other toddler-haters, I created separate social media so I won’t stink up Pink Gumbeaux with baby stuff you care nothing about. “Like” Baby Gumbeaux on Facebook, and follow on Twitter and Instagram.

Read and share husband’s blog post: Storytime 2: Dad, That’s Not a Limousine!

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Husband told me I couldn’t blog about the events of Christmas weekend. After much consideration, prayer and meditation, I’ve decided to blog about the events of Christmas weekend.

Because we spent Thanksgiving in New Orleans with my (our) family, we spent Christmas in Houston with his (our) family. We left Friday morning, passed through Louisiana to drop off my brother and pick up a can of Ice Box Cookies from my grandmother. These are my favorite cookies. I love them so much that I ate cookies out of all the other cans to preserve the amount of cookies in my can. Husband snitched on me. He said I was too quiet which meant that I was up to something. I don’t feel bad about it.

Saturday morning we ate at The Breakfast Klub, went to The Galleria and met up with Husband’s childhood friend (Read: Double No). Childhood Friend had been texting Husband about his Gumbo all day. You know, the Bible warns us of false prophets. Being from New Orleans, I don’t like eating Gumbo outside of Louisiana. I don’t care what you say, where you got the recipe from and how many people like it. People are rarely equipped to tackle such a dish. What’s worse, I am a picky eater so I rarely allow people to pressure me into eating something. But, I was vulnerable. After all, I had been sick for the past week and wasn’t in my right mind.

As soon as we walked into the kitchen, Childhood Friend and Childhood Friend’s Dad started bragging. Talking about they were about to show someone from New Orleans how it’s done. As we approached the cauldron (the pot witches use for their potions), Childhood Friend starts talking about how he didn’t need to add any filé in it and how the shrimp were stuck to the bottom of the pot. How Sway?! Nonetheless, I got a bowl and threw a crab on top. I took my first bite and had to drink water immediately after because I didn’t want to throw it up on these nice people’s table on Christmas Eve. I can best describe it as swamp water with rice. I told him it was OK for his first time; although, he burnt the roux, should’ve used filé and andouille sausage opposed to wiener. He had whole bell peppers and onions. My dude, couldn’t you have chopped this? What’s worse, it had been sitting out all day! You guys, Gumbo has to be refrigerated an hour or so after it’s cooked. So, naturally I thought I was going to spend all night in the bathroom or DIE. I started to call my mom to get my affairs in order because I just wasn’t sure I was going to make it. However, God let me live so I could tell my story.

I woke up late Sunday morning. I’m not a kid, what’s the rush? There was a brief moment of gift giving then it was time  for me to cook my mac and cheese. I was done 40 mins later then started getting ready for the day. We would be traveling to Angleton, TX for our Christmas meal. Once out of the shower, I asked Husband where his mom was and what time we were leaving. We we’re supposed to leave at 1 but then 1 hour passed, 2, 3…then 4! Finally, Diana Ross (mother-in-law) emerged and we left Houston shortly after 5PM and did not eat until about 6:30PM! Another near death experience. I did not even know my body could go that long without food. Whew, the great endurance I’ve displayed during this trip. Interestingly, I did not load my plate with food; although, I was super hungry. Husband’s family allows people who can’t cook to contribute to the meal. As I was adding food on my plate, I tried to mouth to Husband “who made this?” He could not read my lips so I didn’t take any risks. I got the basics: MY Mac and Cheese, Broccoli and Cheese Casserole, Dinner Roll and burnt ham (I was told it was left in the oven too long but it was aight). Later that night, we attempted and failed at seeing Fences.

Monday, we woke up late, said our good byes and ended our trip at Pappadeux’s (which is how everyone should end a trip to Houston). We briefly stopped at my grandparents house in Louisiana where I was gifted a Coverd Stockpot, gift cards, REAL gumbo, and a slice of sweet potato pie from my other grandmother #Blessed

So, how was your Christmas? Did you do anything I suggested in the Guide to Bore-Free Christmas Vacation list? Read and share my previous post: New Year’s Resolution: Slay in Fabletics