Remembering Josh

Posted on Facebook, April 23, 2009:  To our friends and family who knew and loved Josh Hollingshead (February 20th,1971-April 18, 2009) Please join us this Saturday, April 25th at the Swamp Tavern at 6:00pm as we raise a glass and say good-bye to our friend; too soon departed, but never forgotten. Josh always enjoyed a party, and would be glad knowing that we honored his life with a celebration. Please share in the joy that was Josh, and join us this Saturday night.

Yesterday, February 20th, was Josh’s birthday. I met him on his 13th birthday, 26 years ago, when I crashed his pool party at the Ridpath Hotel. A lot of my junior high classmates were going, so I tagged along. Little did I know it at the time, but Josh would become my first “everything.” He was the first boy that held my hand, my first kiss, my first love and my first best, best friend.


When I turned 13, he hosted a birthday party for me at his house, and he gave me my first dozen roses. That boy was pure and sweet and true to me from the day that we met and there has rarely been a day that has gone by since the day we first met that I have not thought about him. I think my birthday party was the first night that he’d really hung out with Max, too. They soon became inseparable and it was either the three of us hanging around together or Max and I jockeying for his affections for the better part of junior high and high school. There was always enough of him to go around, though, as Josh was filled to the brim with affection for his friends and family.

He quickly became a member of our family, as I’m sure my folks felt better with both of us under their roof and their watchful eye, versus out “being teenagers and getting into trouble.” But, trouble found us. For kids, we drank too much, smoked too much and partied too hard. I look back on that time and feel very lucky we made it through adolescence alive. Unfortunately, drugs and alcohol got their nasty hooks in Josh, and he fought with them for the remainder of his days.


But my memories with him and our times together, both good and bad, are some of the fondest of my life. At his memorial, as old friends of his and his parents stood in a circle telling “Josh Stories” I told everyone that he was the co-author of my coming-of-age story; I grew up with that boy and many pivotal moments of my youth were “our moments.”

We were young, passionate, fierce and immature and we broke each other’s hearts as often as we filled them, but we always found our way back to each other. Even after I was married, I’d go have dinner with him sometimes when my husband was traveling for work and he’d spin my wedding ring on my finger and ask me, “Why?” I didn’t have a really good answer. I didn’t know why, especially since I wanted out of my marriage the minute I set foot down the isle. Josh and I couldn’t be together for so many reasons, but we struggled with being apart, too.

Josh moved away to Arizona in 1996. Over the years, as he went on many adventures and made and lost fortunes, we never lost contact. When I finally did have the courage to leave my husband, I went to Arizona to see Josh. Our connection was as deep as ever, but our lives were so different. We were still two kids with all those intense feelings for each other still, but it wasn’t meant to be for us and we knew it. I had kids and he lived like a kid. We knew we loved each other so much, but there wasn’t any place to put those feelings except to know they were there, they were real, and we would always mean the world to each other.

When he moved back to Spokane a couple years ago, he was on a rough path. He was drinking so much and though he wanted to stop, he wasn’t able. Max and I talked about it often and shared our fears. “I'm worried he’s not going to make it to 40,” Max would say. Though I knew he was probably right, I didn’t want to believe it. It made me angry and sad, though, that his beautiful, sweet soul was drowning in booze. Josh and I argued a lot because I just wanted to see him stop, get a job, be responsible. It wasn’t my job or my right to tell him how to live, of course, and he resented me trying to push him in a direction that he didn’t want to go. Josh and I eventually had a falling out and I told him, finally, “I’m done, Josh.” That was in October of 2008.

We didn’t speak again until March of 2009 when I got a text message at 4:30am one morning. “I love you. I will always love you.” Though I know those feelings were genuine, I knew he had been drinking and I didn’t reply. I couldn’t deal with it right then. I wasn’t ready. I didn’t want to call him when he was drunk because there was a good chance it would end in a fight and I didn’t want to fight.

Our 20th high school reunion was coming up in a few months and I knew I could talk to him then, face to face, with Max there, too. I told Max about the texts and he said that Josh had told him that he figured he went too far. I let it drop, knowing I’d see him and talk to him soon.

But, I never saw him or talked to him again.


One afternoon in April, I got a call from Max. “Hey,” I said. “What’s up?”

“Have you heard?” he said.

“Heard what?” I asked.


“Josh died.”

“What? No he didn’t? What? When? How? Oh my God.”


I dropped into a chair in my kitchen. I didn’t have words.  We sat silently for a minute. Neither of us could even comprehend it. It was too unreal. It couldn’t be. He was so excited about this baby. It was going to be the thing that brought us all together; this baby was going to unify us again. Now, he is gone. I still can’t believe it.


On the night of his memorial, I told Max that Josh probably died just in time to be reincarnated as his baby born from my body. It brought us a chuckle during one of the saddest times in our lives. It made a little bit of sense, really, considering it was one way to be the center of attention and the recipient of pure love from some of the people he loved most on the planet. I do believe that our souls travel together lifetime after lifetime. It’s not out of the question, considering our three strong soul connection.


Will we see that familiar sparkle in this baby’s eyes? Will we hear that infectious giggle that used to make everyone laugh? Will this baby’s gentle touch remind us of Josh’s gentle heart? I hope so.


I hope I get to hold Josh again.

It Was Only a Dream

I had a nightmare last night.  It was one where you wake up and wonder, "Is that true? Can it be?"  It was so vivid and real, I had a mini panic attack first thing this morning when I opened my eyes. 

I dreamt that I was at the doctor for an OB check-up and I was waiting in the lobby.  In walked an old friend from high school, Jenn Jones.  She plunked down next to me and started asking me how I was feeling and if I could feel the baby moving.  I wondered how she even knew I was pregnant, but it became clear quickly that the baby I was carrying was HERS.  "What about Max and Bob?" I asked.

"They'll be here soon," she replied and soon enough, they were there. 

We were all in an ultrasound room and the tech was projecting pictures of the baby on the monitor.  Max and Bob were so excited because Jenn's baby in my belly was due in three months and then they'd be next in line to put their baby in my body.  Everyone seemed to know what was going on but me.  I deduced that there was a waiting list for my womb and Max and Bob weren't the only ones on the list.  I started crying.  The doctor told me that my tears were normal, as I should be very hormonal at this point.  He said they wouldn't wait long to put the next baby in me after this one was out if that's what I was worried about.  More tears.

I awoke with a gasp and a racing heart.  I had tears in my eyes and in my confusion and panic, I had to really think about whether that was real or not.  It was 5:13am. 

Funny that I had that dream.  Last night, as I was lying in bed snuggled up watching TV with the boys, I struggled desperately to stay awake.  I'm SO exhausted all the time.  By 6:00pm, I just want to go to bed.  I keep waiting for the Second Trimester Energy Burst to kick in, but it doesn't.  I feel like it's been so long since I've felt like myself or since I've even had my own body to myself.  Maybe that's why I had that dream. 

Before I got into bed last night, I was checking my body out in the mirror.  I can't button my pants anymore, my belt is on the last loop, everything is tight and I'm generally uncomfortable.  If I don't have food in my belly, I feel sick, so I'm constantly snacking and I rarely reach for the carrot sticks.  Right now, I'm kind of stuck on Hostess Fruit Pies.

I got rather depressed yesterday when I was on a website to check the status / development of the baby and it said, "Your baby now weighs 2.5 ounces."  WHAT? It weighs 2.5 OUNCES?  Then why the hell don't my pants fit?  Where did this ass come from?  (Don't say "fruit pies" because I don't like to hear the ugly truth). Ugh. 

I talked to Max about it yesterday and he noted, once again, that I was pretty. He also said that he and Bob recognize the importance of making sure I feel pretty all the time.  He has a checklist of "What not to say when talking to Carrie" which I appreciate very much, as I am easily thrown over the edge.  Ironically, I brag about how good and level headed I've been during this round of IVF, but I literally pulled a cheese stick out of Max's hand as he was about to take a bite and asked, "Are you gonna eat that?"

"Nope.  I wasn't at all," he said matter of factly, handing it to me. 

I feel guilty for being so wiped out all the time and not being able to hold my head up after 7:30pm.  I feel terrible knowing I've put on all this weight and the kid isn't even the size of a grapefruit.  I'm too fat to show my face at the gym and I sound shallow as hell when I complain, especially while shoving Hostess snack cakes in my face. 

But, I'm so tired of being a floppy, exhausted mass of flab and I want my old body back, yesterday.  Patience has never been my strong suit.  And, just now, I felt the baby flutter so...I know, I know.  I'm not just fat; I'm pregnant.  I'm very hard on myself.  I wanted to be the girl who had the tight little baby bump this time.  The girl who didn't look pregnant from the back - maybe I'd be on the cover of Fit Pregnancy Magazine? Alas, that dream is not going to come true. 

Of course, neither is the one I had last night.  My body is not a baby factory and there is no line of people waiting for me to grow their babies for them.  It's "one and done" for me.  I am grateful for some dreams that don't come true.

The Battle of Two Wolves

Our time in the cathedral with Evita, among the extraordinary stained glass depictions of Biblical events and under the banners hung on high that adorn the Christian Faith was very special.  We sat in the pews and admired the rich history that surrounded us and talked about the foundation and evolution of faith and understanding.

Evita talked about the many wars and struggles that stemmed from conflicting faiths and it was very enlightening, not only for my boys, but for Tim and I, too.  She talked about the Bible as a living book to be taken in its entirety, not to be picked apart line by line with the intent to use scripture to condemn others. 

Obviously, I abhore judgement and exclusion in the church, yet today, as I've encountered with many homophobic "Christians," the propensity to interpret scripture and choose verses to fit one's own idea of what pleases God is alive and well.  It's organized prejudice, really, and in my opinion, very un-Godlike. 

I believe, listening to the kind of man that Jesus was and asked others to be, that he would be ashamed of the way some of his followers turn their backs on others and cast judgement.  That's why I've always been highly suspicious of organized religious groups that claim to know what pleases God.  Really?  Do you know that God would give you a big thumbs up for ostracizing those "filthy gays" and shaming them openly in society?  Better watch your backs because I feel a lighning bolt comin' on.  But, what do I know?

I could never convince my sons that what their father has told them is wrong and mean and hurtful.  Doug's got "proof in the Bible."  Little does Doug know that I've got Evita - she's my ace in the hole and the closest I've ever come to "getting religion."  She explained that God loves everyone and excludes no one because the greatest message in the Bible is that God is love.  If we follow that message, there is no room for shaming, blaming, and excluding others.

"Do you believe that you are a child of God?" she asked Davis.

"Yes," he replied.

"Chet, do you believe you are a child of God?"

"Uh huh," he said.

"Do you think your mom is?"

"Yes," they said.

"And what about this baby?" she asked.  "Do you think this baby that belongs to Max and Bob and that is growing in your mom's belly is a child of God?" she asked.

"Yes," they said, and suddenly, I could see that the light had switched on for them.

"Boys, if God didn't want this baby to be born, it wouldn't be growing in me right now.  This baby is meant to be here.  It's a very special baby that will be surrounded by people who love it already and who want it to be here," I said.  "Do you agree?"

They both were beginning to understand and I could see the wheels turning in their heads.  Chet expressed his concern for the baby.  "But, this baby will be teased because it has two dads.  Kids will be mean."

Obviously Chet's fears for this innocent baby are his biggest concern.  It's clear that he doesn't think homosexuality is wrong.  Both boys expressed how much they like Max and Bob and how they think they'll be great parents.  "Max and Bob are awesome," said Davis.  "It's not that. It's just that other people might think it's wrong and they might be mean."  It's all about fear.  I understand this.  It's taken me a long time to release fear in my own life.  No wonder they are concerned and confused.

"You know Davis," said Evita.  "That reminds me of a Native American story.  A young boy was talking to his grandfather and he said, 'Grandfather, I feel like there are two wolves battling inside my heart.  One wolf is vengeful and angry and fearful and the other is loving and compassionate and giving.  They rage against each other and I must know, which wolf will win?'  The grandfather turned to his grandson and said, 'That which you feed.'" She looked to the boys to see if they understood.

"God is love, boys.  Feed the love in your hearts and everything will be as God wants it," she said. 

I could see the relief in both boys.  Through the conversation that evolved over the hour, it was almost as if they were given permission to feel good about this. 

On our way out, Tim stopped both boys and said, "Boys, I want you to remember that your mom isn't doing this for Max and Bob, 'The Homosexuals.'  She's doing it for Max and Bob, 'Our Friends.'  You understand?"

They did.  I think we are on our way.  I'm very proud of my boys and eternally grateful to Evita. Everything is moving in a positive direction.  This is a great lesson for my sons in releasing fear and turning to love.  They will be tested over and over in this regard, but they are one step closer to allowing love to reign and letting go of fear.  If they learn one thing in their lives, this is the most important to me.

They say that "Everything will be alright in the end."  If it's not alright; it's not the end.  We are all on a path of the evolution of our hearts.  And it's all alright.  Even the bumps.

Serendipity or Divine Intervention?

Five years ago, I met a woman who would change my life.  I was sitting in the window seat on a plane bound for home from Dallas, Texas.  I'd been there on a work trip, having some new "skins" made for my prosthesis, so I had work on my mind.  More importantly, I had summer camp on my mind and how I was going to make it a part of my work from here on out.

A few months prior, I had been contacted by a hand therapist in Maine named Mary Leighton.  She was in her second year of a camp she'd started for kids with limb differences and their families and had got my name through the upper limb prosthetists that I work with.  I told her I'd love to come out and help in any way that I could.

When I arrived at camp, I was in awe.  The beach by the pond was littered with prosthetic limbs, and all of the kids (all missing something) were screaming and splashing in the water without a single care in the world.  When I was a kid, summer camp was all about high stress and anxiety.  Although I loved the week away, I was never sure if the kids would accept my hook, if they'd be scared of me, mean to me, etc.  I always felt alone and never saw anyone else, except for at Shrine Prosthetic Clinic, that was missing an arm. 

Even at the Shrine, though, I never interacted with the other kids, partly because I didn't want the attention that I thought two handicapped kids together might bring.  Furthermore, I was always looking for adults that were missing arms and I could never find any.  Naturally, in my little child mind, I deduced that people who were born without arms must not live very long.  As I was approaching my 12th birthday, I was getting increasingly nervous, "knowing" I probably didn't have much time left.

Walking into Camp No Limits was cathartic.  I wished that there had been a place for me like this when I was young.  My official job at camp was running the support group sessions with the kids and then with the parents.  I had never run a session, or even attended a support group, but I figured we'd have plenty to talk about. 

One evening, the kids and I sat in the grass by the water as the sun was setting and shared stories that only we would know.  Stories of being called names, of not being picked for the teams because our peers didn't think we were capable of helping the team to victory with all of our obvious imperfections.  The kids shared tears as they explained how they kept their pain inside and tried to be brave, but how sometimes, the sadness of being so physically different than everyone else was more than they could take.  These kids were me, twenty years ago, and here they were all together with one other, sharing the gift of being just like everybody else, even though it was only for four days.

The confidence in these kids grew daily with each new experience and each new challenge conquered, as we worked together to uniquely solve our problems.  Our problems?  How can I tie my shoes with my hand and my prosthesis?  How can I put my hair in a ponytail like the other girls?  How can I ever ride a bike like the other kids with this prosthetic leg?  Guess what?  We figured these and all of our other challenges out.  In fact, on talent night, one of my little gals that I'd been working with stood before her new friends and their families and to the sound of a drum roll (all of us patting out hands on our laps) she put her hair up in a rubber band for the first time ever!  She got a standing ovation, and I got a new mission in my life: help spread Camp No Limits across the country.

I was consumed in this though when a nice looking lady sat in the isle seat next to me on the plane.  "Hello," she said kindly. 

"Hello," I replied.  "Heading home?"

"Yes," she said.  With that, we began talking about home, work, life, etc.  She was so easy to talk to and I really didn't want to stop.  There was this aura of peace and kindness around her and I felt like she was genuinely interested in everything I said.

"What do you do for work?" she asked.

I started in telling her that I was an upper limb consultant in the prosthetics field, but my focus quickly shifted to camp.  "I love what I do, but I really want to do something more," I said.  I told her all about camp in Maine and what a tremendous impact it had on me.  "I don't know how I'm going to do it," I said, "But somehow, someway, I'm going to start a camp in the Northwest.  I don't know where to start, I don't know where to find funding, I don't know who to call, but it's next on my list.  I gotta do this." 

I pulled myself out of my thoughts and realized I'd been going on and on about all of my amazing experiences I had in Maine for quite some time.  "What is it that you do?" I asked.

"I'm a director of a camp on Coeur d' Alene Lake with the Episcopal Diocese," she said, and a very warm and knowing smile spread across her face.

Even just sitting here thinking about that encounter makes my eyes tear up with disbelief.  That summer, Evita and I became good friends and in September, the first Camp No Limits Northwest was set in motion.  Every year since, we've had kids and their families attend and we've all been changed forever. 

I consider Evita one of the most important people to have come along in my life and I know that it was not by accident.   We may go long stretches without seeing each other, but I can easily pick up right where we left off and feel right at home in her presence.  She exudes spirituality; but it's not preachy and it's not forced.  She's like a magnet of mystical knowledge that I'm drawn to.

If you know me, you know I'm very skeptical of organized religion, yet the Episcopal Church houses a group that I think would suit me.  Liberal Christians believe that homosexuality, heterosexuality and bi-sexuality are morally neutral.  The real sin is homophobia and exclusion.  This is obviously a premise that I can support, especially in light of Davis and Chester's dad telling them that the Bible says that "what [I'm] doing is WRONG."  When this came up, I wished I had the knowledge of the Bible to be able to refute that sentiment.  And then, just when I needed her, I ran into Evita again.

It was probably just over two weeks ago that we bumped into each other. It's funny because when I was sending out invitations to view this blog, her address popped up in my book, but I thought it would be so random and out of the blue to send it to her, that it might be strange.  It was something that I wanted to share with her though, so the universe, or the fates, or God brought us together. 

Of course, she was supportive and at the same time sad, to know the kind of turmoil my children were experiencing.  I asked her if she'd be willing to share her knowledge of God with us, since my boys call themselves Christians.  I want them to see another part of the Bible that they're not being taught.  If they can see and feel and hear the words, maybe they'll be more "Christian-like" or at least get a better understanding of what that means. 

I can hardly wait for 3:00pm. I will pick my sons up from school and take them to beautiful Saint John's Cathedral to listen to my friend Evita and feel the presence of God.   Today, Evita, my angel, gets to change our lives again.

Ultrasounds Freak Me Out by Max

We had another one on Monday, which went perfectly. I could have sat there all day long watching the little one moving all around and stretching its little arms and legs. It is a humbling, awesome and fascinating experience. But it still scares the hell out of me. Until recently ultrasounds were a turning point…and not the good type.

I’ll never forget when Bob and I were driving up to Mt. Vernon to have our very first ultrasound with our first surrogate. Bob was all smiles and couldn’t drive fast enough to get to the appointment. I, on the other hand, sat in silence. I had seen way too many TV shows and movies where the doctor starts the ultrasound and everyone gets more and more uncomfortable as the doctor stares at the screen not saying anything. Eventually someone breaks the silence and begs the doctor to say something…anything! The doctor finally reaches up and turns off the monitor. No words need to be said to know the outcome.

My fears came to life for us exactly this way. The doctor switched off the monitor and asked us to come out into the hall. We had lost our baby at 7 weeks. A number of my friends have miscarried and I always thought how difficult that must be. But I never really understood the depth of loss until it happened to us. It was not only the loss of a life - it was the loss of a dream and of a purpose.

Since Carrie signed up for this journey a year ago on New Year’s Day, we have probably had nearly 20 ultrasounds. To get to the point of embryo transfer the doctors monitored Carrie’s progress through vaginal ultrasounds. As she got closer to the transfer day the ultrasounds showed them how thick her uterine wall was "not" getting. They consider 8 millimeters or more “optimal” conditions for transfer. But each time we had an ultrasound we weren’t quite there, which meant more time and more hormones for Carrie. We knew how difficult the medications were for her, so each additional day she had to be on them broke our hearts. The medications are hell, and us being the reason she was going through hell was unbearable.

Our final ultrasound right before transfer in November was yet another turning point. The doctor explained how her uterine lining was only 6 millimeters and that things were not “optimal.” It was a sad moment. We had come so far and now we had a choice – do we take Carrie off the meds and not move forward with our final three embryos or do we go for the embryo Hail Mary? This was the toughest decision of our lives.  The doctor said if it were his wife, he'd recommend that she stop the cycle and take a break, have a period and then start the process over again in three months.  He suggested we think about it and we all left the office feeling pretty low."

"What are your feeling, Carrie?" I asked. "What are your thoughts?"

"Max, if you ask me to end this cycle and start over, I will," she said. "But, I might resent the hell out of you forever if you do."  The one thing that we promised is that we'd be honest with each other always.  I know that I can count on her to tell me the truth, and judging by the look of defeat on her face, I knew we were in "final decision" mode.

In the end, we decided that we needed a new chapter. We had to go for it now in these less than perfect conditions and trust that destiny would take its course. We realized that we not only wanted to become dads, but that we wanted to become dads with Carrie's help. This journey had to include her and we were willing to take the big risk to make this dream happen.

After we found out Carrie was pregnant in early December, our first ultrasound was just after Christmas. This ultrasound was to determine if the pregnancy was viable. Though her blood work showed excellent levels of HCG, I started losing sleep about a week before the screening. As the nurse started searching around for the embryo, I started to feel light headed. I looked at the floor trying to figure out where I could lie down. My head will go against the cabinet and my feet will go towards the door, I thought to myself. But just as I got ready to position myself on the floor, Carrie uttered the most amazing words; “I see a heartbeat, Max.”

And even though she's been telling me she can feel it moving and all the signs point to this working out, I still didn’t sleep before this Monday’s appointment. I’m getting better at this ultrasound thing. I think that I will never completely be OK before the upcoming ultrasounds (we have another one on March 1st where we will be able to find out the sex). But, now my impending feeling of stress and doom before ultrasounds is being replaced with excitement and honor, as we all get a peek at our beautiful, miraculous future.

A HUGE Work Week

I’m sitting in the airport in Boise, ID waiting for my flight to Reno. I have a week-long national meeting until Sunday this week. It’s my ninth year going to this event at John Asquaga’a Nugget Hotel and Casino. There are a few pawn shops nearby, but mostly, it’s a giant hotel in the middle of nowhere. I will check in to a cloud of cigarette smoke tonight and not get to leave for five days. I feel like this meeting takes weeks off my life, just from the noxious tobacco fumes alone.

Last year, during this meeting in Reno, I was offered my full time job with Hanger Prosthetics. I met indoor-poolside with the Vice President of Sales and Marketing and The President of the Upper Extremity Division, two men who I have considered friends for years and negotiated my hard earned position with this company that I’ve consulted with for the last nine years.

During our negotiations, I kept thinking of the promise I’d made to Max and Bob just a few weeks earlier. I was about to take on a big role in this company, all the while knowing that I would probably be pregnant in the coming year. I felt like I needed to let my future bosses know. For some reason, I feel like people look on pregnancy in the professional world as a lack of commitment to one’s job, even though that is probably not the case. It’s hard to look at a pregnant woman and think, “Now there’s a go getter! She’s a force to be reckoned with – a real power player.” When I see a pregnant woman in a maternity business suit, I think, “She should go home, take that get-up off, and put her feet up.” Maybe it’s just me.

But it was important to me that they know. I wanted to be up front with my intentions, but I couldn’t be sure how they would take it. I believed that they were both accepting of homosexuals, in fact one of them has a step-daughter who is gay, but I wondered if they’d be accepting of what I was going to do. Not that it mattered that much, but there is a very fine political and social dance that we do in the corporate world with those in power. While my personal life is supposed to be “personal” it’s really not so much when you work and travel in packs together. Everybody eventually knows everything about each other.

Later that evening, while having drinks with them and a few others of my compadres, our conversation somehow turned to relationships and family. My boss told the story of his gay cousin who was forced into the closet by his aunt. He said that everyone in the family knew that his cousin was gay, but his own mother never acknowledged it and told the rest of the family lies to cover for her shame over who he was. He went on to say that his cousin eventually contracted HIV and died of AIDS and that his aunt never allowed him to be who he really was, even in death, as she covered his passing with more stories.

By the end of the conversation, my boss was visibly shaken with tears in his eyes. It’s amazing how life puts you in front of the right people at the right times to facilitate the coming together of a beautiful plan. At that moment, I knew that I’d have both of their support and I felt very secure that not only had I made the right decision to accept the position with Hanger, but I was exactly where I belonged; with the kinds of people that would not judge me for what I had promised to do. A few weeks later, I forwarded Max’s letter to Oprah to both of my bosses and they both responded with support and praise. One even said that he teared up when he read it, but that if I told anyone, he’d deny it up and down; he’s a big, intimidating, tough guy with a very gentle, soft heart.

That’s not true for all of the people I work with, unfortunately. I do work with some openly homophobic folks. If I don’t want to be judged for my choices, it’s my test to not judge them, in kind, for what I perceive as shortcomings. It’s tough sometimes, as I’m sure it’s tough for them to understand and accept me.

So here I am, a year later, waiting for a plane to take me to Reno. Last year, I was a lean and mean fitness machine. I had participated in races the prior year and was always running toward something or from something else. Though I was my most fit, it was an exhausting way to live.

This year, I waddle in 20 pounds heavier, two pants sizes bigger, and a whole lot happier, honestly. Max says I’m “glowing” and look better each time he sees me. Flattery gets him everywhere. When I was having an estrogen meltdown, he couldn’t really say anything that helped except, “You’re pretty. You’re really pretty.” His helplessness to find the right words to comfort me made me laugh. Many times, he’d say, “Just take some time for yourself, find a nice bottle of wine and some really fine chocolate and relax.”

“Stop telling me to freaking eat all the time, dammit!” I yelled. “I’m fat as freaking hell and all you can say is, ‘Eat something, you’ll feel better?’” I totally chewed his head off and his silence and fear to say anything but, “You’re pretty,” made me laugh hysterically. Even though I yelled at him for suggesting I eat, that’s usually what I did. Nothing like feeding my face with rich, decadent foods to make it all better.

And so here I am, in that in between phase where people might look at me and wonder, “Is she pregnant or has she just totally let herself go?” The answer is, “Yes and yes.” I’ve surrendered to the hormone weight, the baby weight, the pan of brownies, the vanilla bean ice cream and the big ol’ pa-donk-a-donk ass. It’s all part of our BIG year! And that’s what I’ll tell everyone at our first sales meeting when we go around the room and talk about the successes we experienced the past year.

“Last year was a big year for me,” I’ll say. “But 2010 is going to be HUGE!”