A chance meeting with friends, a long talk into the night, then a first date where he cooked up a gourmet dinner complete with candles and Frank Sinatra playing in the background – Hope Cross and Steve Dezember’s courtship seemed straight out of a rom-com. But the new couple was in for a major plot twist when, not long after they met, Steve started having a lot of pain.
Dear Kirstie Alley,
I got your press release about how you’re going back to your first diet love, Jenny Craig. (I really appreciated the personal touch of including the pictures of all your diet products. Apparently JC will now be carrying your line of diet drinks in their stores so, um, way to play it from both sides?) I wish I could say that I’m happy for you but watching you publicly yo-yo your weight up and down for years is starting to make me deeply uncomfortable. Not because your weight is fluctuating – that’s a totally normal part of the human experience – but because of how uncomfortable it seems to make you.
Take this statement you made in a recent interview in People where you explained the reason for your returning to Jenny Craig, after a 7-year hiatus: “I was good for awhile and then I wasn’t good, and the weight crept up. Like I say in the ad, I’m not circus fat. I didn’t hugely screw up. I didn’t gain 75. I gained 30.”
Who are you?
The moment you first see your baby is supposed to be one of the most beautiful of your whole life. It’s supposed to make you forget all the pain you endured, be grateful for the sacrifice, make it all worth it. You’re supposed to fall in love, right there in that strange hospital room with all those strange people feeling all those strange feelings. But it didn’t work that way for me. Instead, as I held my little strangers, the first thought I had when I saw each one of my five babies for the first time was simply Who are you?
I think part of it was the pain. I had two-and-a-half births with an epidural and two-and-a-half births with no drugs (and of course it’s the two halves that tell a whole story) but all were excruciating. After Jelly Bean’s birth, which was a “natural” delivery, I turned to my husband and said, “We are never having any more children. But if by some freak chance we do, force me to take the epidural! In fact, just flat-out anesthetize me. I can’t do this again.” I was shaking so hard from the effort I could barely hold her. And I did not forget the pain. The next night I woke up screaming with some PTSD nightmare, thinking I was still in labor with its red-hot unstoppable pain. I still haven’t forgotten that pain and I don’t think I ever well.
Him: “Help Mom, I’ve been kidnapped by a giant!” Me: “Now you can’t run away! This is brilliant! Where are the giants when I need them??”
A beautiful thing happened today.
But of course, a whole bunch of ugly precluded it. (That’s basically a law of the universe, right after the one that says if there is only one other person in the gym locker room then it’s guaranteed their locker will be the one adjacent to yours, forcing you both to either have a naked meet-n-greet or do that awkward dance where you decide whether you’d rather show a stranger your tush or your tatas.)
This morning I awoke to the dulcet sounds of my darling children… screaming bloody murder and pummeling each other for a reason that none of them could remember after I broke up the brawl. (Clearly it was very important.) This is the absolute worst way to wake up. I’d rather be drop-kicked out of a deep sleep by cats in heat because at least you can yell at them without having massive guilt. And considering that today was Day SEVEN of the Longest Spring Break Ever (during which my husband is out of town), it didn’t bode well for the rest of the day.