Life is Pee-autiful!

Hey guys!

Fun fact of the day: a newborn pees about every 20 minutes while a 6-month toddler pees roughly every hour. (http://facts.randomhistory.com/baby-facts.html) 

You may be wondering why I have chosen to talk about babies and peeing - wonder no more: I felt like it!

Having recently come back to Puerto Rico, I have been asked to help out with a baby and an elderly woman. The age gap allows for a pretty obvious contrast, however it surprised me how similar they can also be.

For example they both pee – A LOT. But Frances! Not everyone is the same! True… I guess I really shouldn’t generalize seeing as I have only two subjects to base this on. But then again, I guess I can say I will only base this post on these two subjects – problem solved!

Now where was I again? Oh yes, peeing.

I find it fascinating (I’m weird I know) how pee and babies relate. Like, how can they be completely comfortable peeing in a diaper while walking? Or how can they pee in front of anyone and everyone? Or how come they don’t care if it stinks, stains or leaks at all?  Honestly, there are no fudges given by babies when they pee. None whatsoever – and don’t even get me started on pooping.

On the other hand, the elderly (and even adults) see peeing as a social torture. Why do I have to pee again? Didn’t I just pee an hour ago? What will my friends think if I say I have to go to the restroom again? Omg... they want to come with me, but like, what if it stinks? And that’s only when you can do it by yourself- imagine having people help you do something you have been able to do for years! It’s embarrassing.

Wait! Hear me out.

I’m not saying that needing help is embarrassing but, as a person who has been in that situation before, the experience makes you feel weak, incapable and shameful.

But, why?

I’m not really certified to give a professional opinion, so instead, I am just going to give a personal opinion.

Somewhere along the way someone (I don’t know who but it sure wasn’t Peter Pan) told us to grow up and fend for ourselves. There was no manual or guide to help us, there was just a curt “grow up” command. So we did. We learned to walk, run, dance, get money, pay bills, find a mate, grow a family, and build a legacy. Then we forgot about how at some point in our life we would be caught in what I like to call the “Benjamin Button Effect.” This well-known phenomenon consists of feeling/becoming a child again (be it physically, emotionally, psychologically or socially). Our society often associates children with dependence, thus when we feel/become dependent on others we feel like children. Simple, right?

This explains why the elderly woman feels ashamed to tell me she needs to pee.

This explains why she refuses to let me help her clean up.

This explains why she looks away when it becomes inevitable for her to do it on her own and needs to ask for my help.

But the thing is that I don’t find it shameful or weak at all. In fact, I’m happy to do it because: 1. It is natural for our bodies to release waste, 2. I’ve been in that situation before, 3. She did it for me when I needed it and 4. She is my grandma and I love her very much.

Yeah, I’m obviously not going to lie and say it has all been peachy and rosy, but helping my nephew and my grandma has taught me that we all need help at some point. Maybe we won’t become dependent again or maybe we do, but that is ok. It doesn’t make us children – it makes us human.

So, remember! If babies don’t give a fudge – why should you? If you need to pee 24 times a day: be a baby and *Shia’s voice* Just Do It! If you need help peeing or doing anything else you have been able to do by yourself for years but are too afraid to ask: be a baby and *Shia’s voice* Just Do It!

Lol worst comes to worst, if you need help, just know I'm right here :)

zozo

Frances aka Fez aka Su Majestad

[Photo by David D License CC. Some Rights Reserved]

Blame it on Lizzie, the Italian Man and Bocelli

Hey guys!

I hope you Glen Cocos missed me, because trust me - I did!

You see, when I decided to name my blog "Factor V Deficiency got me like," I didn't really think about how hard it would be to write posts since, thankfully, nothing has been happening with my bleeding disorder. Sure I have a couple of stories about bleeding episodes (don't panic!) but quite honestly some are gross and not really necessary at the moment. In fact, I even thought about changing the name of the blog but: 1. the site wouldn't let me, 2. I remembered my disorder was the reason I started the blog in the first place, and 3. I realised that just because the name makes reference to my bleeding disorder it doesn't mean I can't talk about other aspects in my life (Yep! The ones that aren't bloody!).

So I decided that today my post would be different!

In fact forget about bloody messes (pun intended) and think about a happy thought.

You have 2 seconds: Go!

Let me guess, did you imagine mozzarella sticks too?! If you did, I'm pretty sure we are soul mates! In which case, "How you doing ;)?"

Don't worry, I'm not actually going to be writing about mozzarella sticks today (I wish!) or keep hitting on you (unless you want me too...hehe joke). I actually plan to talk about my biggest dream (or should I say my dream destination?) that I KNOW I will make come true someday: visit/live in Italy.

Oh, the mere pronunciation of that 5-lettered word gives me chills - Italy, I-t-a-l-y, Ita-ly (ok, you get the point). Can this fact make me seem obsessed to a worrisome degree? Probably! But, "frankly, dear, I don't give a damn" (extra points if you know the movie I just quoted this from!).

I don't remember the exact day, time or location when my obsession began. However, I am pretty sure Hilary Duff, or actually, I guess her character Lizzie McGuire, would be the person to blame. Remember the Lizzie McGuire Movie? You know, the one where Lizzie graduates from High School and they take a trip to Rome where she is suddenly overwhelmed with fans because they all think she is an Italian superstar? Yes? Kudos to you Glen Coco! No? Geez, did you even have a childhood? Here, let me remedy the problem: http://megashare.sc/watch-the-lizzie-mcguire-movie-online-TVRZME1BPT0 (Yes, you are excused to go and watch it... no, you may not continue reading until you watch the whole movie and tell me your favourite scene. Capiche?)

Wait, where was I? Oh yes, Lizzie!

I will never understand why as a child I never asked Santa Claus, the Three Wise Kings, or anyone else for that matter to buy me the movie. I mean, I literally made my Grandpa go to our neighbourhood's movie store every weekend to rent it (in fact, sometimes I like to close my eyes and imagine that the guy in the back must have been either really grateful or annoyed by such loyal customers - regardless of his feelings the bottom line is that he profited from my whims AND he ordered two more copies of the movie. Talk about the real MVP).

Maybe it was Thinker Bell's magic at the beginning of the movie or the fact that it is a Disney movie after all, whatever it was - I was hooked. The scenery, the hot guy, the language (even though it was only a few words here and there), the hot guy dancing, the drama throughout the movie, the hot guy's voice, the vespa, the hot guy's smile, the singing scene, the hot guy's hair.... etc, etc, etc (extra points if you know the movie I just quoted this from!).

Thus began my burning desire to go to Italy and have Lizzie's experience, (although, between you and me, I doubt there could ever be an Italian superstar version of me, I mean, let's face it - Puerto Rican version of me is pretty superstar as it is) a desire that grew more and more when I moved to Florida in 6th grade.

What could possibly make me more obsessed with Italy by living in Florida? An Italian Man.

If you think I'm about to write a love story, let me assure you that my biggest concern regarding 6th grade relationships was wether I should drink apple juice with my burger - in case you are wondering, the answer is of course yolo. However, I guess you could say that this Italian Man helped me come to the conclusion that I wanted to marry another Italian man someday, yet hold your horses because this story is not really of love but of discovery.

We meet at a fundraiser dinner where I was one of the students chosen to express how the organization had helped us reach our success in school. You see, he was/is the husband of a woman who wasn't just a mentor to me but also a very close friend of mine. So naturally she introduced me to him and boy was I all over the place when he told me he was from Italy! In fact, my mind went into overdrive "OMGGGGGGGGG!An actual Italian Man! IN THE FLESH! Talking to me?! THIS IS GREAT!"

Needless to say I decided to bombard him with questions - most of them regarding food of course :)
Thankfully he wasn't freaked out haha. We actually hit it off and literally talked for a whole hour straight until dinner time was called. I wanted to keep learning more about Italy, but I had a speech to give.

Once I was done, I sat down and began to eat. The Italian Man stood up, went to his wife and whispered something. She looked at me, smiled, and said "You should do it." He approached me and asked if he could sing for me. I could feel my cheeks instantly blush. I had never really been asked that question before and here he was asking in front of anyone - I couldn't really say no, could I? So, I nodded and he began.

You know that feeling you get when your world stands still and yet your heart doesn't cease to accelerate? That feeling when you can see yourself balancing on a thread of yarn? When you want to smile, cry, laugh, hell even jump or maybe fall? Well, that pretty much covers how I felt when he began singing.

It was probably the fact that he caught me off guard with his question.

or

It was probably the fact that I was on the spot.

or

It was probably the fact that I wasn't really expecting his talent.

or

It was probably the fact that he forgot to mention he was going to sing an opera song.

or

It was probably the fact that he sang to me in ITALIAN.

To say that his whole performance was beautiful doesn't do him justice and neither do the words marvellous or mesmerising.  Maybe spellbinding and hypnotising come pretty close? All I know is that I left that night mind blown and changed forever. I remember how when we were getting in the car to go home I literally told my mom "I'm going to marry an Italian man." She of course replied "Oh, Frances you don't know that." My response to that was basically "Yes, I do. He is going to be a great cook, a marvellous singer and a very charismatic man. You know why? Because he is going to be Italian." (*scoff* and some people say you can't create your own fairytales.)

Now, I was obsessed with Italy and I had discovered that my fairytale prince was Italian (honestly, sometimes I still think he is - then again Lizzy ended up with Gordo instead of Paolo, so maybe thats a sign).  And that was only the beginning! Then came Fettuccine Alfredo, Romeo and Juliet (set in Verona), Leonardo DaVinci, Luciano Pavarotti, Michelangelo, Frank Sinatra, Vatican City, Andrea Bocelli, more movies (DaVinci Code, When in Rome, Letter's to Juliet), etc, etc, etc.

More than 10 years have passed since this obsession/fever/mission to visit/move to Italy and search for my "Italian Man" began and yet, I feel like I'm still at the beginning of this weird and crazy journey. However, as peculiar as it sounds I do believe that one day I will go to Italy, ride a Vespa and meet an Italian man - who may or may not be my prince. After all, life is a road and regardless of the circumstances a Vespa seems like a pretty awesome-legit way to travel down it (with precaution of course).

As to you my prince: wether you are from Italy, Russia, India, Afghanistan, or even from Puerto Rico know that you don't have to have a marvellous singing voice haha. Wherever you are, just know I'm right here :)

zozo

Frances aka Fez aka Su Majestad

[Photo by  darthmauldds License CC. Some Rights Reserved]