Spelling It Like It Is (23 page)

I couldn’t lie. I said, “Well, we’re stopping at our friends’ place in Northstar first.” The Hyatt. My new best friends.

The Hyatt condos were really nice. When our refrigerator in Malibu broke, I’d learned that I might never be able to afford a place with Viking appliances again. When I walked in and saw that there were Viking appliances at the Hyatt, I was happy. Simple pleasures.

When we woke up the next day, in Northstar, it was the third day of our ski vacation. Dean had successfully transported all the equipment from mountain to condo to condo, so we’d already accomplished the hassle of a ski vacation, but we had yet to ski. But the Hyatt was “ski in, ski out!” We were golden.

Dean and the big kids were going to ski. Patsy, Laura, the babies, and I were going to lounge at the Ritz, and at least one of us was going to have at least one glass of cabernet. The skiers would meet us for lunch.

We bundled up all the kids (which was an
I Love Lucy
chocolate-factory scene all of its own) and went outside. The Hyatt had something called the “boot valet,” where the skiers in our party would leave their boots while they were out on the mountain. It was there that Dean found out we needed lift tickets—which were only available down at the village. Dean went to buy them while we all waited at the boot valet for what seemed like an hour.

There were signs guiding us to “ski in, ski out.” Lots of signs. They eventually led us to a gondola, which took us to the Ritz, where the ski in, ski out actually went down. That was the Hyatt’s “ski in, ski out.” The Ritz. This little jaunt might have been an easy detour for a normal family, but we had the two babies in a double stroller, two little children, and four sets of ski equipment. For us it was a major hike.

Patsy had never been skiing before. When she saw the gondola, she said, “It doesn’t stop!” In a frantic, stroller-jamming jumble of poles and limbs, we hurled ourselves into two gondolas and up to the Ritz.

At last the skiers went off. Patsy, Laura, and I went into the bar lounge with the two babies. We found a booth near the fireplace and unbundled everyone, making a pile of hats, mittens, scarves, and parkas. I could already taste my soup and glass of wine. I ordered the corn chowder. They were out of corn chowder. Did they have any other soup? No, they had no soup. This was the Ritz! I had no place to go from here. I ordered the cheese plate instead of the soup. Who cared? They had wine. That was all that mattered.

The waiter brought our order, but before I took the first sip, a fire alarm went off. A fire! At the Ritz! We had to get the babies out of there! At first, the waiter reassured us, saying, “Don’t worry about it. Just stay seated.” The fire—the intentional one in the fireplace—was so warm and pretty . . . but the piercing fire alarm blared on. All the faith I’d put in the Ritz started to drain out of me.

Two minutes later we were evacuated. Leaving our lunch behind (at least I had no soup to get cold), we put all of our clothes back on and hurried outside. Ritz staff ran back and forth. Our dedicated waiter did show up with my wine on a silver tray, and I snuck little sips as the fire alarm screamed and the babies cried. We waited. When we filed back in at last, I said to Patsy, “Everything is going wrong on this trip. Not really bad things, just one little thing after another.” I had no idea how bad it was going to get.

WE’D NEGLECTED TO book a restaurant for New Year’s Eve. Even though we were eating early for the kids, everything was booked. The only place that still had room for a party our size was a local sushi restaurant. We all got dressed up. Stella and Hattie wore matching velvet Harajuku dresses from Target with vintage sequined berets. Finn was in a Little Maven onesie tux. And Liam wore skinny velvet pants and a blazer with a festive sweater underneath. We wheeled the double stroller through the snow to the restaurant. You know you’re in trouble when your sushi restaurant doubles as a sports bar, complete with big-screen TVs on the walls. It was loud and chaotic. The kids were about to fall apart. We sped through our meal, but I managed to down two bottles of sake (they’re so small!). By the time we came out of the restaurant, I was feeling a little festive and hoping to put an end to the nightmares of 2012.

With two kids done with diapers, someone always has to go to the bathroom. While Dean and Jack saw the rest of the group back to our hotel, Liam, Stella, and I made our way through the packed village streets, trying to find a public bathroom. As we came out of the bathroom, we saw that there was an ice-skating rink in the middle of town. Perfect! What a picturesque, magical way to end the night, my recovery be damned! We’d all rent skates. It would be unforgettable.

“Hey, guys, want to go skating?” I asked Liam and Stella. Indeed they did. It was a plan. We wiggled into the crowded rental shack. I was carrying all the skates when someone asked to take a picture with me. You couldn’t move, it was so packed. “Sure,” I said, and then it began. A bunch of other people wanted pictures with me. “Of course, of course,” I said, smiling and posing as we kept making our way to a bench. As I struggled to get the kids in their skates, a man came up to me and said, “Can you just take a picture with my wife? Please? I’d do anything for you.”

Music to my ears. I said, “Will you help me lace up my kids’ skates?” It was a deal. I decided I should hang a sign around my neck: WILL TAKE PICTURES FOR CHILD CARE.

As we staggered to the rink, Dean and Jack found us.

“What are you doing?” Dean asked. It was probably only eight thirty at night, but it felt like midnight. We’d had such a long day. The kids were exhausted. We should have wandered back to the hotel and cut our losses.

He was right. I grimaced. “It was a bad idea.” We couldn’t turn back now. Stella and Liam were all in.

As soon as I got on the ice I realized what a mistake I’d made. I had barely walked a block since the surgery and now I was attempting a sake-fueled jaunt on slippery, crowded ice. I had no stomach muscles to speak of. One false move and I was a goner. Terrified to move, I clung to the side of the rink. Jack held my other arm, keeping me up. He was slightly amused by the spectacle and kept asking if I was drunk. But the truth was my nervousness completely overrode my buzz. As soon as the kids had their fill, we made a beeline back to our cozy hotel room. We put the kids down, and Dean turned on the TV. There was a “news” report that Kim Kardashian was pregnant. It was the highlight of the night. Happy 2013.

On New Year’s Day, all the kids wanted to do was go sledding. We drove around Northstar looking for a hill, but the only decent slope we found had a sign on it:
NO SLEDDING
. At last we found a short, sloped driveway. What did my California kids know about sledding? That little patch of snow was all they needed in the world. So much for our luxury ski vacation. We could have stayed home, fired up the ice maker for a few hours, and called it a blizzard.

AT DINNER THAT night, Hattie was fussing in Dean’s arms. I felt her forehead. She was warm, so we headed straight back to the room. On the way, Dean peeled off to get some juice for the kids from the market in town.

At the Hyatt, as we headed up in the elevator, I looked down at Hattie. She was staring up. My mother’s instinct told me something was wrong.

I said, “She’s having a seizure.” And she was. Right there in the elevator, she turned blue. Her eyes rolled back in her head. She was unresponsive. Liam had had a febrile seizure when he was her age, so I had some hope that I knew what was going on. I said, “We’ve got to get her clothes off and bring the fever down.”

The elevator stopped at our floor and we all piled out in the hallway. I instructed Laura to take off all of Hattie’s clothes and to lay her down. Then I tried to call 911. I had no cell service. Damn it. I was sure they had cell service at the Ritz.

Our room was at the other end of the hotel. Instead, I went straight to the lobby and ran out of the elevator yelling, “Call 911, my baby’s not breathing!” The woman at the desk started making the call.

The lobby was a two-story atrium. When I asked for help, out of the corner of my eye I saw feet going up the stairs turn and stop. A woman said, “My friend’s a pediatric neurologist!” I ran up the stairs four at a time, the first time I’d run since my operation. I flashed back to Liam’s febrile seizure, when, pregnant with Stella, I’d run down the stairs four at a time to call 911 for him.

The doctor joined me and we went up to Hattie. As the doors opened, we saw that she’d thrown up but was starting to come around. The doctor took her pulse, and as he did the EMTs arrived, and Dean was close behind them.

Hattie’s blood pressure was still very low, so we headed to the hospital. The EMTs gestured me forward to ride in the ambulance with her. I lay down and strapped her to me, just as I had when Liam had his seizure. As we drove to the hospital I was thinking about how much time I’d missed with Hattie. I’d had to stop picking her up when she was four months old because of the bleeding. Three months after that I left to be on bed rest. I wasn’t around for her first words or her first crawl. Throughout my pregnancy with Finn, whenever I wanted to hold her, I’d fake it with someone else standing behind her, supporting her weight. She didn’t know the difference, but I did. To this day I still wasn’t supposed to hold her while standing up. Missing the bonding with Hattie was a devastating loss that I worried was permanent. She was only attached to Dean and seemed to have no attachment to me. Most of the time when I reached for her, she turned away. I knew she would have been more comforted at that moment if Dean were with her instead of me. But the EMTs had assumed she wanted her mother.

I was so worried that she’d be like,
Who is this woman? Get her off me.
Instead, as we lay there together, she cuddled with me, looking into my eyes.

At the hospital they found that her temperature was still high and her ears were very infected. She hadn’t even complained! They put her on antibiotics and sent us home, telling me to make sure she took a fever reducer every three hours. Once Hattie was fine, I texted Laura to ask if Liam and Stella were okay. I was worried that they’d seen Hattie go through that. Laura said that they were fine.

Back at the hotel, Stella said, “Hattie’s eyes rolled back in her head.”

I said, “That was pretty scary but you guys did great.”

As we got the kids ready for bed, Laura said, “You were great tonight. You were so calm. I’m not sure I could do that.” It may have been the first time in my life anyone ever described me as calm. But Dean wasn’t there. I had to be in charge, so I acted. I made things happen. It was nice to realize that when push came to shove, I didn’t panic. I felt strong.

Dean went to sleep with Liam and Stella in the living room. Hattie stayed in bed with me all night. At times she’d wake up, grab her blankie, and nuzzle in with me. It was a real moment for us. As afraid as I had been in that elevator, once Hattie was out of the woods, I saw the silver lining of that dark, scary cloud. It was our first real bonding moment. At the hospital, when they were hooking her up to the EKG, Dean had picked her up and she’d turned and reached for me. She’d always been a daddy’s girl, but now I was the one holding her. I thought,
Oh my God, she wants me!
She’s my daughter. I gave birth to her, but I was always wondering if I fit into her world. Now I had my answer.

The next day, when we came out of our room to go to breakfast, Liam stopped right outside the elevator. He said, “This is the area where Hattie had her disease.”

WE ARE NEVER going back to Tahoe. We were so excited. All we wanted was to relax and start the New Year on a less dramatic note. To have Hattie’s seizure on New Year’s Day . . . I decided not to take it as a sign. I told myself it was just the residue of 2012 that had to be dispelled. It was the last bad thing, and buried in it was the smaller but life-changing joy of connecting with my daughter. I was full of hope for 2013.

Tori’s Post-Baby Bikini Bod

L
ike any postpartum mom, I wanted to get back to my fighting weight. I’d had it pretty easy after Liam and Stella, but I never got back into shape after Hattie was born because I got pregnant right away. And went on bed rest. With the complications after Finn’s birth, I didn’t worry about how I looked until I felt like I had my strength back.

For several months I couldn’t really exercise. There were a couple reasons. First, there was some risk that my scar would open up again. I was terrified of that. Second, I really don’t exercise much, period. So I took off my weight the old-fashioned way. I like to call it the Just Keep Your Fucking Mouth Shut and Eat Air diet. It’s all the rage.

I love to eat. But I nibbled rice cakes and ate soup and had dinners that looked like they belonged in some health magazine. With my sedentary lifestyle, it was the only way, and it worked. My clothes were starting to fit again.

Us Weekly
saw me out and about and noticed that I was getting trim. They called my publicist saying they wanted to do a shoot of me in a bikini. We agreed, but I wanted to wait a bit. I looked okay in clothing but I wasn’t remotely toned. But the magazine wanted to “scoop” the story, so we agreed that I would do the shoot two weeks later. Time to get my workout on.

Finn was seven months old. I hadn’t exercised for two years (and even then I only did it to lose baby weight). My body was finally my own again. I went whole hog. That first week I had two personal-training sessions. And Dean had just gotten into MMA (mixed martial arts). It was a safe version of wrestling that the whole family could do at a gym near our house.

Dean was very excited, and when Dean is excited, he buys gear. He ordered MMA outfits for all of us. Mine consisted of dorky silk shorts, a tank top, and gloves, all in pink. I love pink, but this was a bit much. I sent a picture of myself in MMA gear to Scout, Bill, and Mehran, knowing they’d be amused. But Scout was concerned. He texted,
“a week ago you had intense abdominal pain and now you’re doing this? don’t you think it’s extreme?”