I am a neat freak.  I clean everyday, and I cannot stand clutter.  I also live a very health-conscious, organic, toxic-free lifestyle.  Chemicals, artificial, and colors with numbers in the ingredients list don’t even make it to my doorstep.  That goes for me, my husband, our pup, and of course, Ferris.

I also have a rule that if it’s not used in six months (excluding holiday décor, which is sorted and gone through each time the holiday comes along), I donate the item that I no longer seem to use.  I like new things, and something that is donated is “new” to someone else.

Finally, I don’t really hold onto things very long.  Other than friends and members of my family, there really isn’t much I can’t live without.  If there is something that someone wants that I have, most of the time I won’t think twice about letting the other person borrow or even keep the item.  Stuff is just stuff to me. People and memories are worth holding onto.

However, there is one item that seems to be throwing my logic of stuff off track.  You see the item is, well, not pretty.  It’s plastic, cheap plastic, at best.  And I use it for purposes other than why I got it.  But, I cannot imagine life without it.

You see, it’s this big, awkward cup.  The hospital cup from when I went in to deliver Ferris.  I took it home with me when we were discharged, and I cannot get rid of it.  There are too many memories attached to it that I want to hold onto for as long as I possibly can.

This cup was the cup that delivered me (laughably) several refills of Sprite.  (Yes, high fructose corn syrup, Sprite).  When I went in on the 19th of April, after my water broke late morning, I never got a chance to eat that day.  And we all know you cannot eat anything when you are in labor so I went for over 24 hours (++) without any food or drink.  And yes, it got so bad that I was vomiting up ice chips.  Once Ferris was delivered, safe and healthy and finally in my arms to hold forever, I wanted nothing more than Sprite.  And the funny thing is, I don’t drink pop.  I drink water like there’s no tomorrow.  But because of everything my body, and more importantly Ferris’ body, went through, I would have traded all three wishes from a magic Genie for a giant cup of Sprite.  The nurses even had a running sarcastic joke about me with the refills of Sprite.  And it came in that plastic hospital cup.  And until we were discharged on the 22nd, I had that cup right alongside Ferris and I.  It is as old as he is, and every time I look at it or use it to water the plants, I am brought back to Ferris’ birth.

Ferris turns 9 months this Sunday, the 20th.  My baby is 39 weeks old…the length of time I carried him inside my tummy.  And we are one full week in to the launch of I’m Very Ferris.  I must have done something right because when you love what you do, you truly don’t work a day going forward.

Being an entrepreneur, an author, and above all a mom to Ferris is a dream job.  And I look forward to seeing where the future takes my hospital cup and me.

Ferris Bueller said it best, “The question isn’t what are we going to do.  The question is what aren’t we going to do.”

What aren’t we going to do, indeed.

 

 

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