Sliding Into Home
Page 19
To make matters worse, just when I had the Philly house looking the way I wanted it to, Hank got cut from the team and signed by the Indianapolis Colts.
For a few days it was scary because we didn’t know where we were going to end up. The Colts were an amazing team, though, so when that final decision came, I was pretty happy. I did have a say in where we went. Trust me—at that point no one was telling me where I had to move.
Hank had to leave right away, so I was alone in Philly without knowing anyone but my doctor. I didn’t know where we were going to live or who my new doctor was going to be, but I couldn’t stay alone and figure it out, so I hauled my seven-month-pregnant ass to Indy, where we stayed in a hotel for two weeks while we got settled.
We moved quickly, found a doctor, got to enjoy Indianapolis—which is a fantastic city, by the way—and settled into yet another new home just in time for me to have the baby.
I went in for an emergency C-section on the morning of December 10, because little Hank’s head was too damn big and I didn’t want my vagina all tore up like that. Nearly eighteen hours of eating ice chips and yelling at people later, I gave birth to Hank Jr., at 12:37 A.M. on December 11, 2009.
It was the happiest moment of my life, and Hank and our entire family were by my side the whole time. That’s what made it the most special for me. Here I was, bringing a new life into this world, and I was surrounded by the people I love. There was a time when I thought I could never have such a strong support group, but when I was holding the baby I looked out at my mom, grandma, brother, Hank, and his parents and cried tears of joy at what an amazing family I was bringing this baby into.
The whole time I rarely thought about my dad. I was so happy enjoying what I had that I wasn’t going to dwell on what I didn’t have. Yeah, he popped into my mind a few times, but mainly I thought it was him who was missing out and not vice versa.
But when I was out of the hospital and back at the house, Colin, who had recently reconnected with him for reasons I’ll never understand, told me that our father tried to send flowers to the hospital.
Tried? Who tries to send flowers and fails? Don’t bullshit me, I thought. Who did he think he was trying to lie to like that?
I knew then that he would never again be a part of my life, and I would never let him get close to Hank Jr. I didn’t care about my feelings so much, but if I let him back, I would always be just waiting for him to take off again. There will never be a day where my baby is in a position to ask, “Where’s grandpa?” I wouldn’t do that to him.
It is amazing how quickly those motherly instincts kicked in. He wasn’t even a week old, and I was already protecting him from the world. That’s the kind of mother I want to be. I want to help him when he falls, but I also want to let him explore the world around him, get his knees scraped up, and discover life on his own. My mom was a little too protective, so I ended breaking all the rules. (Although if not for her I’m not so sure I’d have the confidence to be a good mom in the first place, because through all the tough times, she gave me my backbone.) But I do think there is a happy medium where he can be loved and free to make some mistakes in life and learn to bounce back. Hank and I together (he can do the yelling) think we can do a good job and mold Hank Jr. into a great boy.
While he’s an infant, though, I’m watching his every move. A couple of weeks after giving birth it was back to work for me, but everyone knew that Hank Jr. came first. Me, Hank, the show, my agent, my publicist—we all answered to the baby. If he got a cold or something, that was it—I wasn’t leaving his side to promote the show or do anything.
I also wasn’t going to rush to the gym when I had diapers to change and a body that wasn’t ready. My agent, who clearly doesn’t understand the female body, started immediately booking me for magazine covers and “body after baby” photo shoots.
“Already?” I asked him when he called with the news. “You’ve got to be kidding. I hope they are ready to airbrush the hell out of me.”
Regardless of how little I wanted to do outside of caring for Hank Jr., life had to go on, especially when the Indianapolis Colts made it to the Super Bowl. It was a big deal for Hank, professionally, and I was excited to get to some warm weather, since the Super Bowl was being held in Miami. But with the baby, it was not business as usual. It was stressful packing everything—diapers, food, boogie-suckers—and flying with the baby for the first time. He was an angel and didn’t cry once, but between the plane and the buses and the walking there was a lot of traveling. And in between all of that movement, he was busy eating and pooping.
Then I hosted a pre–Super Bowl party at a Miami nightclub and my world was turned upside down. I had hosted these events hundreds of times, but this felt different. I didn’t know what to say or how to act. I used to grab the microphone and say, “What’s up, motherfuckers? Let’s get drunk tonight!” but I couldn’t say that anymore. So at this party I was like, “Momma got out of the house tonight; let’s celebrate!” I’m still the same person at heart, and I’ll always be myself, but that night I saw myself growing up and having responsibilities that I’d never had before, and I liked it.
Just because the baby was dominating our lives didn’t mean Hank and I didn’t need to take a little time for us. Relationships fail because couples forget about the romance. It’s so easy to focus on the baby, but you need to find time to have that relationship with the man you fell in love with.
There was a point after the Super Bowl when we got back to Indy that I said to Hank, “Look, I’m starting to feel not loved right now. In the past few weeks, there wasn’t one time when we looked at each other and said, ‘I love you’ or ‘You look good today.’”
“I understand what you’re saying,” he replied. “It’s been a while since we really had our time.”
So we started having date nights as often as possible—we even tried to take a horse-and-carriage ride around the city, but it was too cold so we cut it short.
I’m fortunate enough to have the freedom to raise Hank Jr. in a loving environment and to spend quality time with his father every now and then. My mom didn’t have such luck. She struggled so hard every day to provide for us and still made it to every one of my soccer games.
I’m blessed with the gift of free time, so I’ll be on the PTA and go to every play or soccer game or whatever it is that my son is interested in doing. And if he has a teacher who tells him he can’t be a marine biologist, I’ll be at that school in a heartbeat, ready to kick some ass.
But just because I’m getting a whole new set of responsibilities and will be facing challenges as a mom doesn’t mean I will stop living. After all, if you don’t go out and continue to explore the world around you, you become like a caged bunny. And as you know by now, I am not, nor will I ever be, a bunny.
My life has been a series of hellos and quick good-byes. As a kid I wanted to make my own rules so I ran away from home.
Then, when I saw an opportunity to better my life, I ran to Hef and the Playboy Mansion.
When I fell in love, I ran right into Hank’s arms.
And when I knew I had to put family first, I packed my bags and ran with Hank to Philly, and then to Indy.
I’ve learned that I don’t need to be in such a rush to move on to the next person or place. Life is filled with risks worth taking and new adventures worth running toward, and it’s better when you stop running away from something and start running toward new things.
A few months after football season, we moved—as a family—back to Los Angeles. It was my fifth house in less than a year. Hank and I were glad to be back in the sun and near friends and family and settled (at least for now) in our new home.
Being back in L.A. is amazing, but no matter where we end up or what life throws our way, I’ll be happy, as long as Hank and Hank Jr. are by my side. I guess that’s what being a mother is all about. I like growing up and I like change, and every day I can’t wait to see what happens next.
Ha
nk and I are a perfect team. The day we moved into the L.A. home we had sex three times. We didn’t have furniture yet, but we did have a big-ass shower.
I guess some things never change.
Acknowledgments
Putting my life down on paper was not easy. And now that it’s all said and done, I think I appreciate the people in my life even more than before—which I didn’t think was even possible! On that note, I’d like to thank my mom for sticking by me through thick and thin, my grandma for always believing in me, and my brother for always having my back. I’d also like to thank Hank for being the most loving and devoted husband, Hank’s parents for being the best in-laws a wife could have, Hef for lifting me up and guiding me on the right path, the Mansion staff for all their hard work over the years, Holly and Bridget for being my girls next door, and Brittany Byars for being my best friend.
Two incredible television shows came out of my years living at the Mansion. I’d like to thank Kevin Burns for producing the best shows ever, Lauren Weinstein and Becca Gullion for putting up with my shit on the show, and to my camera crew for capturing the best (and worst) moments of my life.
Finally, I’d like to thank Emily Westlake, Jen Bergstrom, Louise Burke, Patrick Price, and Michael Nagin from Gallery Books, writer Jon Warech, my literary agent, Dan Strone; my agent Brian; and publicist Kira for hookin’ it up.
Without these people, this book would not have been possible.
Jon Warech would also like to thank the team at Gallery Books, master of all agents Kirby Kim, Girls Next Door fans/grandparents Joy and Sandy Warech, Katie Warech, Victoria Van Bell, Robert Eth, the Bruce Family, Tracey Heiken, Gena Oppenheim, and the great Gator Nation.
Look at that peanut head!
Looking damn cute as a flower girl at my mom’s friend’s they made me wear.
Colin and I get ready for a big day at elementary school. We were still such good kids back then.
With my brother and some family friends on Halloween—our favorite holiday. I was one scary witch.
At my grandmother’s house hanging out with her cat, Caesar, when I was twelve years old. Before I headed down the wrong path, I loved spending time there.
Club night with Hef and the girls back in 2005. The nights out and the Playboy parties were some of the best times I had while living at the Mansion.
Dinner night with Hef, Holly, and Bridget—a Tuesday night tradition—at Maestro’s in Beverly Hills. My favorite steakhouse!
Hef and I posing outside a stretch Hummer. When you roll with Hef, you always travel in style.
Hank and I at the Playboy Golf Classic, posing for a photo the moment we met for the first time. It already looks like we are married. Love at first sight?
My mom and I before throwing out the first pitch at a Padres game in 2008. It was my first date with Hank, and my mom was trying to hook me up with baseball players.
Hank proposing to me on top of the Space Needle in Seattle, Washington, on November 1, 2008. I didn’t understand a word he said, but I definitely said, “yes”!
Hank and I share our first dance to “Cross My Heart” as husband and wife. It was the most special moment of our lives. It looks like we are gliding on ice.
Hank and I visiting Bedrock near the Grand Canyon on a 2009 road trip. We’re the modern day Fred and Wilma!
Me with the crew from Kendra at the Grand Canyon on our road trip from New Mexico to L.A. in April 2009. The crew is like family to me, and like any family, we love taking photos together.
Hef’s eighty-third birthday in Las Vegas. Hank and I wouldn’t miss it, although I had just found out I was pregnant.
Our first family Christmas in 2009. I did all the decorating after posing for this photo, although I was eight months pregnant at the time.
Seventeen long miserable hours later, Hank IV is finally in my arms. Love at first sight again.
I’m all smiles at the hospital in Indianapolis before giving birth to Hank IV because my grandmother, who usually doesn’t travel, was able to make it.
I couldn’t stop kissing him. Look at the mohawk!