Sliding Into Home (26 page)

I wasn’t pregnant when I first told Armine she could design the dress, and when she measured me to fit everything perfectly tight to my body she said, “Oh my god, you’re so small.”

A couple of months later I was pregnant, but no one was supposed to know. I didn’t know if I could trust her not to tell anyone, so I had to keep it a secret from her. I had to just roll the dice and hope she didn’t notice. I had a million fittings, and every time I went in and put the dress on I looked like I was about to explode out of it.

One day Armine said, “Girl, you need to stop partying. Are you drinking too much right now?”

“No, I’m not drinking!” I said.

She could tell something was up. I was running to the bathroom every two minutes, and the dress was getting tighter and tighter.

My boobs started growing first, and she had to adjust the bodice multiple times. She kept saying, “Kendra you need to watch your weight.” For a long time I just let her think I was getting fat, but I was starting to get nervous about the dress. A month before the wedding I had to tell her. It was obvious anyway, but we needed to get everything out in the open if my dress was going to fit on my wedding day.

“Look, I’m pregnant,” I said.

“Oh my God, I knew it!” she yelled. “You’re getting so much bigger. Your boobs are humongous!”

“Sorry I didn’t tell you,” I said.

“It’s okay, but we’re going to have to do something, because this dress isn’t fitting.”

She didn’t tell me until later, but the week before the wedding she redid the entire dress. I am so grateful that she did. I wanted my dress to be tight, to show off my curves, and without telling me she somehow redid it and made it perfect. It was exactly what I wanted—an old-fashioned, curvy corset with a skirt that poofed out.

The wedding day arrived and everything was perfect. My dress fit right and the Mansion looked beautiful. It really is the most perfect destination for a wedding; it’s so romantic, and it looks like a castle. I had never dreamed of a fairytale wedding—I never really dreamed of a wedding at all—but I got one. It was absolutely magical.

Before the guests arrived, I walked all around the grounds and thought,
Wow, this is even better than I pictured.

When all the guests were seated and Hank was standing at the
altar waiting for me to walk down the aisle, I peeked out a window to see how he looked. He appeared to be really happy. Sometimes the groom looks scared to death, like he thinks he’s about to make some big mistake. Hank didn’t have that look. Thank God!

Holly and Bridget were two of my seven bridesmaids, and they walked down the aisle first. I loved having them as part of my wedding party. We went through so much together, it felt right that they were part of the ceremony.

Then it was my turn to walk down the aisle.

I had blurted out in an interview a few months before the wedding that I thought it would be cool for Hef to walk me down the aisle, but after Hank and I thought about it, we realized it would be a better honor for my brother, Colin, to have.

He deserved it. He learned a lot from my mistakes as a kid but he also went through his own rough phase. There were times when he veered off-course and ran with bad crowds, but in the end he worked his way back to the right path. He was an independent guy who never cared what other people thought about him—I’d like to think he learned that from me—and I would try to talk to him when times were tough, but we didn’t always have a strong bond and I know he didn’t enjoy hearing lectures from me.

But now we had a better relationship than I’d ever imagined, and I didn’t want anyone else to walk me down the aisle.

Leading up to the wedding, I thought about my dad a couple of times. As I was putting all the details together, I wondered what he was thinking. I had heard that he had inherited a bunch of money a couple years back and moved to Costa Rica, but surely he must have
known his daughter was getting married. I wondered if he cared, or if he regretted missing out on the biggest day of my life. But on the day of my wedding he didn’t cross my mind once. Just like during all the other events in my life, he wasn’t there, and that seemed more normal to me than any other scenario. I had the greatest kid in the whole world on my arm as I walked down the aisle, and that felt right.

As anyone who watched the wedding episode of
Kendra
saw, I of course screwed up the words I was supposed to repeat after the minister. I wish I could say that I did that just for the cameras, but it was real. I have the worst memory ever.

But that was all right. Nothing was going to ruin my perfect day.

Eventually we got the “I do’s” out and, for better or worse, richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, I was Mrs. Hank Baskett and he was, um, Mr. Kendra Wilkinson—’til death do us part.

Walking through the Mansion and out the back door and into the party as a married couple for the first time, with everyone cheering for us, was such a happy moment. That walk felt like it was in slow motion, and I was so proud to be Hank’s wife.

Hank and I danced for the first time as husband and wife to George Strait’s “I Cross My Heart,” the song that we’d danced to in the hotel room on our very first weekend away together. From the minute he started twirling me around, I knew that would forever be our song. It was a special moment, and I’m pretty sure I even saw some big football players tear up as they watched us.

The second dance went to Hef. By the time the wedding rolled
around, Hank had gotten to know Hef really well, and he understood our relationship. Whether I decided to call him an old boyfriend or a father figure or even just a friend, the title didn’t matter; Hef cared for me when few others did, and he believed in me when I barely believed in myself. On my wedding day I think it’s safe to say that of all people, Hef was the most proud.

We danced to his favorite song, “As Time Goes By,” from
Casablanca
—the movie we watched on one of my first nights at the Mansion. Every time he put on an old black-and-white movie I dreaded watching it. I would walk into the movie room and nine times out of ten the second the lights went out I would sneak out the back. But every time I stayed I loved the movie.

Then Hank danced with his mom to “A Song for Mama” by Boyz II Men. He’s a big mama’s boy, and I love that about him.

The rest of the night was a ton of fun. I ate, danced, drank Martinelli’s apple juice, and smiled. I couldn’t have asked for a better day, and my fairy-tale wedding at the Mansion was a perfect end to that part of my life, and also the perfect way to start a lifetime of new beginnings.

The second Hank and I got in the limo to go to our hotel suite (the first time we were alone all night), I said, “Let’s fuck” . . . and we did, right there in the back of the limo. Now
that’s
the perfect way to start a lifetime of new beginnings!

CHAPTER 21
 

The Adventure Continues

After the wedding there was little time for Hank and me to relax and enjoy being newlyweds. We were busy filming the final episodes for the new show and then, before we could even catch our breath after we wrapped, it was time for football season.

After fighting through a long-distance relationship with Hank when I lived in the Playboy Mansion there was no way I was going through it again, especially since we were expecting a baby. That meant it was time to pick up and move again.

I was barely moved into my L.A. town house before I started packing my belongings to move to Hank’s home outside Philadelphia.

Since football season had already started, I didn’t have much help from Hank. I was five months pregnant and packing boxes while yelling at moving men who didn’t speak English to watch out for my breakables. There were a lot of expensive wedding gifts in those boxes—engraved keepsakes and champagne glasses.

I heard things breaking and lost my mind.

“Oh my God, be careful,” I yelled, but in a nice way. “You can break this one, but don’t you dare touch my pimp cups!”

I don’t think they understood.

I got a pimp cup once from Don “Magic” Juan. That pimp cup is my baby. It’s from a real pimp, so I didn’t want it to break.

Como se dice “pimp cup” en Español?

Freaked out, I called my mom. “Just let them do their job,” she said. “Everything will be fine.”

She’s very trusting. Me, I worry. I wanted to see every step they took so I was absolutely sure my valuables—including that pimp cup—arrived to my new home in one piece.

I was putting a lot of pressure on this move. It was a big deal for me to head to the East Coast, away from my friends and family, to be by Hank’s side, even though he would be traveling a lot for games and busy most of the time when he was home.

Good friends are hard to find these days, and I realized that even more when I got to Philly. Living in a new city, with new people, was overwhelming. I got very lonely, and when I would leave the house to pick up food or run errands, I felt like everyone was staring at me. In L.A., people recognized me from TV, but everyone is recognizable there so it’s not as big of a deal. Now I went out and I couldn’t handle it. If I was at the grocery store and accidentally dropped an orange I felt like everyone in town would be talking about it.

Don’t get me wrong, I love the show and I love the fans, but sometimes I forget how to just be me. I used to be the life of the party, but I was quickly becoming more of a stay-in-and-watch-a-movie kind of girl, and developing a little bit of a phobia about leaving my house.

Being pregnant didn’t help. It affected my mood, made me paranoid about everything, and pissed me off every time I struggled to just get off the couch.

I found a good doctor in the area and went for regular checkups. When she would go anywhere near my belly button, I would freak out. I hate my belly button! I couldn’t look at it, especially when I was pregnant. Nobody can touch it. Even the words
belly button
give me the chills. Hank would joke that my belly button must be really dirty because I won’t go near it.

This weird belly-button thing started when I was a kid and I saw a
Ren and Stimpy
episode where they went inside a belly button. After seeing that I had a huge fear of them, so when the doctor did an ultrasound I asked her to stay away from the button. Actually, I probably didn’t ask—I probably told her in a stern voice.

I get loud and forceful sometimes, but when I was pregnant I was more demanding than usual. One night I went out to dinner with Hank and we got in a huge fight over Obama. I told him I liked Obama, but that I didn’t understand all the hype because it didn’t seem like he had done anything to change the country yet. He tried to change my opinion, and that’s a big no-no. We were yelling back and forth, while the whole restaurant was watching. “You will never change my fucking opinion,” I yelled. And I meant it. (Don’t get me started on O.J., or whether Michael Jackson touched those little boys. We will fight about that all day. No one can change my mind, except for maybe Nancy Grace. I love Nancy Grace.) Add some crazy hormones to my stubbornness, my weird fear of belly buttons, and the fact that I’m a Gemini, and you can imagine the kind of fun Hank and I had during the pregnancy.

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.