TAKING THIS SHIT LYING DOWN

Since I can remember, I have always fallen asleep on my back and woken up on my back.  What I do in between is up for argument.  Typically, it includes tossing and turning, some nightmares and off the chart dreams.  Lately, it includes waking up to use the bathroom and drinking more water to soothe my Gobi-dry throat.  (Let's just say that last night was a 2.5 water bottle night.)

Per one of my pregnancy books, now that I have progressed to the 16th week, the time for back sleeping is done.  I'm no slacker, though.  I have been trying for a few weeks to learn to sleep on my side.  As it turns out, this is like learning to breath underwater.  Through gills I don't have.

I have found that I can sleep on a 45 degree angle.  It's somewhere between sleeping on my side and sleeping on my back.  With the aid of enough pillows, I can ensure that I don't cut off necessary blood flow to the Spitfire.  Right.

Thankfully, the Hub ordered one of these bad boys for me . . .

In theory, it will make all of my sleeping woes go away.  It provides a long support beam that will prohibit me from rolling onto my back.  It is cushy for my ever-growing belly.  And. . That's really all I've got.

Who wants to bet that I'll end up chucking it across the room in the middle of the night?  I'm sure the dog will be happy to re purpose it.  She seems to like stealing pillows for her own comfort.

Either way, I'm happy to try if one of the outcomes is better sleep.

CHOO-CHOO!!!!

I lost my gallbladder, shortly after my final and worst gallbladder attack, on Easter Sunday, 2011.
Aftermath included scarring, hossing through the pain with no pain meds and shitting uncontrollably as a result of eating anything containing a little fat.

Yes.  The train was truly rolling down the tracks.

Now that I'm four months pregnant, I can tell you that progress has definitely slowed.  My body is slowing digestion to enable my parasite to get every bit of nutrition from the foods I intake.  Because of this, my train stalls.  Frequently.

Not one to be hindered by such . . . dearth in movement (just how many euphemisms can I come up with for clogged-up shitter?), I have devised a list of catalysts to help get my doggies a movin' (do I get points for the cowboy reference?)

1.  Pizza Rolls.  Sweet baby Moses in the reeds!  One box of Pizza Rolls (either Combination or Cheese) will get it going.  Folks, let's talk methodology here:  On a plate, place 1 paper towel.  Place each pizza roll on the towel.  Microwave for 2 minutes.  Then, flip the rolls and microwave 1 more minute.  Trust me.  This is the best way to get you to the church.

2.  Indian Food.  Specifically Chicken Tikka Masala and ANY korma.  Sure, if your pregnant nose can't handle the spice, this isn't for you.  Seriously.  It lingers.

3.  Taco Bell.  Isn't this true for everyone, though? 

Note that these are NOT healthy alternatives to Metamucil or whatever else your OB suggests.  These are for special moments.  When you are absolutely cranked and need a little something to get you through your day. 

Yes.  I just gave you permission to eat something horrendous.  It's for a good cause.  I can't help but think of the alternative when you become impacted and they have to send an intern on a stool fishing mission.  ;)

SIDE NOTE

I drove a friend to the airport a few moments ago.  I explained that I have been congested for the better part of two months and that it has to do with hormones.

I snored my way through last night because of the congestion - so loud that our 14 pound Miniature Schnauzer switched sides and pushed her way onto my Hub's pillow.  It was so loud that I woke myself up.  That's *fucking* loud.

But, the point of this mini-post is not my fourteen cords of sawed logs.

Hormones.  I think we should call them HERmones.

These little buggers turn women bat shit insane. 

Also.  I am not a "hor"

That is all.

IT'S *THAT* SOUND

It's getting harder and harder to maintain my dental health.  Every night, after I finish my shower (because I don't like sleeping in the day's filth!) I put on my robe and I begin my final decent to sleepyville.

In addition to applying astringent to ward off the slick from the ever growing oil field on my nose, I frost my ADA selected toothbrush with some cavity and plaque reducing paste and GET READY FOR THE RIDE!

As opposed to the my usual 2 1/2 minutes of brushing, I can only make it a minute to a minute and a half before I feel like I'm about to suffocate.  If I'm lucky, I'll be standing directly over the sink when I make the sound. . .

It's like a guttural noise that comes from the diaphragm.  It forces all of the air out of my lungs at a warp speed and flexes every abdominal muscle I have.  I have yet to figure out if the muscles clench because they are necessary to force out the sound. . or if they are in action because they are trying to prevent me from expelling all of my hard-eaten sustenance for the day.  Either way. . . I usually manage to spit the excess toothpaste foam from my mouth before . . . "Wuuuuuughhhhh!"

Typically, there is no actual harvest to my heave. . . just *that* sound.  It's unmistakable.  If you hear it, you know what is going on.  This isn't a constipated pooper noise, folks.  It's the "holy shit fuck ass puke" sound.  Really.

Usually, it is followed by a good 2 minutes of panting as I try to catch my breath and assess the probability of actual horking.

Don't get me wrong - It isn't just during tooth brushing.  I was sitting in a meeting with give guys at work.  At the corporate headquarters.  Some one's cologne was just a little too musky and I was forced to turn my head and "Wuuuuuuuughhhh!"  No one looked directly at me, but the guy next to me reached over and grandma patted my hand and said "It will get better soon"

*blink*

At some point, I will have to either man-up and brush my teeth after the sound OR I'll just adjust to having bleeding gums and gnarly breath.  You know me.  The latter isn't going to happen.

MUST NOM IT NOW.

Thus far, I have had a textbook pregnancy.  If I have been experiencing a symptom, chances are, I can also find it in one of my books.  So, it is with no surprise that I find that I have developed the dreaded cravings.

To clarify, I'm not feeling compelled to nom fistfuls of dirt.  Nor am I desperate to shovel in any non-food articles such as paste, hair. . or anything of the like.  Ew.  Hair??

Instead, I have had the most intense cravings in my life for random foods.

For example, even though I have been off the meat-eaters' wagon for a while, I still get a hankering for a gyro once a week.  The word craving really doesn't do the monster justice.

When I say craving, I am referring to a moment of utter desperation for a food.  I smell the roasted lamb and beef.  I can taste the tangy tzatziki.  I can feel the perfect bite through pillowy pita and succulent slices of goodness. . . all the way to crisp onions and lettuce. 

OH SWEET, GREEK GOODNESS!!  GET IN MY BELLY!!

Right.  Okay. . cravings.

This overwhelming, taste bud tantalizing, tacitly torturous craving will not subside until I have indulged in the real thing.  Who ever know that cravings were so strong?

My advice on cravings?  Give in.  Just do it.  I do.  Just because I am having ridiculously strong impulses to eat something doesn't mean that it ups the quantity. 

Mmmmm.  Do it.

FACEBOOK OFFICIAL

When the Hub and I were first engaged, I called a total of 10 people.  Over two weeks.  I figured that the news would spread like wildfire.  When it did, I started to get phone calls from people who were all ass-hurt because they didn't get a personal call.  Guess what, folks. . . I don't have the time or energy these days to be calling what seems like a quadrillion people I consider to be "pregnancy news worthy"

I will admit that while I find it alarming that many pregnancy chat boards have entire discussions dedicated to telling friends on Facebook, it is the easiest way to do it.  Because there have already been a few "leaks"  (which were cauterized quickly), the Hub and I have decided to go completely public.

So. . . to all of you who are finding this for the first time today with the help of either Twitter or Facebook: 

WELCOME!

For the best reading experience, please start at the beginning (it's a very good place to start!)  Note that there has been a very nice sized parcel of readership of this blog from all over the world - without you.  Now that you are here, please feel free to share the wealth of my insanely judgey remarks and startling disclosures!

GREASED LIGHTNING

One of my favorite side effects of the increased pregnancy hormones has got to be the amped up production of grease by my face.  Sink an oil well, here, fellas, and we'll make millions!

Just because I didn't suffer teenage acne doesn't mean I don't know how to take care of the situation:

I shower every night. 
I wash my face with facial cleanser to help dry out some of the oil producers. 
After my shower, I find that applying a bit of astringent helps to keep the flood of goo at bay just a little while longer.

Fast forward to the morning when I crankily wake up with the alarm. . .
Surprise, surprise!  My face is laden with all kinds of grossity. 
For heaven's sake.  I wash and apply astringent.  Again.

By 10am, I am oily. 
Again. 
This time, I'm just going to have to deal with it until I get home from work. 
I find that I am washing and applying astringent three times a day. 
I'm sure that is more than indicated.

Even my faithful aesthetician, Bonnie has noticed.  During my last facial, she spent a copious amount of time digging out my severely clogged pores.  Yes.  I have pimples.  Because I'm 14.

Several women have already told me that this will pass.  But, I'm not prepared for another 6 months of puss and oil filled behemoths popping up to say "hello!"

For now, the best I can do it continue washing my face like it's prom season and visiting Bonnie on a monthly basis. 

SWEET MOSES! I AM PROLIFIC TODAY!

On a side note, when I arrived at the mall, I quickly found a spot and as I began to steer into it, I noticed the sign. . .

Apparently, in my own mind, I am not pregnant enough to necessitate special parking.  So, I backed-up and pulled into the spot next to it.

Perhaps it was the thought of walking out to my car after shopping only to be confronted by someone who didn't believe my status.  Or, maybe I'm still a little in denial. 

Right.

SWEET SUCCESS

I have never been a good shopper.  I save up my shopping tolerance for Black Friday - when I take my eldest niece shopping all day for holiday goodies.  Sporadic shopping during the non-holidays is never good and I usually come away with plenty of stuff for other people.

Today, I managed to actually buy things.  For myself.  This is a massive upgrade from the last four trips out with the Hub.  On those sad days, I drove 30 minutes to a local mall.  I then spent 20 minutes walking in circles before I was fucking finished and drove the next 30 minutes home - empty handed.  Four times, people.  My Hub is a saint.

So, I need to thank the following folks for their unlimited help today. . .

- The girls at Claire's who helped me pick out two of the most perfect fake wedding rings.  It's hard when your already chubby fingers turn into little Korean sausages and your normal band no longer fits.

- The sweet ladies at Loft who knew that I really meant light knit summer dresses when I said stretchy fat girl wear.  I bought two really cute knee length dresses that are work appropriate with a shrug (that I also bought) and transition easily into evening wear.  I will also admit that one of the dresses has pockets.  Because I am four.  And I need somewhere to keep my gum.

- The knowledgeable gals (I'm running out of euphamisms for chicks) at Destination Maternity for helping me find appropriate work and casual attire that will last me through the next 6 months.  Nothing perturbs me more than buying clothes that will only do me good for 6 months.  Except maybe the fact that I can no longer suck in the chub.  Seriously.  Ew.  I am now the proud owner of two skirts with goofy panels sewn into them.  I also procurred several new tops to go with said skirts and to go with . . . the period shorts that temporarily still fit.

- The kind woman at Bath and Body Works who tried to help me when the smell became overwhelming and I thought I might hork picking through the antibacterial hand soaps.

- And. . . to my Sister In Law who suffered through it all with me.  You managed to make a tomboy look all cutesy.  Impressive, Madame.

Thank you!

PIT STOP REVIEW!

RESTROOM LOCATION:  Kohl's Department Store on Manchester
# of VISITS:  1
RESTROOM STYLE:  Several stalls.  Standard partial wall and door.
DECOR:  Standard.  Nothing special. 
REVIEW:  It was clean.  I was happy for an open stall.  Then I saw that I wasn't alone.  He was big.  I had to convince my 5 year old niece not to kill him.  She likes killing.  (I think she takes after me.)  We washed our hands and headed back out to leave him in peace.  We are good people.

NEW GOALS

At just 12 weeks, I am finding that all but a few of my clothing selection are so uncomfortable that I seriously considered wearing a nightshirt (with just a little bit of strawberry jelly and peanutbutter on it!) and a pair of sandals out to a birthday dinner the other night.  Those things that still fit me were XL and items that fell into that funny little category of:  Period Clothes.

So, after work today, my loving Sister in Law and I are heading out to the mall to see if I can hunt down, trap and buy the ever elusive pregnancy comfortable clothing.

In my mind, I see flowy summer dresses that can easily switch to work appropriate with a shrug or sweater.

I will update my success or lack thereof when I get home.