CLUSTER (*@^$!!

Despite the fact that my child was born at a hefty 10lbs+, he is still an infant and prone to endure infantile things.  Like growth spurts.  What most folks don't know is that growth spurts bring with them an enormous need for additional food.  When that food is produced by Mom, there are long days and nights with no sleep.

J is in his second round of Cluster Feedings.  (Dun, Dun, DUN!)  The first time around nearly killed my nipples (We will discuss this at length in a future post.  All you ever want to know about nipple care will be addressed!  Yay!)  Now that we are suffering this parental nightmare again, I am pretty sure that my child with the man-sized hands and feet is going to start walking soon.  College anyone?

Are you questioning my melodrama?  Often, I will begin feeding with one boob.  Then, after 15 to 20 minutes (I let him "milk" it) I will switch to the other.  My starving child will hungrily suck down everything.  And then, demand to return to the first boob to root around for more.  This goes on for HOURS.  Sometimes, he will fall asleep momentarily.  Sometimes, I will, too.  Not long enough, however, to get rested.

While I dislike the idea of supplementing with formula (GASP!) I am completely willing to do it - if only to get a little bit of sleep.  Constant feedings annihilate my ability to pump excess.  In essence, there is NO excess.  (We blew through the breast milk bottles that I had accumulated in just the first day of this terror.) Therefore, the only way for the Hub to assist with a feed is to mix up a lovely batch of formula.  We don't replace breast milk with formula all day long.  Once or twice is all I need to get just a little shut eye.

Oddly, even with the above argument sounding logical and true, the scenario is the perfect storm for what I call the Guilt Formula. . . (I know.  I'm SO pun-ny!) so I have to take it a bit further.

I have to give my baby a bottle of formula every now and then so that I can remain somewhat physically (and mentally) stable.  With just a little bit of rest, I can pump an extra bottle of breast milk for reserve and hopefully eliminate the formula need altogether.  With just a little bit of rest, I am able to breast feed for hours on end without passing out and crushing my child.  (Yeah.  That's a little extreme, but seriously, worst case scenario, people!)  So, really, in order to get through this growth spurt, I think a couple bottles of the Devil are A - Okay.  (Not really, but it is a plan. . . and with so little sleep, it's the best one I have!)

REAL TALK.

If you have been coming around for any length of time, you probably already know that I tend not to pull my punches.  I appreciate straight talk - so it is what I dish out.  Thanks for sticking it out.  Really.

My child is now four weeks old and I can tell you that every minute with him has not been easy.  From dealing with cluster feedings to changing what feels like 8,000 dirty diapers, I dare any new mother to say that it has been an pure pleasure.  Go ahead.  I'll wait while you lie to the rest of us.

I would like to present the following "shit mothers never talk about" in honor of all of the liars out there.

*  I wasn't in love with my child from the moment he was born.  I mean. . I loved him, but I wasn't enamored with him.  You can blame the C-Section for the lack of endorphins - or other chemical release that trigger post-natal euphoria.  We can even discuss the loss of my first child shortly after her birth.  Whatever you think, I'm telling you I wasn't completely head over heels from the first moment of my child's life.  And, I didn't feel guilty about it.  And, from what I'm told, there are others - who haven't suffered a loss and who didn't have a C-Section.  After three weeks, however, I found that all-consuming love.  And, it is good.

*  Often, a woman will try to tell me that I need to have another child so that this one "doesn't grow up alone."  We will get into my retorts later, but for now, I want to say that often, these women justify their argument by saying that I will "forget all of the hardship and late night feedings and all of that."  I'm pretty sure I won't forget living in bed for 11 weeks.  I'm also pretty sure that my nipples will never forget the first days when my body stopped producing milk.  Yes.  I know that motherhood can be a tantamount experience, but I'm pretty sure that I won't be forgetting what I went through.  Any idiot would be remiss to discard this pregnancy experience and hop into another.  Argument = invalid.

*  What is the worst thing that I have heard from mothers?  "My body just loves being pregnant.  I never felt better than when I was pregnant. . "  Really?  Perhaps they just "forgot."  Or, they are lying.  Does anyone really have the perfect pregnancy?  You're telling me you didn't have morning sickness, hurty tits, tender gums, exhaustion, sore pelvis, stretch marks, wonky back, swollen feet, swollen hands, carpal tunnel, odd body hair, hair that fell out, brittle nails, yeast infections, bladder infections, gestational diabetes, anemia. . . really?  Nothing?  Okay.  I'll take it.  So, you had the perfect pregnancy.  How about you learn some compassion and stop underhandedly bragging?  If pregnancy is so great for you, want to carry mine?

*  When I was still pregnant, I was concerned that I wouldn't be able to love this child as much as I loved my first.  I talked with a friend of mine who has two living children and she responded that she had the same fear when she was pregnant with #2.  She even spoke with her friends about the fear and they all responded negatively - "No, that never even crossed my mind. . . " or "Never!"  Let's be honest here, people.  It is normal to fear being able to love another person with the same gusto as the original.  This goes for everyone - not just parents of a lost child.  It is okay to have this fear!  I was crying on the operating table before they cut into me and asking my husband if we would be able to love our son as much as we loved our daughter.  Talk about a room-killer!

I suppose what I am trying to say with all of these things is that as a woman, I want to be supportive of my fellow mothers to be.  We will never be perfect mothers.  Just like we will never be perfect people.  There is no right answer.  It is okay to feel imperfect.  It is okay to question ourselves.  We should be okay to talk about these things. . . to have REAL TALK!

GETTING INTO THE FLOW OF THINGS.

Let's talk about something gross (because the rest of this blog has been "gross-free", right?)

Lochia.  Because you didn't really miss your period.  You just saved it up all year for now.  And Mother Nature is pissed.  So pissed, in fact, that mesh panties and ginormous pads of mattress proportions are necessary.

My child is four weeks old.  This means that I have been bleeding for. . . (yup, you guessed it) . . four weeks.  And, it ain't all sunshine and roses.

In the beginning, there were chicken livers.  Yeah.  Think about that.  Chicken livers of my own body's making.  And they were escaping.  ESCAPING.

There were times when I changed my hospital pad (Think 14" x 20" - or some other enormous measurement) 10 times a day just to keep clean.  Because, let me tell you, that little squirt bottle does wonders for cleansing - but, only while it's squirting.

About a week in, I downgraded to an ultra thin overnight pad with wings.  I'm getting as specific as I can without naming brands.  The Hub was sent on a mission one night to procure some of these and in an effort to NOT have to return to the store for them, bought two jumbo packs and managed to amuse the cashier and the bagger girl.  That's funnier to me than the Chicken Livers running for their lives through my vagina.  (Throwback!)

In the beginning, the bright redness is daunting.  Then, it tones down to darker red. . . to rust. . . to brown.  Eventually, it's just darker discharge.  Then, it ceases to exist.  Eventually.

With my first pregnancy, I had a full six weeks of this shit.  With any luck, this time is about over.  But, as your OB may likely tell you, it may stop and then start again.  Nice.  Reliable body.

RANDOM MEMORIES.

I sat up in bed when I remembered this little gem from the OR:

Me (still behind the curtain):  Is something burning?
Doctors:  - - -
Me:  Oh.  It's me, isn't it?
Doctors:  - - -
Me:  You are cauterizing something, right?

Yeah.  That isn't a good smell.  My own burning flesh.  I can't wait to bring this up in my follow-up appointment on Monday.

CATASTROPHE ON THE FRONT END.

Someone forgot to tell me that when you have been on Pitocin for 30 hours, you will swell.  I'm not just talking about having to remove your wedding band (though, for me, this occurred early on in the pregnancy.)  I'm talking about looking like I was wearing a fat suit that I couldn't take off for six days.  Like "can't I just slit my skin open to relieve some of this pressure?"  Or, "I think I saw this episode of The Half Ton Woman on TV!"

My feet, legs and hips were swollen to proportions twice their normal size!  I won't even get into the puffy space below my bellybutton. . .

The worst part of this, however, wasn't the humongous feeling or even the pain associated with the skin tightening. . . it was the fact that my milk wasn't coming in.  The goods that existed prior to labor and shortly after were all dried up!  My child was going to starve, people!

So, while we waited, we supplemented with formula.  I think I just heard 1,000,000 Leche League Moms groan and gasp!  Seriously, I had NO milk.  Nobody warned us of this - they just kept telling me that it was fine and that my child wasn't starving.  Really?  How many days without sustenance can a newborn go?  Five?  Six?  Right.

It was actually the pediatrician that gave the best advice.  We saw him the Saturday after birth (on Monday.) He told me that the pump wasn't going to be able to reap milk like the baby, so not to rely on what the pump was able to get.  Instead, continue to let the baby attempt to feed at the breast and then supplement with formula after.  He was sure that with the recession of swelling, my milk would indeed come in.  And, he was right.

By the next Monday (1 week out, for those of you playing along at home), I was able to feed more from the breast and supplement less.  The day after that, I was able to eliminate the formula completely.  I am proud to say that we have been a Mom's Diner household ever since.  I'm even pumping excess so that the Hub can bond during feeding.

So. . to those of you who found this post because your milk has yet to come in - do not get discouraged.  The drugs will wear off for you as well and your body will return to responding in kind.  Don't listen to the hype about nipple confusion, formula being the Devil, or anything anyone else has to say.  Your kid will eat at Mom's when s/he can and until then, you will do the best that you can with what you have. .

In the words of one of my favorite shower gifts (Thanks, Aunt Tatie!):  "My Mom Doesn't Want Your Advice"

THE BIRTH STORY.

At our final OB appointment, on November 11th, it became apparent that everyone, including our OB, was increasingly concerned with the size of our baby.  My belly had increased from "cute" to "holyshit,motherfucker!" and I was suffering from a separated pubic bone (read:  PAIN.)  So, it was decided that I would be induced on Sunday November 17th.

At 4am that Sunday, I rose and collected my belongings.  The Hub and I made our way to the hospital and checked-in.  It took a while, but I was eventually hooked up to monitors and plugged into a giant IV of Pitocin.  For those of you unawares, this is the hellish liquid that induces labor.  It is a hormone that your body makes (Oxytocin) for such an occasion.  Typically, they will increase your "units" by one every hour - up to 20 until you deliver (We'll get to this. . .)

Through the afternoon, I managed to dilate from my steady 4cm to 5cm.  In the early evening, I made it another half a centimeter before my pubic pain got so bad that I asked for the epidural.  Let me explain something, people.  My birth plan (which means nothing in the face of adversity) was to go natural.  I was going to have a quick delivery with no issue.  Really.  My pain tolerance is enormous and I can breathe through stress with the best of them.  So, believe me when I tell you that asking for the epidural was a last resort.  I was sitting on a birthing ball, trying to coax my junk open just a little further, leaking fluid ALL OVER THE FLOOR. . . and I felt like my pubic bone was cracked down the middle and ripping outwards. Pleasant picture.

Over night, the epidural became my nightmare.  I had searing pins and needles combined in a complete inability to move my legs on my own.  The Hub rang for the nurse an I writhed around trying to feel anything but pain in my legs and feet.  The anesthesiologist came quickly and temporarily turned off the epidural pump.  It was theorized that a pre-bedtime bolus bump of medicine caused my reaction - so we would have to be extra careful in the future (we'll get to this, and it ain't gonna be pretty.)

The next day, Monday November 18th, I was still just at 6cm.  A call to my OB yielded quick, but horrific results (more story to come).  Since I was already at 20 units of Pitocin per hour, I was bumped up to 30. Seriously.  We jumped to 30.  But, at noon, I was completely dilated, contracting, and ready to birth!

Before I knew it, I had been pushing for two and a half hours!  The time flies when you are focused.  I credit the nurse, my Hub, and our persistence for the quiet room and calm surroundings.  The Hub was able to lean in an see the hair on our baby's head!  The nurse, however, was able to lean in and see that there was no way our broad little man was going to come out the old fashioned way.

Our OB arrived and very frankly informed me that the baby wasn't physically able to move past my pelvis. Despite our desire to have a natural vaginal birth, we would need to go to the OR for a C Section.

Here is where the fun comes back from the evenings epidural crazy. . .

The anesthesiologists did not want to put my body back into the awful state of the night before, so they proceeded as slowly as they could with the medicine.  I was rolled into the OR and a tent was constructed in front of me to block the shock inducing sights that no woman should ever see while she is experiencing it.

There was some pretty intense tugging feeling and then I heard my baby cry.  The Hub hopped up and the nurse brought the baby for tests and measures.  21.5" long and 10lbs5oz.  I gave birth to two babies' worth of baby.  A true man child.

Of course, nothing can be easy. . . about the time the pain came rushing back, I spoke out loud to my OB through the curtain, "whatever you are doing right now. . . FUCKING hurts."  He responded, "where is it hurting, Suzi?"  I calmly directed him to my lower right abdomen. . and then it seemed like everyone in the OR started moving VERY quickly.  I guess I got it right.  They were working on sewing me back together when the anesthesia wore off.  My anesthesiologist appeared over my left shoulder and pumped something cool into my epidural.  Crisis averted.

The baby scored a perfect 10 on his APGAR - partially due to the fact that he wasn't just pink and wriggly at birth but RED.  Bright screaming red.  And healthy.  Mama was proud.  And then, he latched on like a pro.  We will discuss more about breast feeding in later posts. .

It has been 11 days and we are home.  And adjusting.  Clearly, my blogging has been affected (it has taken me four hours to type this.)  But, I will carve out more time in the future.

QUICK UPDATE.

I am enormous and over 38 weeks.  My pelvis hurts me.  I am still dilated nearly half way, but my cervix is very high.  We are playing a nasty waiting game where no one wins.

It is frustrating that we spent the better part of the year working to keep him in and now he refuses to come out.

At some point, when it is not so fresh, I will write about the anxiety and mixed emotions that come with a pregnancy after a loss and a pending arrival. . .

For now, keep us in your thoughts.  He can't stay in there forever!

COMPLICATIONS.

Remember that time I was pregnant and fell?  Right.  That was yesterday.

Today, my ankle looks very similar to normal. . with the exception of a little puff on the inside.  It does not, however, feel okay.  In fact, it feels like high school.  High school was when I vastly injured my ankle (read:  it was black.  And I'm yellow.)  and instead of taking a few weeks off of it (and on crutches), I made my way into another mosh pit.  Yeah. 

So, I will hobble around today even more than with just a clicky pelvis.  I am feeling energized and like I need to accomplish some very important nesting items. .  

1.  I must complete the winterizing of our home.  I need to get a large propane tank converter for my inside-safe propane heater.  I must stock up on puppy-safe sidewalk salt.  I must track down an ergonomic snow shovel.  I think it is important to point out that while the original shovel that my Da bought in 1983 is still functioning and full of nostalgia, it is easier to pick up and throw snow with a bent handle.

2.  I must inventory and thin out the herd of food products in my deep freeze.  If I do not, there will be nowhere for my milk to live.  This will not do.  So, in the coming week, we will likely have freezer food for meals.  Sodium, what?  I think there are some cornish game hens in there that are dying to be trussed.

3.  At some point, I will need to sit down and have lunch so that I can relax and take a load off.  A really wide load off.

4.  The invitations for the baby shower are ready to be mailed.  The Hub and I compromised on some "heart seal" forever stamps instead of the Johnny Cash ones that I wanted and the American Flag ones that he wanted.  Putting hearts on envelopes is asinine to both of us - so they work.

All of this must be accomplished by 3pm - as that is when we will need to begin the drive to drop off our accomplice MyMandy (did I ever mention that I feel like you can get anywhere in this town in 30 minutes?) and come home to rest up for a family birthday dinner.  I think we can manage. . . or at least come close.  I'm not sure I can actually get any of the things on my winterizing list - outside of the propane tank converter. . thankfully, I still have a HUGE stockpile of ice scrapers and sub-zero window washer fluid.

CLOSE THOSE EYES!

What's worse than watching a pot to boil?

Having dozens of other people doing it, too.

Meanwhile, I fell today.  It was kind of bad.  So, now I feel even worse than I did AND people keep calling for "updates"

Therefore, I will no longer respond to inquiries.
Pot watchers.

SEMI PRECIOUS STONES

While I wait. . and wait. . and wait for this baby to make an appearance, I will fill you in on some of the moderate annoyances that have taken over my life.  Today, I want to discuss the miracle and wonder that I call Nipple Crystals.

Remember those science experiment packs that your Great Aunt Tillie used to send in the mail when you were a kid?  They might contain Sea Monkeys (Brine Shrimp that your Da would later feed to his fish) or an Ant Farm (which would eventually fail and free all detainees.)  Then, there was the Grow Your Own Crystal packs.  I'm pretty sure colored sugar and string made up the package and you just added water.  Remember those brittle little crystals that eventually climbed out of the Tupperware bowl?

These crystals are the same.  Except you don't need shit but a lactating boob and some dry air.  It's a MIRACLE!

I'm not sure you know this, but there isn't just ONE tiny hole in your nipple.  There are crevasses.  Take a look one day.  You will see what I'm talking about.

When you being to lactate (more prevalent during pregnancy when you were just pregnant), all of the liquid doesn't get sucked out of the nipple.  Some of it stays and crystallizes.  You probably wouldn't notice except that there is an unsettling feeling of itch (AND SODOM AND GOMORRAH) in your nipples.  With a little fidgeting, you will produce a few tiny NIPPLE CRYSTALS.  And they will look like they would hurt if stuck in your nipples.

They look a little like ground sea salt.  I pretty sure they won't taste like it.

CANT STOP THE TRAIN. . . LET'S DITCH THE STITCH.

This morning, the Hub and I went to the OB.  We made a pit stop in with the Ultrasound folks to take some baby measurements.  Then, we went to get the cerclage removed.

As of today, our child is measuring enormously.  It is likely that we have a 9lb baby. . . Or that the estimate is a pound over.  I'm hoping for the latter.

So, let's talk cerclage removal. . .

With a McDonald cerclage, you are sedated when it is put in but it can typically be taken out in the doctor's office.  But, it isn't always easy.

My OB had trouble finding the stitch for removal.  Therefore, it was a bit pressurized as he was moving the speculum all over the place. . .  (Are you sure you can't see my left lung?)

About 10 minutes later, it was removed and proved to be a bigger thing than I imagined.  I wish I would have gotten a picture, but the discomfort was enough that I told the OB that I hated him. . . (But, I did not kick him in the face;  so, that is a "win")

30 seconds later, I asked him to check me.  To all of our surprise, he announced that I was 4 cm dilated.  I guess the stitch did its job.

So, we picked up lunch and came home.  I have no idea if I am contracting or if I am dilating more.  For now, I am waiting for my  water to break.  Come and wait with me.  At the casino.  Today feels like my lucky day.

THIS ISN'T FOR US, IT IS FOR YOU.

I run my life by what I consider to be simple rules.  They are gut-based and typically work out for me and those (I care about) around me.  I want to share some scenarios with you so that you can make the right moves if confronted with similar situations. .

1.  I do not believe that blood = family.  This likely has most to do with the fact that I am adopted.  But, it goes further.  I believe that you choose your family.  Or, at least, you should.  To me, family is love.  If I don't care about you on that level, then you aren't family to me.  Your level of love is technically irrelevant, but I would hope reciprocated.

This all being stated, it is probably obvious to most that my Hub's family isn't necessarily a group of people that I automatically consider family.  Sad, but true.

2.  Children are a parent's way of disrupting an event and refocusing it on themselves.  I am a firm believer that children do not belong at wedding ceremonies.  Unconditionally, the parents will sit in close proximity to me and then neglect to get up and walk out when their child starts to fuss.  They don't want to miss anything, but are completely disregarding that I might want to actually understood what is happening at the altar.  On a smaller level, this also happens in restaurants and public places where a child can be openly disruptive.

Today, the Hub and I attended the wedding shower for one of his cousins.  I happen to like her very much and was happy to have been invited.  A relative showed with her child.  The focus at our table was completely NOT on the bride-to-be.  In my opinion, this is bullshit.  Leave your fucking kid at home.  Seriously.  This event isn't about you.

3.  Be aware.  There are situations in this world where you will not always understand the choices of other people.  To quote one of my favorite poems, "Theirs not to reason why, Theirs but to do and die"

If someone doesn't want to hold your baby, you should probably back off.  This is probably more true when you are trying to force someone who lost their child shortly after birth.  As my Hub's mother was insisting that my Hub hold his sister's infant, she kept repeating, "but you need practice. . . "  I wanted to calmly respond with "I think the practice we got from holding our first child for two hours while she died was enough to prepare us for our second child."  I'm also pretty sure she still wouldn't get it.  None of them will.  Ever.  (Right now, at midnight, I am considering writing her an email. . so that I don't rip her a new asshole when I can no longer hold all of this in.)

But, it's not just us.  The family continued to criticize another family member, who I happen to really like, for not wanting to hold the same child.  I wanted to blurt out, "why would she want to hold a kid that she doesn't give two shits about?"  Yeah.  That didn't get to happen either.

Instead, I took it out on the Hub as we drove away. . . especially loud, after this next thing happened. . .

4.  You do NOT get to choose to know when MY child is on his way into the world.  In fact, if you get a call at all, you should be grateful.  If I have to hear about your direction to call when labor begins every single fucking time I have to suffer your company, you won't get a fucking call at all.  Seriously.

This, of course, is also akin to. .

5.  If you have not been told about a baby registry, do not google it and then proceed to purchase items from it.  I won't go into more specifics, but I will say that I am so irate over this and other things above that I will be spending the holidays (ALL OF THEM) with MY family and I will be taking my child with me.  So far, the Hub is understanding and just biding time until WWIII begins.

Yeah.  This has been one ugly rant.  But, I think you should know these things. . so that you don't fuck up with someone like me.

CONTRACTIONS.

I know a guy.  He lives in Australia now, but he used to work at a bar with me.  He is originally from Wisconsin.  That's pronounced Wi-Scon-sin, for those of you who have never gone North.  I loved listening to him talk. . likely because I spent some time "up there."

One thing in particular that dazzled me was the way that he pronounced his contractions.
Should + Not = Shouldn't (pronounced: Shunt)
Would + Not = Wouldn't (pronounced:  Wunt)
. . . I asked him one day how he pronounced "couldn't" - this didn't end well.

But. . back to me.
My contractions are two to three minutes apart and straining on my cervix.
I have been monitoring them and they haven't increased in duration, frequency, or intensity.
My OB is aware.

I blame my return to work and the stress caused by trying to get my security clearance "turned back on."

I hope you are all having such a great day that you couldn't ask for better.  =)

LLAMA MAMA.

This post is TMI.

You should stop reading now.

To my memory, it has been since Thursday.  Since Thursday.  I haven't pooped a good poop since Thursday.

Instead, I have been pushing out a single lump of coal at every attempt and trying to feign satisfaction.

I have downed gallons of water and apple juice and handfuls of Colace.  Nothing.

I made an emergency trip to Five Guys Burgers and Fries.  Nothing.

I ate three pieces of Fried Chicken and some really greasy fried biscuits. . . .

And I was starting to consider getting "up in there" and manually assisting what shouldn't be this hard.

Then, I shit a llama.

And now, I'm much better.

I hope your Sunday is a beautiful one.

HAP-PEE, HAP-PEE, HAP-PEE!

Do you ever get the feeling that if you don't "go" right now, you will die?  How about racing to get to the bathroom only to find that you can't pee?  That has been my life.

This morning, for example, I woke up feeling the urge and I limped (Pubic Bone Problems) to the bathroom as quickly as I could.  I dropped trou and took a load off only to find that when I opened the flood gates, there was NO flood.  In fact, it felt like the baby was leaning so hard into my groin, that he was cutting off all exit routes.  Selfish baby!

So, I wiped (nothing), stood up, washed my hands and walked into the living room to complain to the Hub.  Then, I walked back into the bathroom to try again (because I'm five and trying desperately to deserve my big girl Undies) - and LO!  I peed.  Like a fucking geyser.  Sweet baby Moses!  Let my sins be washed clean by the Niagara!!

Rest assured that I will repeat the exact process every time and as often as necessary.

In other news, I had an OB appointment on Friday.  I do indeed have some severe pelvic pain.  That will go away after birth.  However, my cerclage is causing some problems.  The pinching / stabbing feeling?  Yeah.  My stitch is straining.  In fact, I am dilating and thinning.  If I have a repeat of last Monday, we will remove the cerclage early and get ready for the big show.  Otherwise, we will wait until the 28th as planned.

I'm not-so-secretly hoping for some labor to magically visit me before I return to work on Monday (for the first time in over 60 days.)  This timing would prevent me from returning to work until 2014 and have me enjoying my holidays with my newly expanded family.

We have 36 hours to get this show on the road. . . cross your fingers.  ;)

Oh!  I think it's time for the Pee Ritual. . . NOW, cross your fingers!

NO LIES.

I'm always honest with you guys.  But, I just wanted the post title to emphasize that point (and This one:)

I want this fucking cerclage unstitched.  I want it out of me.  I'm finished with being stitched together like some kind of vaginal wonder woman.

This struck me especially hard today.  I don't want to think about it every single second of every day and night.

Will it tear?  Will my delicate lady parts be irrevocably damaged?  If my baby wants to come now, isn't that alright?  I know it's early, but if my body really wants him to come. . . shouldn't he?

Instead, I bite my tongue (at least until my appointment on Friday) and make some Shells and Cheese for lunch.  Because, Shells and Cheese make everything better.

TICK, TICK, TICK. . . BOOM!

For a while now, you know that I have been plagued with crotchular pain.  But, let's take that a step further:

On occasion over the past couple weeks,  I have heard the light and high-pitched sound of bones clicking or popping.  During one particularly loud demonstrations, my "worst case scenario" brain did me a doozy - I diagnosed my child with one of those stone-bone diseases that makes bones brittle and easily broken.  And, I was certain that his bones were fracturing every time I adjusted my seating position.

Then, I stopped being crazy and figured out that the noise was coming from my crotch.  MY CROTCH was making a popping sound.

So, welcome to Pubic Symphysis issues.  I hope you are NOT one of the few % of pregnant women who have to suffer this.  As usual, I am *that* person who lowers your likelihood of having everything SHITTY.

You are welcome.

WELL, SHIT.

Walking isn't going as well anymore.  My once sturdy pelvis now feels reduced to a crumbling shadow of its former self.  It tortures me to get to the bathroom every two minutes.  Though, not enough to hold it.  So, there's that.

Yesterday, I noticed that every so often, I felt a stabbing or pinching coming from my cervix.  A little bit of palpating and I identified contractions as the primary source of discomfort in my cervix.

I called the OB line and was directed to go to the hospital to get checked out.  Instead of having five or six contractions an hour, I was having twenty or so.  So, that happened.

Another giant syringe of Terbutaline and I was crawling the walls in triage.  But, the contractions settled a bit. . . At least to normal (for me.)

In four hours, the Hub and I were on our merry way home to the dog, hot showers, and our bed.

A few things of note:

*  I am having regular contractions today with more stitch pinching.  If it gets worse in pain or bleeding, it is likely that I will go in for stitch removal early.

*  I kind of wish they would take the stitch out early so that I didn't worry about tearing.  If it weren't for the stitch, I would be worry free for the first time since my 22nd week of pregnancy last year.  Think on that for a moment.

*  I'm in full nesting mode but physically unable to do much of it.  This is where I tell you that m Hub is better than your partner.  He is doing everything to my specifications.  For me.  Right now, the kitchen is getting steamed and scrubbed.  Really.

We are 34 weeks and I am done being pregnant.  Look for updates.  I'm sure they will be coming.

SIGNS, SIGNS. . . EVERYWHERE ARE SIGNS.

I know that labor is coming.  The rub is:  I just don't know when.  Thus is the bane of every pregnant woman.

Today, I appeared to lose just a little bit more of my mucous plug - forcing me to ponder just how extensive this shit is.  Perhaps, like many women believe, the mucous plug is regenerating.  Or, this could just be the end of it.  It was snot green.  Again.

I haven't had the full extent of Lightning Crotch again - however, I do feel like the whole of my genitals (does anyone else read that as Gentiles?  No?  Anyone?  Bueller?) are bruised beyond belief.  Walking isn't pleasant, though it is still doable.  So, I suppose that is something to be happy about.

In other news, I have been cleaning.  The other day it was the overwhelming desire to clean out my kitchen pantry.  Seriously.  I have been hoarding.  9 bags of unopened chips and assorted pretzels?  Right.  Today, I sorted mail and cleaned my home office (soon to be home to our baby's room.)  I'm not sure where the energy comes from, but I'm thankful for it!

I know these are all signs of impending labor.  Every day I complete a physical assessment when I first open my eyes.  Is the baby awake and moving?  Am I laying in a wet spot?  Am I palpating contractions?

My worst fear is that I go into labor and again do NOT feel it . . . and my cervical stitch tears.  Stick with me, folks, I'm trying to remain aware.

IT'S A NEW SEN - SA - TION!

Now that my child has grown to toddler status in my womb, I am finding the need to pee is even more frequent than when we first started down this road.  Yes.  I pee several times in a 30 minute span.

So, I have been experimenting.  With my body.  For your sakes.

I have found that part of the issue, that is making me pee so often, if that when I "go" I can't completely empty my bladder due to the fact that I have a 42 pound child standing on his head - on the pillow that is my bladder.

To rectify this, I find that if I tense my now wonky abdominal muscles, the baby is lifted just slightly, allowing the pee to be free.  FREE THE PEE!!!!

Note:  This works nearly all of the time - except 2am.  I find that at 2am, I am unable to control any muscles and am resigned to peeing over and over again.

Ding!  You're welcome.

LIGHTNING STRIKING AGAIN . . . AND AGAIN . . . AND AGAIN!

Ladies, have you ever been kicked in the crotch?  Perhaps not IN the vagina, but maybe up front?  Fellas, you might think you own the angst that comes with crotch-kicking.. but, you are wrong.

Last night, I hopped out of the shower and started my routine. . wrapped in a large bath sheet (for those uncivilized folk, a bath sheet is a really ginormous towel).  I prepared my toothbrush and headed towards the living room to see just what the Hub was watching on TV.  I only made it half way there before I doubled over in pain and felt like I was going to die.

LIGHTNING STRIKES.

Sometimes, when the baby re-adjusts himself or stretches in the right way, extreme pressure is exerted upon the pelvic bone.  At this time, it feels like a bolt of lightning is striking and finding a lightning rod in the front of your junk.

Picture this:  Me, writhing and foaming from the mouth with toothpaste.  My Hub turning off everything in the living room - because, like parking, you have to turn down the sound - then racing to the kitchen to procure a large bowl and a bottle of water so that I could rinse my mouth out and not be in danger of inhaling toothpaste foam.  Yeah.  My house was a circus.

Two minutes later, it passed and I was able to breathe through my face again.  While the pain is gone, the memory of it is still sharp.  I think I have PTSD.  Seriously.  I can't even move fluidly because I'm afraid that I will do something to set it off again.  Horrible.

On this celebration of 33 weeks, please keep your pregnant friends in your thoughts when you see dark clouds coming!  =)

IMPORTANT DATES.

It is true.  I lost my mucous plug.  It worked its way into my tissue in pieces from Thursday morning to early Saturday.  Don't google it.  Trust me.

My Doc isn't concerned.  At this time, I'm not seeing any "bloody show" (trust me and do NOT google that either) so, my labor could be as far away as a few weeks.

My Doc IS concerned, however, that I am getting really big.  I grew another two centimeters.  So. . here are some dates to keep in mind as we traverse October. .

October 18.  My next OB appointment.  Nothing special will occur.  It is just a check-in.  The last of the "bi-weekly."

October 21.  My first day back at work.  It's going to be tough, but I think I'm going to really enjoy the over-stimulation I receive from more than one person at a time being physically in the same room as me.

October 28.  MY "DITCH THE STITCH" DAY.  On this day, I will have an ultrasound to confirm that the baby will fit through the conventional exit hatch.  Then, my OB will remove my cerclage stitch.  I cannot relay how excited I am about this.  I will definitely post about it because there could be complications - therefore, I will experience them.  =)

The average length of time between a cerclage removal and labor is 10 days.

Let me say this again:

The average length of time between a cerclage removal and labor is 10 days.

It is likely that I will have a baby in a month.

For now, I will leave you with this:  Crust Nipple Goo (better known as CNG) is often found when a mother is already producing a good amount of colostrum and / or milk.  I was in a baby store for an item that "I just had to have" and a mother was busy letting her infant cry and scream.  Imagine getting kicked in the chest from the inside.  That is what it feels like for your milk to "come in" or . . as the superhero inside me likes to say "activate!"  Every since then, I have been getting CNG and feeling particularly swollen in the chesticle region.  If I could get to that mother, I would do much to thank her.  Really.  Thanks.

AAH. . AAH. . CHOOOO!

On Tuesday, both the Hub and I got our Flu Shots.  As usual, my body felt like shit for two days and I am just now starting to get back to normal.  I used to think that a physical reaction to a dead viral vaccination was psychosomatic, but I'm not so sure anymore.

I didn't feel like I had been hit by the Flu Truck, but I definitely had some snot and some achy muscles.

Fast forward to this evening. . . when I used the toilet and when I wiped, it looked like I had blown clear green boogers all over the toilet paper.  Wrong end, people.

Being the inquisitive (read: complete paranoid) person that I am, I examined it and even smelled it.  Nothing seemed out of order.  Except for the snot that seemed to be coming from my VAGINA.

Fast forward a little bit more to where I finish reading a few hundred medical journal articles and every pregnant woman's account of losing her mucus plug. . . and I am pretty sure part of my mucus plug has been loosed.

I have an appointment tomorrow with my OB.  I have a feeling he will be unconcerned - as 32-33 week is a pretty normal time to start "shedding" the plug.  (Is this where "sloughing" would be appropriate?)

Just a stab in the dark here. . but I am going to guess that I go into labor in a few weeks.

More to come. . . post appointment.

BADGE OF HONOR.

Ladies.  Let's be frank with one another.  Stretch marks are hideous.  Even if you luck into having the little ones that don't create purple canyons in your flesh, they aren't pretty.

Did you notice your ass?  Does it have some new features on it?  No?  Mine, either.  (blink)

Women have a way of putting a spin on things that supposedly help us remain positive.  I want to be one of the first to say this:  Stretch marks suck.  They aren't the "marks of motherhood"  Nor, are they some physically demonstrative exemplar of survival and pain.

No.  No.  No.  Stretch marks are simply our skin's inability to grow fast enough with the parasite in our wombs.  Hey!  I thought we were being honest here?

I have them.  Light ones that are "below crack level" on my ass.  Then, I have some on the low-low part of my belly.  Then, I have one on each side - like I just needed just two millimeters of additional skin on each side.  That's it.  But, I suspect, they will grow like the Grand Canyon - except that instead of millions of years, these pop up like surprise lilies.  (Don't get that reference?  Look it up.  These also suck.)

The truth is - no one can really control stretch marks.  There is no magic cream or elixir for this malady.  Instead, you can blame your mother.  Really.  It's her fault for passing on your shitty skin genes.  Go get her, tiger!

HAPPY LIST.

This post is exactly what it sounds like. . a list of stuff that I can be happy about despite feeling physically exhausted, waking up to chunks of stomach acid in my mouth and throat, and being a goddamn emotional wreck.

1.  I have it to 32 weeks.  That is something I never thought I would get to type / say / submit.  It is overwhelming knowing that if my boy were to be born RIGHT NOW, he wouldn't spend endless months in the NICU. . rather a likely 3 or 4 weeks.

2.  There is no doubt that I am pregnant.  When my Brother In Law and his fiance visited last night, even blacked out sunglasses wouldn't have been able to hide their wide eyes on my belly.  In the meantime, I am still looking for the perfect excuse to have the following conversation:
     Nosey Parker:     "When are you due?"
     Me:     "Due for what?"
     OR
     Me:     "Oh, I had the baby 6 months ago!"
     OR
     Me:     "Next July"

3.  Even though they feel like they are going to explode, my ta-tas look GOOD.

4.  Pregnancy makes me the dessert aficionado that I never was before because I couldn't stand sweets.  Now, I just have to say. .  "OMG.  German Chocolate Cake!"

5.  Sons of Anarchy has been on for a few weeks. . . and The Walking Dead starts soon!  OMG.  These are NOT child-friendly shows!

6.  The Hub is aware of my desperate need to travel when I become un-pregnant.  We already have two trips planned before May 2014:  one Road Trip and one FLIGHT.  When the latter happens, I suspect I will be posting details.

7.  It was cool enough to make Baked Mostaccioli last night.  Did I mention how rigoddamndiculously hungry I have been??

8.  Blogger is trying to replace "Mostaccioli" with "Molestation"  I just inhaled a gulp of water.

I hope your week goes well.  You know where I'll be.

IT COMES IN WAVES.

Pregnancy is just like everything else. . . a cycle.  In the beginning, you feel like shit.  At some point, you start to feel like a normal, albeit puffier person.  Then, the world topples again and you find yourself repeating the original shit.  Last night, when I was forced to sleep in a slightly reclined position on the couch because of the case of the vomits I had, I thought of this.  I just keep telling myself it is not a cycle without end.  Right?

Last year, I used 6 weeks of FMLA on my maternity leave.  Now, I come to find out that my FMLA has run its course (12 weeks in any 12 month period) and I am now left exposed and vulnerable to losing my job. So, I spent the entire morning contacting both the administrator for my Short Term Disability and my own company's HR to determine what I should do.  In the end, I was told by HR that only my direct supervisor could trigger a termination at the end of FMLA - and while my supervisor is currently on a two week vacation in Europe - I know I am safe.  So, I will return to work on October 21st and work until I go into labor.  Depending on my delivery method (is it too late to lay an egg?), I will have with 6 or 8 weeks or Short Term Disability and then I can file for Personal Leave of Absence - so that I can take an additional stretch of maternity leave using my PTO.  That is the plan.

I spent the greater per of the morning feeling shitty and sitting on hold for seemingly endless amounts of time. Then, it was all over and I had answers and decisions made.  It *is* all a cycle.

DRAFT IS MORE POTENT.

I dreamed that I was breastfeeding.  I'm pretty sure it was my child, but he had a wonky shaped head and was blond.  That won't happen, I'm pretty sure.  The blond part.  He could totally have a wonky shaped head that requires a super expensive helmet to correct.  But, we will just hope against that.

Anyway.  I was breastfeeding a blond child with a wonky shaped head and I could FEEL it.  It was awkward and bond-establishing at the same time.  We even switched it up and hit the back-up boob for good measure.  All the while, I was thinking about how large he was and if we should just skip the colostrum.  I'm a great mom already.

So, the point of this story is that when I woke up, my boobs felt like they had been mauled by some very thirsty coyotes.  Gross?  Yeah.  You should have to suffer my boobage lately.

You're welcome.

TIMES, THEY ARE A CHANGIN'

Today brings with is all of the hopes and dreams of 31 weeks of pregnancy. . .

Who am I kidding?  It also brings a child who barely fits "in there", insatiable hunger, and exhaustion.

I haven't been good, in the past few weeks, of updating properly, so let's do that now:

*  If I am still pregnant on October 21, I will be allowed to work from home again.  This might prove to be a dumb exploit considering all of the password and account accesses I will have to unlock to work when I will get "un-cerclaged" the following week and will likely go into labor.  I'm excited, none the less.

*  My tits feel like little bombs of shit.  My nipples look ready to walk on their own.

*  I am sleeping very poorly and a minute nap in the afternoon isn't making up for it.  I am peeing more than ever and I'm pretty sure I made three trips in 30 minutes last night.  Of course, it may just be that I can't keep track of time at 2am on an already dearth of sleep.

*  The Hub is doing well.  He is still applying for jobs and doing his best to be patient.  I am proud of him.

*  Per some research, I have found that in order to have your child "christened" in the Catholic Church, it requires a class and some signatures that will give the Church sufficient proof that your child has a good chance of being raised Catholic.  Know what's not going to happen, folks?  Heavy discussion with the Hub is bound to ensue - but, I'm pretty sure we will raise our child in the love of God and with a firm understanding of right and wrong.  I don't need a church to do that for me.  Anyway - appeasing in-laws isn't a good enough reason to "christen" a child.  I think a baby blessing is much more suitable.

*  The stretch marks are here.  They aren't crazy.  Yet.  But, I have a feeling they will grow.  Currently, they reside on the underside of my belly.  I can hardly see them in the mirror - but I have a feeling that the shade cast by my gut is blotting out the sufficient light by which to examine them properly.

*  Last week, I had a TDaP.  That stands for Tetanus, Diphtheria and Pertussis.  I just want to warn you:  this shit doesn't hurt going in but I'll be damned if my shoulder didn't hurt for the two days after.  The more important piece of the vaccination is for Pertussis.  As an adult, we carry but are not heavily affected by Whooping Cough.  However, this rather annoying illness can kill babies.  So get it.  Your partner, too.  Grandma thinks she's going to hold the baby a lot?  Make her get one, too.  It won't hurt anything but their shoulder.  Trust me.  It is a good thing.  Make those old people work for the privilege of fawning over their grandchild.

*  Speaking of shots, I am going to head to my neighborhood CVS and get my flu shot for the year next weekend.

*  This pregnancy belly is giving me a new understanding of just how large my normal clothing is.  Today, I am sporting a MIZZOU shirt that I wear un-pregnant.  It works just fine with some room for more belly.  Clearly, I am not a Large and should invest some $$ in better fitting clothes when this is all over.

So. .  that about wraps up my update list.  I hope to have more to discuss later this week.  Right now, however, I feel like I need to shower before I am too tired and drown in it.

IN LIVING COLOR.

One of the things that all of the pregnancy books will tell you (but not expound on) is a change in skin coloration.  I'm sure this ranks up there on the list of things that you should know a little about - but too much would scare women (kind of like the episiotomy chapter.)

Most of the books will tell you that you can expect some change in skin color. . . Your usually hidden belly seam, for example, turns darker and more prevalent.  But, other stuff occurs. . .

My "sun spots" have multiplied and I can guarantee I haven't spent much time in the sun this summer.    The ones that usually freckle my skin are now darker and a little more pronounced.  Then, there are their progeny(?) that have sprouted up.  I suspect that with un-pregnancy, they will disappear again.

The most wacky change, however, has to be my underarm coloration.  Seriously, I think someone replaced my normal deodorant with a stick of poop.  My pits look dingy and if I didn't know better, I would have already tried 150 grit sandpaper on them.

Speaking of color, I have sprouted a few stretch-marks and have been surprised just how upsetting they are.  I am hopeful that they shrink with time.  Please, sweet Moses, please!?

For now, I accept that in addition to my blooming, burgeoning belly, my petals are teeming with color.  Because I'm a delicate flower.  Right.

DIRTY THIRTY.

This week is going to be difficult.  I'm not being negative.  I'm being factual.  Wednesday is my baby girl's first birthday.  So far, I am still in one piece.  I'm sure the cracks will start to show soon enough.

So, to celebrate my survival through this fist day of a horrible week, here are some things that you should know. . . 

*  My tits feel like they are full of cement - heavy and lumpy.  Sexy, right?

*  It has officially happened.  I am more tired of being pregnant than I am worried about a preterm birth.  

*  Kick counts are relatively painless for me.  This kid is so active that it usually only takes a couple minutes to feel 10 movements.  I will be surprised if he doesn't start walking immediately after birth.  Almost.

*  Why would you wake a sleeping baby to feed?  I say, if you are worried for your milk production, pump while he sleeps.  Seriously.

*  My dreams are more and more disturbing.  Usually, they are metaphors for my inability to properly "incubate" my daughter.  Last night, it was the total ruin of my childhood memories.  Great.  

*  In addition to my normal contractions, I am feeling pressure "down there."  I don't feel "open for business" but definitely feel pressure.  If it doesn't let up, I will call my OB tomorrow.

Yeah.  If I could get through late October, I would be elated (read: 35 weeks).  Today, I am not feeling the possibility.

Chins up, people.  It can always be worse.

I GONE AND DONE IT.

This weekend, I was stir crazy.  More than usual.  A lot.  My Hub's life was in danger.

When life gets you down and you feel like there is nothing "winning" about your situation, the universe tends to throw you a bone.  It's probably going to be small, like getting stuck in your throat small, but it is worth celebrating anyway. .

The Hub and I found a high end baby store that is closing for business.  This is amazing news since this is the one store in a 100 mile radius that offers products from Arms Reach - specifically a co sleeper.

Now, before you get all crazy and assume that I will be letting my child sleep in my bed until he is 8, let me set you straight. . . the co sleeper is a bassinet that can either stand alone or stand flush against my bed's mattress - allowing me easy access to nurse in the middle of the night without bumbling around a dark room.  Our plan is to use the bassinet in either of its functions for a few months before moving our child to his own crib in his own room.  Better?  (As if my kid would sleep in my bed. . we all know that with my thrashing, he would be crushed in hours!)

For the cost of one of the cheaper co sleepers, the Hub and I managed to procure a higher end model, two sheets, a mattress protector, an additional organic mattress, two blankets (for car seat cover) and a toddler booster seat.  Seriously.  "We done good."

In fact, I think the Hub is stopping back through to see if there is still a crib / toddler bed mattress left - as when we researched it at home, it is top of the line and at a really great price.

Yes.  I am gloating just to gloat.  With all of the shit I have been through with this pregnancy, I feel like I can get away with it.  You can deal.  =)

ONLY WAY TO GO IS DOWN.

It has been a rough couple of days.

The Hub feels helpless because while he can complete menial tasks such as laundry and tidying our home, he can't help me physically with anything.  I am betting it is worse than the normal feeling that partners get during a pregnancy.  I am essentially a giant, brooding baby armed with curse words bigger than handfuls of poo.

In the beginning, we agreed that the only information that would be passed to parents would be specifically chosen.  Our respective jobs were to control the parental intrusions (read:  How is Suzi doing?  How is the baby doing?  How was your appointment?  What is going on!??!$?)

Someone didn't do his job.  And, he was lambasted for it.  And told he would be excluded from future OB appointments for his inability to keep his mouth shut.

This exclusion was not rescinded.  But, there was a 1am make-up conversation.

My ire may not be justifiable, but it is how I currently feel.  I find it akin to keeping parents out of the labor and delivery room.  Folks, I might not have much shame left in me, but I am perfectly happy to keep my Mum and my in-laws the fuck out of my junk.  As we get closer to delivery, I feel the same about my business.  Mama Bear is gaining momentum after a LONG winter's sleep.  The current plan is to take off out of town immediately after birth to avoid people.  Is that awful or what???

To top off all of this neurotic shit, we are slowly edging closer and closer to our Daughter's Day.  I'm sure this isn't helping anything - but we are aware of it and are think we are ready.

We stopped off at a baby store, after our appointment, and I nearly bought something.  Then,  I realized that I wasn't ready and we left.  Grieving for a lost infant takes a long time and impacts more than you would think.

As we get closer and closer to Mira's birthday, I feel like we are climbing the ladder of a giant slide.  It is scary, the higher we get and the more wobbly the platforms feel.  As we reach the precipice, we realize the awkwardness of trying to back down the ladder and the only way to go is down the slide.  Screaming and laughing through all of the terribleness.

FOOTLOOSE AND FANCY FREE.

Yesterday marked 28 weeks.  And for the most part, it was boring as fuck.
There wasn't anything that I could do and what made it all worse was that the weather was an absolutely beautiful follow-up to a week of Hell on Earth.

To help soothe my ass-hurt feelings and expectations of summer, here is a list of things I am happy / excited / hopeful / (insert some other hopelessly positive word here) about:

*  It has been a full week since my last visit to the hospital.  If my record serves me well, I have another two weeks of freedom.

*  Some good friends (read:  "other" parents) sent me 1001 New York Times Crosswords in a book.  It took me a while, but I finished the first one.  By the time this baby grows up and has a job of his own, I bet I will still have some left to complete.

*  My Mum came for a visit today and we had come Chinese Food.  I introduced her to the St. Louis favorite St. Paul Sandwich.  I'm pretty sure you can't get it anywhere else.  Picture this:  Your favorite Egg Foo Young (sans the gravy) on white bread with Lettuce, Pickle, Tomato and Mayo.  You know you want it.

*  The September 14th Picnic "For No Reason" is still ON.  True, I will just sit there and bark orders at everyone, but it will be a good time and I will be out of the house.

*  Receiving gifts makes me uneasy.  My favorite thing is to buy my Hub awesome shit that he would never buy for himself.  Recently, I found out that one of my good friends is a dealer of something that is easily one of my Hub's favorite things.  My plan is to buy one of said things for my Hub and have it delivered to our home the day we come home with the baby.  I can't tell you what it is - on the off chance that the Hub reads this.  I'm not a fan of the "push present" that is often given to new mothers.  But, I am huge fan of the "servitude swag" that is given when a Hub is especially outstanding at taking care of a woman on bed rest.

I am taking these positive points as a solid sign that I am settling into bed rest.  It doesn't mean that bed rest is any easier, but that I have found constructive things to think about while I am trapped here.  In comparison with the last several weeks, I am "Movin' Right Along"

ANOTHER SATURDAY NIGHT AND I AIN'T GOT NOBODY.

Just a word of warning to those of you who find yourselves on bed rest. . .

Under NO circumstance should you watch a movie called Bachelorette.

It is on Netflix - Streaming and I'm pretty sure this shit went straight to home video, despite the usually stellar individual actors.

The Hub suggested it after I made zero attempts to turn off the Candy Crush Saga.

10 minutes in, he made the follow-up suggestion that we ditch before we lost too much life.  But, no, I thought there was a chance of a recovery.

I was wrong.

We watched it to the bitter end.  And I am pretty sure that I lost more than just a couple hours of my life.

For sticking it out, I deserve solitary.

Alllll by myself. . . . . 

KNOW THINE ENEMY.

The Hub and I spent time in the Clink last night.  Having counted contractions for two hours and finding them to be coming between five and 7 minutes - regularly, we called and headed to the hospital.

Monitoring showed a severely irritable uterus - meaning that I was contracting like crazy but not making cervical headway.  (This is a good thing!)  Fearing that might change, I was given a shot of Terbutaline.  Let me explain it.  It is a slightly stinging shot administered into the meat of the shoulder.  Almost immediately, it makes you feel like the bottom has dropped out and your heart is beating out of your chest.  You spend the next two hours or so feeling like you can't shake off a growing stress.  (Kind of like work, right?)

Thankfully, we remembered the ipad last night and the Hub discovered that Terbutaline is a derivative of Epinephrine - also known as the junk in an EpiPen.  Yeah.  I have had that several times due to really shitty allergic reactions.  Ugh!

Meanwhile, I had a cervical length check and it was good - I'm still 4+.  The doctor was really sweet and actually made it into my vagina with the probe without dinging off any other markers.  Nice!

The most important part of the visit, was the naming of names.  No, this was no regal religious service.  But, I pronounce it must more important.  I now have a name for my affliction.

Silent Dilator.

I am a silent dilator.  I do not feel contractions like a normal body.  Instead, I rely on my own uterine palpations to identify contractions from the outside.  Think that's easy?  You are wrong.

Silent dilators move effortlessly from 4+ cervical lengths to 4cm dilation.  Silent dilators often feel NO pain until the urge to push is upon them.  Silent dilators are gifted with a near painless delivery but cursed with lack of warning to labor.

Somehow, it feels empowering to finally have a name for this bastard that killed my first baby.

JACKPOT!

I have been searching high and low for the hospital grade mesh underwear and accompanying jumbo diaper sized pads that one receives after delivery.  Seriously, girls, these things saved my life last time.  While the hospital sends you home with a stockpile, I am so sensitive to the smell of Lochia (read:  Holy SHIT!) that I feel the need to change supplies VERY FREQUENTLY.

So, in honor of my new found SUPPLIER. .

THE PADS

THE UNDERWEAR

You are welcome.

SLOW DRIVE TO INSANITY.

Let's talk about bed rest.

I know some of you are on it.  And it sucks.  This isn't really for us.  This is for all of the fools out there who think bed rest is a mini vacation of sleep and relaxation.  This is for the asshats who like to tell us that it is all worth it in the end.  This is for all of the morons who, if they tell me it's just a little thing I must do for my child, I will search for the most illegal, longest ranging, high-powered rifle and kill them in their home from my bed. . . But, really, Mr. FBI-Man, that isn't feasible.  I can barely even fire a gun - much less make the perfect shot over houses and around corners.  Right.

So, let's talk about bed rest.

I try my hardest to keep a regular schedule.  I know that if I sleep too much during the day, I will eventually NOT sleep at night.  As it is, my insomnia prevents me from falling asleep soon enough.  So, I typically wake up between 830 and 930am and go to bed between 1030 and 11pm.  I feel like this is as normal as it gets right now.

Once I wake up, I lay in bed whilst allowing my fuzzy eyes to focus on something.  I breathe.  A lot.  I'm waiting to feel the baby wake-up, too.  I've read about other women drinking soda and eating candy bars prior to their OB appointments, but I need to feel my child move EVERY morning.

When the baby has gotten his morning calisthenics out of the way, I get up and take care of business.  Potty time and oral hygiene and a change of PJs helps me feel better and ready to face the day.  On the couch.

Lately I have watched across the street as our neighbors are putting in a garage from the ground up.  I approve of their building methods.

Eventually, I start snacking.  I am very aware of my lack of physical activity.  Therefore, when I eat, I make sure to control both the portions and the calories.  I am making sure that both the baby and I get the necessary input because GOOD GRAVY, people, I am already having some serious muscle atrophy.

At some point, I will start a marathon of television - both DVRd and "live"

Of course, while all of this is happening (did I really just refer to my life as "all of this?!?!?"), I am drinking copious amounts of water to help stave off additional contractions.  Additional to the few I have each hour in spite of the bed rest.

When the Hub finally gets home, he takes the Puppers out for some play time - can I tell you how frustrating it is that I can't play with her?  Throwing a ball is bad, bad, bad.

Dinner is made and served shortly after.

Then, we talk and watch TV and my Hub tries desperately to suggest activities until I start to feel really grubby and go take a shower.

Bedtime follows closely.

Think that this all sounds like a good day?  Did I mention that I was heavily reclined or on my side in bed during these activities?  Do you know what constant laying does to your body?  The less physical activity you have, the more exhausted you get.  The more exhausted you are, the less you want to do. . . it's a vicious circle, people!

Meanwhile, dear bed resters, I can't completely leave you out of this one. . . here are some things that keep me amused while I "lay about". .

*  Sudoku.  I do a few and then stop.  There is something about newsprint paper that make me reminisce about grade school.

*  Crossword Puzzles.  I do one and then stop.  I <3 the New York Times Crossword Puzzle.

*  Television.  This must be limited to detour from Crazy Town.  But, I enjoy Orange is the New Black, Covert Affairs, and any number of crime shows.  I try to limit this to a few hours a day - with the little addition of St Louis Cardinals Baseball.  That usually rounds out my nights.

*  Researching baby products.  My Hub and I are *not* those people.  We are not buying everything under the sun for our offspring.  Instead, we have a short list that must be procured prior to the baby's arrival.  Last night, we talked about said products so that if I went into labor today, he could run out and get everything.  Smart?  Oh yeah.  Prepared?  Oh yeah.  One short mile from Crazy Town?  OH YEAH!  (Kool-Aid Man, whut-whut?)

*  Because I have my own hang-ups about preparing for the baby, I have yet to do any craftiness for him.  I have the "ingredients" for a baby blanket and a myriad of other supplies with which to knit awesomeness, but I can't bring myself to do any of it.  Fear is a strong anti-motivator.  But, I hear crafts are awesome for bed rest.  IF you can do them laying down.  ;)

Eventually, I should write a post about baby products that I plan to use so that I can then write about just how right or wrong I was - after the baby has arrived.  Perhaps I will add blogging to my list of things to do more often. . . Right.

PROCESS OF ELIMINATION.

It has taken a week or so, but I have pin-pointed my latest shitty symptom of pregnancy.  No, this time it has nothing to do with actual shit. . .

Sometimes, late at night, I wake up with a mouth full of vomit.  Yes.  I said that.

If I'm too asleep to move quickly, I might swallow it. . . Other times, I might make a run for it.

As it turns out, if I eat too late and in a large quantity, I don't have enough time to digest (thanks to a super slow digesting baby).  Therefore, I have gnarly acid reflux in the night.

So, as part of a trial, I will no longer eat after 9pm.  Or, if I must,it will be a snack sized meal.

Congratulations, you made it through this post.

Ugh!

ONCE A WEEK.

Per my OB, I need some mental health checks.  So, to keep me from going nuts (and bolts), I am allowed to go out to eat and to a movie once a week.  Of course, there must be door side drop off and I have to limit my walking.  But, seriously, I already noticed that my bedroom ceiling needs to be repainted and my bed is no longer the safe haven it once was. . . It is taking on the characteristics of a lethal injection station.  Ugh.

So, today, I am fantasizing about my next outing.  I'm not sure where I will go or what I will do, but, I'm going to make it good.  Anyone interested in joining?

I would love to do the following outings. . .

Mani-Pedi at my spa
Facial and Brazillian Wax at my spa (Yeah.  This is more of a loner thing, right?)
Sunday Lunch at the Belleville Eckert's
Five Guys Burgers and Fries is a quick dinner
Dewey's Pizza makes me smile (with spinach in my teeth)
Top of the Riverfront for Sunday Brunch is over priced but the view is worth it to me

I'm sure that with some thought I can come up with more.  Perhaps the more I come up with, the longer I will stay pregnant.  Perhaps.

NERP. NERP. NERP.

It's Monday.  I'm 26 weeks pregnant and I think it is a good time to talk about Nipples during Pregnancy.  (I can't wait to see how many people find this blog due to that last statement.)

During pregnancy, a woman's breasticles experience some big changes.  Also, some BIG CHANGES.

In the beginning (No, I'm not going to reference the blog post), there is pain.  No, not a sharp, stinging, fleeting pain, but a dull, aching, never-ending bastard of a pain.  Jacks?  Remember that post now?  It felt like my fun-bags were filled with Jacks.  

Then, the Nipples get tender.  I'm talking chaffed tender.  Raw tender.  OMG!  They are so red tender!!

Eventually, you find yourself waking in the middle of the night - thankful that you have just clipped your fingernails down to the nubbins, because you are scratching at your Nipples in a subconscious effort to tear them off.  Yes.  It's *that* bad.

Now, 26 weeks in, I can tell you that my normally pale pink precipices have darkened and enlarged.  One article suggested that they darken so that your primarily blind infant will be able to see them.  I'm pretty sure any infant that I have ever seen in the throes of hunger is usually crying and not actively looking for a booby-bulls-eye.

You ever look at those "natural" bottle toppers at the store and laugh thinking how they are nothing near "natural"?  Yeah.  They are.  Totally not kidding.  Totally real.  Giant cylindrical block of a nipple perched on top of a puffy half circle of areola stamped into an enormous breasticle.  Sound appealing?

Luckily, the only discomfort as of late is a feeling that I'm experiencing a "let down" - those of you who have lactated before will know exactly what I'm talking about.  Essentially, when your child cries, your body responds by "letting down" your milk.  Sounds romantic and natural, right?  Wrong.  When the let down comes, it feels like a skinhead has just kicked the inside of your chest with his BIG RED BOOTS.  

When you have already had a child, it is more likely that you will experience lactation prior to giving birth.  My boobalyns are telling me that I will be so lucky.

So, for now, I continue to smear stretchmark lotion all over myself and keep adding fun stuff like "breast pads" to my "need before the baby comes" list.

JOYS IN THE LITTLE THINGS.

Given that the Hub is driving an hour (one frickin' way) for work every day and I recently started my Leave of Absence (doesn't LoA make you think of "Sit on my Face"?) I need to release a few things into the webiverse. . .

*  Laying down on my side relieves the contractions that seem to come whenever the baby has a kicking fit, I've been upright too long or I'm under too much stress.

*  I love feeling the baby move, but let me be clear:  it gets trying when it feels like he is trying to kick my belly button into an outie.

*  The baby just rocked my world so hard that the iPad switched from upright to landscape view.  He totally read my mind on that last bullet.

*  Even if I am not working for a while, I am going to continue to keep getting up during the week.  I want to keep a normal sleep schedule.  Now, to find something I can fill in the time with. . . Crosswords, craft projects, reading. . .

*  This actually isn't a freak show.  By, it feels that way at times.

SEROIUS TOPICS CALL FOR SERIOUS POSTS.

Just a quick story from my time in the Clink. . .

On the afternoon of my first day, a second year OB came to administer a trans-vaginal ultrasound so that we could get a good idea of my cervical length.  Really, they were looking for anything over 3cm.  My previous measurement was 4.9. . . so the stitch was working.

This particular exam, however, wasn't to begin without some bumps.  It is as if the OB wasn't even looking at her target - and as an amateur sharp shooter, I have to tell you that the more eyes on the target, the better the chance of hitting it!

Instead of gently guiding the probe into my vagina, she instead tried to force it through my clitoris.  My Clitoris.

In my head, my evil voice was screaming. . "is that where yours is??"  Instead of vocalizing, I simply started to raise my hips to help the OB get to the goal.  Ahhhhhh.

It wasn't a good day to begin with - so really, this was all ICING.

AT ITS BEST AND WORSE. CONCOMITANTLY.

I learned the word:  concomitant.  I only learned it because when I was reading medical journals in the hospital, I wanted to make sure that I wasn't going to die due to concomitant usage of two tocolytic drugs.  I did not.

This morning, I had what was probably the most comfortable sleep - in the last year.  However, it was not without its drawbacks.  I also managed to have one of the worst nightmares of my life.  Somehow, it didn't hurt the physical comfort.

Let me tell you about my crazy.

The Hub and I went to visit his parents for a quiet visit and it turned out that they had invited the entire extended family to see us.  No good - especially when I was supposed to be on bed rest.  So, I said some choice words and then took off in the car - leaving the Hub to manage.

On my way out of his small hometown, I took a moment to go mountain biking in an alleyway (think city brick-lined alley.)  As I rode through, I noticed that there were piles of dead livestock - horses, primarily.  One, particularly, had a pile of baby horses just outside the entrace to their garage.

So, ever the cavalier, I strode into the garage to read the riot act to the owners.  I got their sob story about being unable to care for the horses. . . of course, none of this was important once I was asked to "show" their new breed of miniature cows at the state fair.

The rest of the dream consisted of me struggling to pull on shiny new muck boots and practicing marching around the arena with a miniature cow in tow.

Now, you tell me.  What the fuck does this have to do with anything?

PIMPIN' AIN'T EASY.

So, I have a saga to tell you.  A week ago today, my child started to go absolutely jerk-face insane (read:  I thought he was trying to kick out my side-wall.)  I put my hand on my belly and noticed that the entirety was hard as a rock. 

Uh-oh.

So, I waited and after it relaxed, it happened again.  And again.

When I was to 6 in one hour, I called my OB.  The office directed me to go immediately to the local high risk hospital.  (My day was definitely deteriorating fast.)  I cried and then got cleaned up and into the car.

Yes.  This is the second time I drove myself to the hospital while having contractions.  Thankfully (and not so thankfully, I do not feel contractions.  But, we'll get to this later).

In triage, my check-in nurse remembered me.  She had been my first contact and first nurse when I checked-in to have Mira.  It was a sad moment.  But, then, things started moving fast. . . doppler, ultrasound and then cervical check.  My cervix is tender and it bleeds on contact.  Doesn't that make you cringe?  My cerclage was still in one piece (I'm not sure that is the right descriptor, but we'll go with it.)

An awesome nurse plunged an IV into my hand started fluids - though, I can tell you that as a 2+ gallon a day water drinker, I didn't need.  I was given a shot of Terbutaline (a fast working tocolytic) and whisked upstairs to the Labor and Delivery floor.  The "Terb" makes you feel like you are going to jump out of your skin.  It makes you antsy and uncomfortable.  But, it helps wane the contractions long enough to move you to another place.

In L&D, I was inspected again - by another OB and because I was already bleeding all over the place, they couldn't perform a Fetal Fibronectin test.  If they could have, it would have shown if I was going to go into labor in the next two weeks or not.  Yeah.  My body likes to kill the easy road.

So, instead, they measured everything manually - and used a bedside ultrasound to tell me that my cervical length was 2.  ALARM!

The Hub arrived and I started Magnesium.  Again.  This shit is still and will always be the worst shit in the world.  Of course, I also received two shots (over two days) of Betamethazone for the baby's lungs.  Those feel like like lava being forced through a needle and deep into your ass cheek.  (The things we do for our babies!!)

Fast forward a day and I was wheeled down to PeriNatal for a high tech ultrasound scan.  Yes.  I was out of my gourd with the Magnesium, but, it was worth it.  Our boy is long and strong and beautiful.  And, the good news. . . my cervix measured 4.6.  If you don't know, that is really long and perfect.

In another night, I was taken off the Mag and put on ProCardia - a high blood pressure medicine that has a lovely side effect as a tocolytic.  Other than making me flush deep red with heat every six hours, it worked.  By Friday, I was moved to the Ante Partum unit.

Now. . . this place, isn't where you want to be, but it is a step up from the L&D unit.  The women on AP are there for the long haul.  They are suffering all types of yuck from placenta previa to PTL.  The nurses are there for companionship as well as guardianship.  (Every single day, I thanked the universe for Colleen.)

Finally, on Sunday morning, I was wheeled down to PeriNatal again for another scan where they determined that my cervix had not changed.  So, guess what?  I got to go home on modified bedrest.

I can work for a couple hours and then take a break.  So - I think this post counts as work.  Right?

I will have weekly appointments with my OB and our goal is to make it through the beginning of September - to 28 weeks.  We set small goals - they are more attainable. 

I hope you have had a better week than I had.

MILESTONE DAYS.

Here we are on another fine Monday morning.  Let's not kid ourselves, people.  Mondays blow and forever will.  The only thing that perks me up today is this:  Per our original calculations, I have officially made it past the gestational age that I gave birth to Mira.  Last Tuesday came and went with a flourish that only a work conference can bring.  And the food sucked.  Don't get me started.

I have started to get the hormones - sounds like a real disease when you say it like that.  Last Wednesday afternoon, I cried when I found a tiny spider vein on my belly.  Friday, I cried because I was so tired and then I cried harder when my nose began to bleed and I only noticed it after I had chuffed it all over my desk and laptop screen.  Do you know what an ugly cry looks like when you are leaking snot, tears and blood all at once?  I'll step back a moment and let you laugh that one out.

I'm not more rested today than I am on Friday, but I feel better.  Perhaps it was sleeping in until 930 on the weekend.  It could have been the fact that I put my feet up for most of the weekend.  Or, I'm thinking the lack of work. . . that usually does it.  Whatever the reason, I feel better. 

Because I know that the better feeling never lasts, here are a few thoughts and ideas I will reflect on to get me through the next week:

*  When older gentlemen notice your Bump and then proceed to wickedly smile and make a comment on your pregnancy, I suspect it is because they know you put out.

*  No one has touched my belly, unwelcomed.  This either speaks volumes on the advancement of social convention OR the fact that I'm a scary looking monster.

*  I am thankful that no friends, who are privy to my ever-growing secret, have spilled the beans on FB or anywhere else.

*  Speaking of FB, the Hub and I have an appointment on Thursday, during which we will have another giant ultrasound to try to determine the actual gestational age of the pregnancy.  Afterwards, we will likely, finally, announce the pregancy.  FaceBook Official.  Oh-fiss-ee-AL.

*  My upper back has been causing me great discomfort.  Do you know who this makes me think of?  Otto Titsling.  Seriously.  Look him up.

*  The Hub is still looking for a new job.  I feel like if I focus my energy on that, he will get one sooner.  You should help, too.  =)

It's Monday.  Give yourself something to smile about today.  Go somewhere nice for lunch, give yourself an extra 30 minutes of sitting somewhere quiet for no reason, or accept someone's compliment and really believe them.

MILESTONE DAYS.

Wow.  I haven't posted since last MILESTONE DAY.  That makes me sad.  And curious as to what I'm doing with my life all the time.  Oh.  Let me think. . . . I went grocery shopping, I bought a pair of shoes (for my newly over-sized feet - THANK YOU, RELAXIN!), I had a donut date with My Manda (sweet Apple Fritters of love), and I had a my weekly shot and OB appointment.

As you know, the next several weeks bring weekly appointments.  Next week's appointment will boast yet another anatomy scan of the baby.  Our OB is pretty sure we are actually 25 weeks this Wednesday instead of 23 weeks today.  We'll get to the bottom of this madness.

So, onto more . . . pressing stuff.

I am sad.  The last three nights, I have had the worst nightmares.  One featured my dead father and me - arguing.  Not the best time.  Likely, the stress of the Hub being out of permanent work and today being the start of my 23rd week is taking its toll. 

Mira was born and died when I was 23w1d.  It was a Tuesday. 

To make this joy-fest even better, the Hub is working days with his Dad's company out of town.  This is very similar to what happened last September when I started labor and had to call him from the hospital to have him rush home.

I think we are both feeling a little anxious about this week.  But, I'm also feeling strong and really good (sans the noticeable lack of sleep.) 

In order to get me through this week, here are a few things I am looking forward to:

*  Seeing out of town co-workers and friends for the next three days at our conference

*  Taking a deep breath when I get the Hub added to my insurance on Wednesday

*  Seeing my SIL's pretty face after her successful surgery on Friday (to remove a noggin tumor)

*  Paying off my Discover Card (does this count if I do this every two weeks?)

*  Accruing another day towards my maternity leave (man, I am stretching on some of these)

*  Feeling every awesome kick and punch that this baby has to dole out.


Yah.

MILESTONE DAYS.

Hello!  People all over the world. . join hands!  (Start a love train?)
It has been a week and two days since my last time in the clink.
(Yes, that really is how I feel about being in the hospital.)

Since that time, I have breathed a little relief. . . until the Hub came home and announced that he had been laid off work.  Because, nothing in this house can ever be easy.  The weekend was spent updating portfolios and resumes and redoing a LinkedIn account.  Now, I think we're all ready to apply for new jobs.  The bad news, of course, is that 40% of the Hub's industry is out of work.  Great.

So what does this mean?
Thankfully, I have a good job and can take care of business while the Hub is out of work.  Unfortunately, the Hub is so much like me that he cannot "do nothing."  Therefore, he will likely start working for his father's company (an hour away) and staying there most of the work-week.  This will leave me at home with our pup and my ever growing child.  Exciting.  Who needs bed rest?

In honor of our newly jacked-up situation, here is a list of non-seq comments for your pleasure:

*  I have gained 8 pounds.  That's it.  Most women, at this point, have gained closer to 15 pounds.  I'm alright with this.  I'm a big girl anyway.  (No, not that big. . . and yes, my OB says this is alright.)

*  Our child takes after Daddy with the food favorites.  He likes Chicken Chimichangas - and not Mommy's favorite burritos. 

*  I was able to use my experience with 17P shots to put someone at ease this weekend.  While I have a high pain tolerance, I feel like the 17P shot has got nothing on discomfort when it comes to Cortizone.  Really - after the initially stick (which is pretty deep), there really isn't any pain.

*  Today was my neighborhoods large junk day.  I'm sure there are other words for this, but my brain isnt' allowing me to think of them right now.   Last night, when all of our neighbors were putting their large items on the curb, I kind of wished I had something obnoxious to put out there as well. 

*  I didn't make it to Krispy Kreme this weekend.  This makes me sad.

*  Does your spouse have access to all user names/pw to all of your accounts?  My Hub does.  In the even of something horrible happening, I made sure that all of my accounts (anything, people) are open to him.  I want him to be able to collect monies, emails, etc.  I think this is also good practice for strong trust.  Or something, painfully cheesy like that.

I hope your week is starting off a little better than mine.  What would my life be without some horrible shit happening every year?  Oh yeah. . it would be your life.  ;)  You're welcome.

SIX DAYS LATER.

It has been six days since my last pregnancy emergency.  My goal this time?  Three weeks.
(I'm being realistic here, folks.  I would love to NEVER have another emergency, but that is like counting on sprouting wings from my heels and soaring into the stratosphere.)  So, in essence, I have 15 days to go and I will meet my goal.  That's two weeks and 1 day for your calculation-challenged people.

On this oppressively hot Friday, I thought I would give you a list of updates / things I have to be glad about (Yes.  Another fucking Pollyanna day.  Eat it, punk.)

*  I have made it six days without contracting (to my knowledge) or leaking (anything other than the occasional pee.)  Again, being realistic requires me to accept the occasional self-pee simply because I have a child whose favorite time is playing bouncy castle on my bladder.  No lie.

*  I got out of the house yesterday and spent time with two of my favorite people.  BONUS:  Sticky Toffee Pudding with real Whipped Cream.

*  On Tuesday, I received my Cortisone shots and I can tell you that my hands and wrists feel like normal.  That shit is extremely painful (read:  shooting lava into your wrists and hands and then forcing your hands to flex to move it around) but completely worth it.  I haven't had any bad Carpal Tunnel juju since!

*  One of my favorite out-of-towners is home for a week and he missed the behemoth that is me when I am pregnant - last time.  So, I am looking forward to sporting my bump for Bart.  "Bump for Bart"  It's like a really gross charity.  Ew.

*  I saw the trailer for Thor2.  I'm not going to lie.  I will be seeing that eventually.

*  This winter, when it is really fucking cold out and the child is still so young that he sleeps all the time, the Hub and I are going to host a party.  We will have some obscene ice sculpture shot luge, a fire pit and a pony keg.  People are welcome if they bring one of two items:  a bottle of shootable liquor (no Popov, you cheapskate!) or a warm and delicious dish to share.  Your child is welcome if s/he is anesthetized or young enough to sleep in a dark room with our child.  Seriously.  You can't be exposing young minds to a bunch of drunk adults sucking chilled shots of liquor out of a naked woman shot luge made out of ice!  Dress warmly, ya'll!

*    I think my Hub takes it as a bad omen that every time he plans to tell his parents that we are having another baby - I end up in the hospital.  Perhaps in another two weeks. . . when we are officially past where we got to last time.

*  My belly seam has expanded.  No, not East to West, but NORTH.  So, now it looks like I have a FULL belly seam.  That's not so bad.  It's actually lighter than the one I have below the equator.  However.  HOWEVER!  Because I had gallbladder surgery, the seam is just a little to the left and doesn't match up perfectly.  I look like I'm wearing a skin suit that was pieced together at the last minute.  Either that, or I'm just dirty.

*  The Hub and I talked last night about who will be allowed in the Labor and Delivery room.  We had this conversation last time, but I felt the importance necessitated a revisit.  Listen, guys, what it boils down to is this:  You get a vote.  You could vote for your mother or your father or whomever you want - to be in the room while your child is born.  But, seeing that it is not YOUR vagina being poked, stretched and prodded by every asshole who comes in, your partner gets TWO votes.  Final Words:  Your partner decides who is in the room.  Your job is to ensure that happens.  The nurses are there to make sure your birthing experience is as close to your plan as possible.  There is very little they can control for you - keeping your baby's expectant fan club in the waiting room is one of them.

*  In an effort to save money, I have sworn a solemn oath to "try" and make dinner every night at home - and send the left-overs as lunch for the Hub during the week.  As of right now - Friday lunchtime - I have succeeded doing so since Sunday.  So, six whole days of eating at home - "Pantry Digging" as I like to call it.  I even have a meal planned for tonight, but let's be honest.  It's Friday and I have a friend in town.  You can't go to Ted Drewes for dessert without having an amazing Steak au Poivre somewhere first.  And, by somewhere, I mean not at home.

I pulled away from maternity on that last one. . . but, you get the point.  This is my pregnant life as I'm living it.  It is not an easy life, but it is the one that I have with my child.  Now that everything has calmed, I hope to post more often again.  It's just hard to do when you are holding your breath.

CUTTING IT CLOSE.

Knowing that I would be home bound for two weeks (at least) bothered me.  So, I decided to meet some friends at a mall for lunch and a quick shopping excursion (Code names:  MeeMee, Corenthal the murdering bus driver, and Smell.)  I managed to get one of the two items on my list and have a delicious lunch at the Nordstrom Bistro before noticing that I was having contractions.

Not the kind of friends to let me leave on my own (how did they know I was going to drive straight home?), all three girls accompanied me to the local high risk hospital (the same one Mira was born in.)  Check-in was swift and I was subjected to a battery of tests, which included trans-vaginal and abdominal ultrasounds, uterine monitoring, blood pressure monitoring, pelvic examination, urine sampling, blood sampling, and vaginal cultures.  Seriously.  There was nothing left to test.

Luckily, every single test came back negative.  So, eventually, I was released and drove home to have a cannoli.  (Isn't that the answer to everything?)

Here are a few things I learned. . .

*  They hospital folks recalculated my due date to match the second date given by my OB:  November 13/14.

*  The baby is happy and healthy and  measuring perfectly for 22w3d (as of yesterday.)  The estimated weight?  1lb5oz.  Big Baby.

*  My girlfriends are amazing.  There is nothing like having a group of women that you have known since childhood, to put you at ease when you feel like you are starting down a nightmare.  Again.

So, I'm in the house.  Feel free to come by.  I like company and if you swing by at the right time, I will have dinner ready.  Don't bring anything.  There is no price of admission.  But, if you were taught by your Mama to never show up empty-handed, you can bring shaved-ice, a board game, some funny stories. . . Yeah.