Tag Archives: Pregnancy

I’ve Lost My Mojo

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I seem to have misplaced my funny. I’ve looked for it in all of the usual places, the fridge, the couch cushions – places that I frequently misplace my car keys. It’s nowhere to be found.

With Sophie it was just the opposite. I was a grouch during pregnancy, then right after I had her I was right back to my normal self. With both Ruby and Hunter, though, there wasn’t a lot of change in personality while pregnant but, immediately following, the bitch alarm was sounded with the volume turned on high.

With Hunter it took almost a year to find myself again. I’m not sure I’m prepared for another year of this shit, I’m not sure my family is prepared for another year of this shit, either. Pregnancy is a real bitch – how do you just forget who you are for any amount of time? If I could draw a picture of my hormones, I’d tack it to the wall and throw darts at it every morning before I start my day. Shit, I may just throw darts at the wall anyway. Better than at my husband, right?

I’m working on losing the baby weight, wishful thinking has me hoping that if I get back to my pre-baby body I will feel a little more like myself. ‘Cause the only thing friendlier than a hormonal, post-pregnant woman is a hormonal, post-pregnant woman on a diet. Just ask Scott.

In other news: Sophie has found the word “owie!” It didn’t take long for her to realize that someone will always come running if she so much as utters it. Can’t get her shoe on? OWIE! Doesn’t want to take a nap? OWIE! Wants to go outside and play? OWIE!

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Holy Shit, I Shaved

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You may not take shaving to be a great feat but, for a woman just recently out of pregnancy, it’s reason for celebration. As for Scott, he’s got the party hat on and streamers up. I hate to see what he comes home from the party store with on my first day back into the ol’ pre-baby jeans. Something tells me it won’t be the balloons and streamers type of party store on that day, though.

The thing about pregnancy is – It sucks. Yes, I know I’ve said that before but, believe me, it deserves another mention. Hormones are high, ankles are large, and don’t get me started on that one random greasy spot in my hair that even the industrial sized shampoo couldn’t get rid of.

In fact, the only thing worse than pregnancy are the few months following it. I forgot about this part. I’m fairly confident that women block out all things involving child-bearing as a survival method ’cause good God, if we remembered what it was like the last time every time, let’s face it – The human race would have ended years ago.

In case you are considering more children, here’s a handy guide to remind you of all things that suck after childbirth. Just in case you forgot.

- Two big, round, wet spots on the front of your shirt everytime the child cries. So, pretty much always.
- Sore, full, rubbery boobs.
- Miserably painful abs. (If you are on pregnancy #3 or more – “abs” are those things you had before #2)
- Leaky bladder.
- Flabby belly.
- Hungry all the time. All. The. Time.
- Blubbering episodes. Possibly worse than your newborn’s.
- Everybody hates you. Or, so you think. Not all that bad – since you hate them more.
- Sleep. Come again?
- Time stops every 3 hours. On the dot.
- Nothing fits. Maternity clothes are too big and everything else is too small.
- Exhaustion. To tell ya the truth, I already forgot what this post was about.
- Grocery shopping. Could also be mistaken for a circus act.
- Tack on another hour to everything that you do. Everything.
- Terribly jealous #1 and #2 that fight for lap space.
- Pregnancy hormones x 1,000,000

I need a nap.

Unfortunately, the Easy Button Doesn’t Apply

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I got a call from the nurse this morning, my C-Section is scheduled for next Thursday. Not only am I shaking in my boots, I’m fairly certain that I could star in a weight loss pill commercial given the large brown spot on the back of my pants. You know – the ones with “uncontrollable oily diarrhea” as a side effect. Which, last time I checked, is just about every one of them.

I have friends that have C-Sections because they are too scared to give birth naturally. Obviously, these are my crazy friends. Sorry Kristy.

Its not the taking a knife and slicing me open like a fish filet at the Red Lobster, its the doing that while I’m awake that makes me want to poop my pants. I’ve had surgery before. One of the great blessings that I inherited from my mother was gallbladder disease. To this day I have no idea why we have a body part that we could do without. It makes me a little nervous considering Ancient Egyptians thought the brain was useless. Then again, I guess in certain instances it is. Oh, snap.

So, there’s no turning back now. Believe me, I checked. While I haven’t read the Bible from front to back, I am somewhat familiar with it and I’m fairly certain that it says somewhere in there that this isn’t the sort of thing that can be reversed. I also called Staples, they said the easy button doesn’t apply.

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Baby Ruby is a Slacker Already

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Its been a while since I’ve posted about baby Ruby and our recent progress. I say “our” progress because I figure she does half the work. She’s supposed to, anyway. However, at our routine visit to the doctor a couple weeks ago, I found out that Ruby is apparently slacking on her duties. She is breech and not likely to turn before delivery.

It is common for those with a bicornuate uterus to end up with breech babies at term. The reason being, baby doesn’t realize its time to turn until there is no longer room for them to. For those of you who are unfamiliar with this condition, here is a quick explanation to get you up to speed.

A bicornuate uterus or bicornate uterus, commonly referred to as a “heart-shaped” uterus, is a type of uterine malformation where two “horns” form at the upper part of the uterus.

Effect on reproduction
Pregnancies in a bicornuate uterus are usually considered high-risk and require extra monitoring because of association with poor reproduction potential.

A bicornuate uterus is associated with increased adverse reproductive outcomes like:

Recurrent pregnancy loss: the reproductive potential of a bicornuate uterus is usually measured by live birth rate (also called fetal survival rate). This rate is estimated around 63% for a bicornuate uterus.

Preterm birth: with a 15 to 25% rate of preterm delivery. The reason that a pregnancy may not reach full-term in a bicornuate uterus often happens when the baby begins to grow in either of the protrusions at the top. A short cervical length seems to be a good predicter of preterm delivery in women with a bicornuate uterus.

Malpresentation (breech birth or transverse presentation): a breech presentation occurs in 40-50% pregnancies with a partial bicornuate uterus and not at all (0%) in a complete bicornuate uterus.

Previously, a bicornuate uterus was thought to be associated with infertility, but recent studies have not confirmed such an association.

Although I am terribly disappointed with the news, I am grateful to have been able to deliver both of my first two vaginally. Hunter in particular, as he was premature. According to my OB/Gyn, a vaginal delivery for preemie babies is best because the trip through the birth canal squeezes all the crap out of their under-developed lungs.

The idea of having a C-Section is less than exciting for me. Mostly because I’m a big baby. The thought of being cut open while awake makes me want to pull my blanky out of the top drawer and throw back a few shots of vodka. Unfortunately, my doctor seriously frowns upon such behavior and I pay him a lot of money to tell me these things.

If only I could turn back time about a month and know what I know now. I’d have used hand-walking as my method of travel and removed the headboard from my bed to create an upside down slant for sleeping.

Added bonus: I’m fairly certain my husband would have slept on the couch, making plenty of room for the baby belly and body pillow. Also, a lot less snoring in my ear.

So, I’m sitting at 4 cm dilated now with 10 baby toes kicking the crap out of my cervix. My water is bound to break sooner rather than later if things continue to progress the way they are. Doctor is checking me regularly and a C-Section will be performed next week, assuming Ruby doesn’t decide she’s ready before then. Which, knowing my children, I’m counting on.

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I’ve Officially Lost My Balls

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Well folks, I’ve gone done did it. Yep, that’s right, I’m talking about the “M” word. Minivan.

I have to say, I don’t feel any different. I thought for sure that on the day I brought a minivan home I’d wake up and instantly have developed 10 bonus wrinkles under my eyes, but that didn’t happen. Believe me, I checked.

I did throw out my rainbow striped hat, however. There was just no making that work without stopping by Target and picking up some Bonne Bell lip gloss and glitter. Even then I was afraid the guy beside me at the stop light would call in a runaway that had obviously stolen her mothers car.

I’m comfortable with this new found position I have in life. The “oh, look at that poor lady, she’s sure got her hands full” and “is that a potato chip stuck to that lady’s ass?” position. If I didn’t have to wear maternity pants, I’d be at the store right now buying myself a whole basket of Lee jeans and button up sweaters. Hell, if the shoe fits, right?

I do have to say, though, the lack of balls sure make my granny panties fit more comfortably.

Sporting a mombus isn’t so bad. Really. Once you’re sitting inside its actually quite nice. I actually have to strain my ears to hear Hunter clear in the back. Thank you, Jesus. Its a pretty sporty little thing. It even has a spoiler – no shit. I had to ask the guy if the spoiler made it go faster because if it did, I’d be flinging this baby belly right up in that bitch and takin’ her home. And, that’s just what I did.

Pregnancy Takes Balls

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Although I’ve been pregnant twice before, pregnancy has a way of making me feel as though its my first time every time. Not in the, “Surprise! You just look fat until at least sixth months in” kinda way. No, that’s that shit that actually sticks.

What I mean is, every kick, every cramp, every gurgle, every hangnail, every green poop that presents itself, I’m playing Sherlock Holmes on Google Search. This pregnancy is by far the worst of the three, though. As far as obsessive sleuthing goes, that is. It could be attributed to the fact that this is also the only one that the labor & delivery nurses don’t know me by name or that I’ve done a “clean catch” test about 1,000 times so p-l-e-a-s-e don’t go over it again step by step by miserable fucking step.

The funny thing about a hospital is, they make it a point to tell their patients when there’s something wrong with their body. I know – that’s the shit, right?! So, although being there sucked ass, it provided me with peace of mind that everything was still okay with baby – despite the devil sitting on my shoulder whispering to me otherwise. And, by “devil”, I mean the teenage girl on Yahoo! Answers marked as “expert” telling me that vagina-slime means I’m going to die soon.

Thank the heavens above for laptops and cell phones with internet capabilities. It’d be a real bitch if I had to drag a PC around with me everywhere I go in order to conduct a Google search should there be an emergency situation. This all makes me wonder, how did women pre-internet days manage to successfully complete their pregnancies and birth a healthy baby? Its unfathomable. Even more, those same women had to do it without an epidural. *Shiver

Who knew it took balls to have a baby? You know, aside from those first few minutes that don’t actually count at all – no matter how crucial they may be in the conception process. Besides, I mean real balls… the kind that only women have.

Its Official – I’ve Gone Bananas

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In recent days, my life has revolved around bananas smothered in peanut butter and vanilla yogurt. Yoplait Thick & Creamy yogurt with a plastic baby spoon, to be precise. Not that I’m particular, I just know what I want.

The banana must be ripened until it possesses a texture that perfectly squishes between my cheek and gums, not too soft and not too hard. It is then topped with about a half cup of peanut butter, Jiffy creamy peanut butter. My body craves that sweet and salty goodness. I need it deep within my inner soul.

Anyway, I figure once I got to the point that my bones literally started to spread for the soul purpose of widening my hips, what the hell good would it do me to pass up that extra 1/4 cup of peanut butter? Guys, my BONES are spreading to widen my hips. No, these pants don’t make my butt look big, my butt IS big.

The good news? I can actually use the phrase, “I’m just big boned” and really mean it. SCORE.

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As it Turns Out, I am Just a Little Bit Crazy

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…YEP, another one of those.

Just as you were beginning to think that someone fed me a big bag of chocolate chip cookies and a jar of peanut butter in trade for never posting another I’m-pregnant-and-I-want-to-poke-your-eyes-out article again, I remembered that I’m pregnant and I want to poke your eyes out. That is, if you’re the lady at the store last week who snarled at me in disgust over the jelly donut on my face.

Well, we’re in the home stretch now, my dear friends. Two more months of bone rubbing on bone, muscle separating from muscle and skin defying gravity in ways that only God thought possible. Then, it will all be over but the crying. And, pooping. Oh, and eating.

On the up side, with each and every pregnancy I learn more and more about my body. Like, it is actually possible to out-smell a bloodhound. Especially when there’s food involved. Also, who knew that your bones could be all, “eh, I’m not comfortable here, I think I’ll just move to the left a few inches” and then DO IT.

The hormonal surge that comes with pregnancy is almost as miraculous as body parts just up and relocating. As it turns out, a few strong swimmers coupled with Marvin Gaye, and anyone can turn into a raging lunatic within a matter of weeks.

People say that pregnant women have a “glow”, that our eyes are always smiling, that we are just. so. darn. adorable. I have a hard time getting on board with all that, mostly because I know from personal experience that the “glow” they speak of comes from a combination of hot flashes and rosy cheeks from having puked all hours of the morning.

The good news. I’m almost done. FOR-E-VER.

Wherein I Announce: Sibling Rivalry is Good for the Soul

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Alright guys, this one requires a little back story. I know, it’s kind of like the prologue in a novel. No one really wants to read it. In fact, you throw up a little in your mouth when you see that there is one. But, you squeeze your butt cheeks together and get through it because you just know that, if you don’t, you’ll get somewhere near the middle of the book and be all, “What the hell? Her dog ate her pet rat when she was 6 and in order to understand the rest of the story YOU MUST know every detail about that incident?” Then, you read page 243, line 46 and it says, “See, should have read the prologue, dumbass.” Shit.

So, squeeze those butt cheeks together and read on:

You could probably find a few twigs and some grass behind my ear if you dare look these days. At your own risk, of course. I’ve been nesting. Severely. Because of this, stuff has been “disappearing” in great masses around the house. Like, 4 trips to the thrift store drop-off center with my SUV so full I had to call Scott for help to shut the door kind of masses.

I’m fairly certain that Hunter thinks his sister is stealing all of his things and burying them in the back yard. He is utterly confused as to why his toys have been reduced by nearly three-quarters over the course of the last few weeks. I allow him to believe this. After all, some good old-fashioned sibling rivalry is good for the soul. And, an easy “out” for mom. Please visit my “Contact” page for information as to where you can send hate letters and waving fingers.

You see, the truth of the matter is, he has no idea what toys are gone. He knows there are some missing, but if you asked him to name which ones, he’d reply – “Well, well…”, then get distracted by the Subway commercial on T.V. He’d then continue on with, “Subway, Eat Fresh” and walk out of the room. Just like that. A couple of years ago, when he was an only child, I would have followed him to the other room and picked his brain for more information. Now? I shrug my shoulders and silently thank the Lord for letting me get off that easy.

So, Hunter has this flashlight. It’s been broken for years, you guys. It DOESN’T WORK. It is the ONE thing that the kid is up in arms about. He has turned the house upside down to find the damn thing. I hear about it every day. EVERY DAY. It wasn’t even in good enough condition to give away. I threw it out. Along with the billions of other broken toys and action figure heads I found at the bottom of his toy box.

So, all of THAT was leading up to THIS:

On our way home from school today Hunter and I were having a conversation in the car. Well, I was talking, he was mostly shrugging his shoulders and replying with “uh huh” to pretty much everything I said. Here’s how it went down…

Me: Do you ever get to see Parker anymore? (His best friend from last year that is in a different class now.)

Hunter: Uh Huh

Me: You do? Do you get to see him at recess, then?

Hunter: Uh Huh

Me: That’s nice. At least you still get to play with him some.

Hunter: You know, he’s 5 now. (Clearly informing me of this because it meant he was cool himself for hanging out with a 5 year old.”

Me: Well, you’ll be 5 in just a couple of months.

Hunter: I WILL??

Me: Yep, 2 months.

Hunter: Is that like, the day after the day after tomorrow?

Me: No, it’s several weeks. It’s after Christmas. It will probably even be after the new baby is born.

Hunter: Oh. (Disappointed because this is AGES away.) The new baby will be here in a couple of months?

Me: Yep! Are you excited? You’re gonna have another little sister!! (Wishing I had a candy bar to offer in trade for a reaction with the slightest bit of excitement.)

Hunter: Well, I guess. Maybe she’ll have my flashlight when she comes out.

Me: HUH?

Hunter: The baby. It’s gotta be pretty dark in your belly. Maybe she’ll have my flashlight with her when the doctor takes her out of your tummy.

OH, FOR THE LOVE, MAN!

Through Weakness I Find Strength

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Today, I feel like crying. For no good reason, really. I just need to.

Today, I feel like curling up on the couch with a cup of hot cocoa and a warm, fuzzy blanket.

Today, I want a cinnamon roll. A hot one with butter and cream cheese frosting.

Today, I want to turn my phone off and forget all about it until tomorrow.

Today, I feel like closing my eyes and taking a long nap without kids banging on the bedroom door.

Today, I want to be loved on and babied.

Today, I feel lost. Confused.

Today, I feel vulnerable.

Today, I realized that I never knew my own strength until I became a mother.

Today, I realized that there is no strength like that of a mother.

*Photograph courtesy of Brian Goossen