Baby face -
Wittle baby footsie -
In love.
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
Maddening
The military hospital gave me a picture, four in fact. So, as usual, that’s what I get for talking smack.
They also tried to show me the gender, being prohibited from actually saying it. I would have fared better at charades. I can’t possibly make out those ultra sound images! She pointed to a leg, another leg and in between the legs……and I saw nothing.
Which means it’s a girl, right?
I went to Bisbee last Sunday to see the witch (and by witch I don’t mean a wicked woman but rather the wonderful 66 year old Wiccan) that married us and SHE said she was pretty sure it’s a boy. She told me she’s never been wrong.
But I did not see a wee little penis today.
This is driving me crazy.
Meanwhile, somewhere across town, my husband is playing proud papa showing off the ultrasound pictures to his co-workers without a care in the world as to whether he’s presenting a son or a daughter.
BUT I HAVE TO KNOW.
(pictures to follow)
They also tried to show me the gender, being prohibited from actually saying it. I would have fared better at charades. I can’t possibly make out those ultra sound images! She pointed to a leg, another leg and in between the legs……and I saw nothing.
Which means it’s a girl, right?
I went to Bisbee last Sunday to see the witch (and by witch I don’t mean a wicked woman but rather the wonderful 66 year old Wiccan) that married us and SHE said she was pretty sure it’s a boy. She told me she’s never been wrong.
But I did not see a wee little penis today.
This is driving me crazy.
Meanwhile, somewhere across town, my husband is playing proud papa showing off the ultrasound pictures to his co-workers without a care in the world as to whether he’s presenting a son or a daughter.
BUT I HAVE TO KNOW.
(pictures to follow)
Thursday, July 24, 2008
Week 20: I just wanted a stinking picture….
I’m not sure if I mentioned that my husband doesn’t want to know the sex of the baby. Which is perfectly fine (after much eye rolling from me and “do you have to be SO different from everyone else ALL the time?”) but I have to know. I would gladly ride the mystery baby train with him towards it’s surprise finish but…..I HAVE to know.
I have to.
And for this it seems the universe is punishing me.
Or at least most certainly giving me the finger.
First off, said hubby o’mine is an active duty military career guy and so my healthcare is as such. The healthcare provided by my former employer didn’t cover maternity related costs. You might say the upper management hissed at children. It wasn’t exactly a family friendly gig. Anyhow, I have almost nothing to do with the military hospital throughout my pregnancy, but I do have to have my ultrasound done there. And the folks there will not reveal the sex of my unborn child due to some lawsuit for a once faulty prediction. But what’s more, they will not provide me with a picture.
Not even one lousy picture. Is the paper really expensive, do you think? From what I recall they print those pictures on what feels like the consistency of receipt paper. I will BRING THE GODDAMNED PAPER! The lawsuit thing I could understand. Just another case of one dumbass ruining it for everyone else. But no picture? That is just asinine. I decided to take matters into my own hands.
While in Washington for the last month I attempted to schedule a 2D sonogram with a reputable business recommended by a friend. I would not only get my baby’s picture I would also get a DVD, a gender confirmation on my little munchkin as well as having the added pleasure of cramming all my friends and family in the room to take part in the experience. All for around $115.00 out of pocket. I was not far enough along to have the super cool 3D imaging done.
All I needed was my doctor’s approval.
But noooooooooo…….
My doctor wouldn’t approve because he was not familiar with this business and blah, blah, blah, medical jargon, blah, blah. I was almost in tears on the phone with him explaining my situation with the military hospital and expressing that if I couldn’t know the sex I could live with that, I guess, but why can’t I have a picture? One of the very simple joys of every woman’s pregnancy, throughout the last few decades at least, is showing off that little black and white blob that doesn’t even remotely look like a baby.
In order to placate me the doctor assured that they would do a “social ultrasound”, with their in-office machine, at my next visit. Thus providing me with a gender check and a picture. Well, I had that doc. appt. today, mentioned this “social ultrasound” and apparently they’ll do it upon my next visit……. in late August. When I’m 6 months along already. When most women, as pregnant as I, are busily buying their pink or their blue because THEY have idiocy-free healthcare and THEY know the sex of their child by now.
I am beyond irritated by this whole ordeal.
But am otherwise feeling fantastic! My four week sabbatical was perfect. I had my first sober experience in a night club and stayed out with a large group of friends until 1 AM. I have energy again, I’m leaving my house again and I’m enjoying good food again.
I have a big round belly.
And the baby is kicking!
He or she (grrrrr) is quite active, and I’m finally, finally, finally feeling excited about all of it.
I have to.
And for this it seems the universe is punishing me.
Or at least most certainly giving me the finger.
First off, said hubby o’mine is an active duty military career guy and so my healthcare is as such. The healthcare provided by my former employer didn’t cover maternity related costs. You might say the upper management hissed at children. It wasn’t exactly a family friendly gig. Anyhow, I have almost nothing to do with the military hospital throughout my pregnancy, but I do have to have my ultrasound done there. And the folks there will not reveal the sex of my unborn child due to some lawsuit for a once faulty prediction. But what’s more, they will not provide me with a picture.
Not even one lousy picture. Is the paper really expensive, do you think? From what I recall they print those pictures on what feels like the consistency of receipt paper. I will BRING THE GODDAMNED PAPER! The lawsuit thing I could understand. Just another case of one dumbass ruining it for everyone else. But no picture? That is just asinine. I decided to take matters into my own hands.
While in Washington for the last month I attempted to schedule a 2D sonogram with a reputable business recommended by a friend. I would not only get my baby’s picture I would also get a DVD, a gender confirmation on my little munchkin as well as having the added pleasure of cramming all my friends and family in the room to take part in the experience. All for around $115.00 out of pocket. I was not far enough along to have the super cool 3D imaging done.
All I needed was my doctor’s approval.
But noooooooooo…….
My doctor wouldn’t approve because he was not familiar with this business and blah, blah, blah, medical jargon, blah, blah. I was almost in tears on the phone with him explaining my situation with the military hospital and expressing that if I couldn’t know the sex I could live with that, I guess, but why can’t I have a picture? One of the very simple joys of every woman’s pregnancy, throughout the last few decades at least, is showing off that little black and white blob that doesn’t even remotely look like a baby.
In order to placate me the doctor assured that they would do a “social ultrasound”, with their in-office machine, at my next visit. Thus providing me with a gender check and a picture. Well, I had that doc. appt. today, mentioned this “social ultrasound” and apparently they’ll do it upon my next visit……. in late August. When I’m 6 months along already. When most women, as pregnant as I, are busily buying their pink or their blue because THEY have idiocy-free healthcare and THEY know the sex of their child by now.
I am beyond irritated by this whole ordeal.
But am otherwise feeling fantastic! My four week sabbatical was perfect. I had my first sober experience in a night club and stayed out with a large group of friends until 1 AM. I have energy again, I’m leaving my house again and I’m enjoying good food again.
I have a big round belly.
And the baby is kicking!
He or she (grrrrr) is quite active, and I’m finally, finally, finally feeling excited about all of it.
Friday, June 20, 2008
9 VIALS OF BLOOD
Back in ‘01…..back in the day….. I think it was 6 or 7 vials of blood they drew from you at the end of your first trimester. But they’ve since added a few tests, such as one for cystic fibrosis, so nine vials of blood it was. Plus an early test for gestational diabetes. I get to have that test twice this pregnancy, while most women have it done just once around 27 weeks or so. I get to be so lucky because my first child was so large. She still is. She’s not chubby, just ridiculously tall for her age. She will easily be a 6 ft tall woman. My husband happens to hail from the land of the giants as well (6"5), weighing in 10 lbs at birth. His mother told me she was absolutely terrified to have more children due to the pain involved in delivering him vaginally.
Did I mention that I am like a-o-freaking-kay with having another c-section?
In any case, when you’re having 9 vials of blood extracted from you and you’ve been instructed to eat very little that day, while having had to wait an hour after having drank a 6 oz. solution of glucose, and when the world starts to go black at about vial 5 let’s hope to god you have a nurse with a modicum of sensible bedside manner.
Because I didn’t have that nurse. I had two hopelessly retarded nurses who stared at me while I began to faint, with one of them commenting “Oh she’s not looking too good, Ha ha!”
They laughed.
And then the laughter died when they realized I wasn’t joining in. They asked if I was okay. I couldn’t even speak. If I could've I might have said "Of course I'm not f*cking okay! I don't have any BLOOD to be okay WITH!" My eyes were closed. I shook my head no. Then one said “Oh….did she drink the glucose stuff?” At which point they reclined my chair, placed an ice pack on the back of my neck and gave me a minute to come around.
I did come around, proceeded to grab my purse and leave without a word to either of them. Is it not very “grown-up” of me to have seriously wanted to punch these women in the face? Because I don’t know that I care.
Ultimately I don’t have gestational diabetes or any other pregnancy related ailment to speak of……other than the fact that my boobs do not seem to be keeping up with the growth rate of my ass.
Did I mention that I am like a-o-freaking-kay with having another c-section?
In any case, when you’re having 9 vials of blood extracted from you and you’ve been instructed to eat very little that day, while having had to wait an hour after having drank a 6 oz. solution of glucose, and when the world starts to go black at about vial 5 let’s hope to god you have a nurse with a modicum of sensible bedside manner.
Because I didn’t have that nurse. I had two hopelessly retarded nurses who stared at me while I began to faint, with one of them commenting “Oh she’s not looking too good, Ha ha!”
They laughed.
And then the laughter died when they realized I wasn’t joining in. They asked if I was okay. I couldn’t even speak. If I could've I might have said "Of course I'm not f*cking okay! I don't have any BLOOD to be okay WITH!" My eyes were closed. I shook my head no. Then one said “Oh….did she drink the glucose stuff?” At which point they reclined my chair, placed an ice pack on the back of my neck and gave me a minute to come around.
I did come around, proceeded to grab my purse and leave without a word to either of them. Is it not very “grown-up” of me to have seriously wanted to punch these women in the face? Because I don’t know that I care.
Ultimately I don’t have gestational diabetes or any other pregnancy related ailment to speak of……other than the fact that my boobs do not seem to be keeping up with the growth rate of my ass.
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
You Can't Go Home Again
My hubby held my hair while I threw up a taco at 8 PM tonight.
Yes, that is indeed love.
The migraines come to call, large and small, daily. So much for being out of the woods. I’m due for a doctor’s appointment before I skip town and I plan to ask “how normal is this?” to which I will hear “every pregnancy is different”, and then they will offer me drugs.
It baffles me that aspirin and ibuprofen are huge no-no’s for pregnant women, but popping a Vicodin or a little Codeine is perfectly okay. No joke! Sadly I’m not in enough pain to allow them to get me and the baby high just yet. I would do almost anything for a goddamned aspirin though.
As for skipping town in a week or so, I get to go home to Seattle for one whole month. As with my trip before, I’m conflicted about it. I’m so lonesome down here, yet I worry I’ll fly up there and be……even lonelier? Never mind how some friends fall away after time, that’s just life. But I’m not a barrel of laughs right now, you know, with the fatigue and the puking and the apparent brain tumors. At best I hope to make it out of my mother’s house once or twice to meet a friend for dinner……. and maybe even enjoy it.
This is my second trimester…. this was supposed to be the EASY part.
Yes, that is indeed love.
The migraines come to call, large and small, daily. So much for being out of the woods. I’m due for a doctor’s appointment before I skip town and I plan to ask “how normal is this?” to which I will hear “every pregnancy is different”, and then they will offer me drugs.
It baffles me that aspirin and ibuprofen are huge no-no’s for pregnant women, but popping a Vicodin or a little Codeine is perfectly okay. No joke! Sadly I’m not in enough pain to allow them to get me and the baby high just yet. I would do almost anything for a goddamned aspirin though.
As for skipping town in a week or so, I get to go home to Seattle for one whole month. As with my trip before, I’m conflicted about it. I’m so lonesome down here, yet I worry I’ll fly up there and be……even lonelier? Never mind how some friends fall away after time, that’s just life. But I’m not a barrel of laughs right now, you know, with the fatigue and the puking and the apparent brain tumors. At best I hope to make it out of my mother’s house once or twice to meet a friend for dinner……. and maybe even enjoy it.
This is my second trimester…. this was supposed to be the EASY part.
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
Migraines, Dreams & Shamu
It's week 14 and I think.....I think I just might be over the nausea. I'm leery to even acknowledge that aloud for fear I will jinx it. I came home from Seattle in May (wedding was lovely, I delivered my speech flawlessly, all was fab) with a six day migraine that had me vomiting in the evenings.
Every time I explain how ill I've been people start throwing around the "twins" word. As though it weren't a DIRTY word! They like to remind me that I have twins in my family and so does my husband. Whenever this comes up I promptly shut down the conversation. I am NOT, no way in hell, having twins. No. End of discussion.
With all the sleep I'm getting I've been a dreaming machine. Dreams about people I don't know, dreams about people that made no significant impact on my life, dreams about making nice, making love, making cookies and angry dreams. I sleep more than cats do now so I suppose it's my brain's way of staying active while my body further mutates.
But I'm feeling better. I've gained 8 pounds so far. My doctor says this is fine, that I could have gained two more by now. I don't think it looks fine though. While in the OBGYN's office I saw these adorable little pregnant girls (and granted, they may have been in their late teens) with nothing bulbous about them save for their cute round little bellies.
I said to my husband "I want to be cute and pregnant, with just a belly, but that won't be me. I'm gonna be Shamu"
And my husband replied: "If Shamu was a crazy white lady"
Every time I explain how ill I've been people start throwing around the "twins" word. As though it weren't a DIRTY word! They like to remind me that I have twins in my family and so does my husband. Whenever this comes up I promptly shut down the conversation. I am NOT, no way in hell, having twins. No. End of discussion.
With all the sleep I'm getting I've been a dreaming machine. Dreams about people I don't know, dreams about people that made no significant impact on my life, dreams about making nice, making love, making cookies and angry dreams. I sleep more than cats do now so I suppose it's my brain's way of staying active while my body further mutates.
But I'm feeling better. I've gained 8 pounds so far. My doctor says this is fine, that I could have gained two more by now. I don't think it looks fine though. While in the OBGYN's office I saw these adorable little pregnant girls (and granted, they may have been in their late teens) with nothing bulbous about them save for their cute round little bellies.
I said to my husband "I want to be cute and pregnant, with just a belly, but that won't be me. I'm gonna be Shamu"
And my husband replied: "If Shamu was a crazy white lady"
All According to Plan
I heard the baby’s heartbeat today and I actually shed tears…….. tears of joy, of course. I didn't do that with bambino number one, 7 long years ago. I think the difference here is that I KNOW everything that’s coming with that heartbeat now.
Due to the previous cesarean section they won’t even let me attempt to deliver the old fashioned way……..how tragic.
I’d had a scheduled c-section with the first because she was breech. And she was breech because I honestly think she got too fat to turn around, she was nearly 9 lbs at delivery. So they scheduled me for surgery on Christmas Eve and I was actually disappointed that all my delivery and labor classes, and my gorgeous hospital birthing room, would be all for naught. I would miss out on labor. I would miss out on the “birthing experience” and I was sad about that.
Because I was a 24 year old IDIOT!
This time I’ll be having another scheduled c-section. No fuss, no muss, no hours of screaming agony, no episiotomy, no accidental labor pooping, no cord strangulation, no oblong shaped baby head, no after birth and a recovery period that involves lots of Vicodin.
And while they have me open on an operating table I’ve chosen to have a tubule litigation preformed, otherwise known as having your “tubes tied”. All children hereafter will come in furry dog or cat form.
Thus I proudly present to you MY MASTER PLAN to make it through life, having had two children, without ever knowing the pain of labor or obliterating my vagina.
Ha! Take that nature.
Due to the previous cesarean section they won’t even let me attempt to deliver the old fashioned way……..how tragic.
I’d had a scheduled c-section with the first because she was breech. And she was breech because I honestly think she got too fat to turn around, she was nearly 9 lbs at delivery. So they scheduled me for surgery on Christmas Eve and I was actually disappointed that all my delivery and labor classes, and my gorgeous hospital birthing room, would be all for naught. I would miss out on labor. I would miss out on the “birthing experience” and I was sad about that.
Because I was a 24 year old IDIOT!
This time I’ll be having another scheduled c-section. No fuss, no muss, no hours of screaming agony, no episiotomy, no accidental labor pooping, no cord strangulation, no oblong shaped baby head, no after birth and a recovery period that involves lots of Vicodin.
And while they have me open on an operating table I’ve chosen to have a tubule litigation preformed, otherwise known as having your “tubes tied”. All children hereafter will come in furry dog or cat form.
Thus I proudly present to you MY MASTER PLAN to make it through life, having had two children, without ever knowing the pain of labor or obliterating my vagina.
Ha! Take that nature.
Monday, May 12, 2008
To Travel
Ginger Ale and crackers……it’s okay. Not the miracle I was looking for. I’m sleeping about 13 hours a day, on and off. I’m still feeling like crap for the other 11 hours. When I’m not feeling like crap I’m just tired, and when I’m not tired it’s because I am sleeping again.
THIS IS SO MUCH FUN!
My dear friends Ryan and Jill are getting married this weekend and I’m flying to Seattle to be in the wedding.
I’m Ryan’s best man, or best WOOman. And I was so excited about this for so long. It’s obviously a completely awesome title for anyone with lady parts, but also a huge honor. I met Ryan a little over 10 years ago. He was my ex-husband’s best friend. Ryan is the only other person that truly understood the pain involved in watching my ex slowly disintegrate. We were told the same lies, we shed the same tears, we harbored the same anger. It’s like we’re war buddies. It cemented our friendship. And now, a decade later, I get to be his best(woo)man. It’s wonderful.
I’m wearing a halter tuxedo top, a long black skirt (with tuxedo stripes down the sides and a slit up the back) and what was described as an 80s Vintage Punk Tuxedo Jacket.
It’s all wonderful, expect that I feel like POOP.
With the energy of zilcho I will travel, see friends and family, dress up, doll up my daughter to be their flower girl, take part in the ceremony of two people I dearly love, give a speech, and eventually…..if I’m lucky….. come home and pass out.
But if I can manage not to look exhausted in the photographs I’ll be doing okay.
THIS IS SO MUCH FUN!
My dear friends Ryan and Jill are getting married this weekend and I’m flying to Seattle to be in the wedding.
I’m Ryan’s best man, or best WOOman. And I was so excited about this for so long. It’s obviously a completely awesome title for anyone with lady parts, but also a huge honor. I met Ryan a little over 10 years ago. He was my ex-husband’s best friend. Ryan is the only other person that truly understood the pain involved in watching my ex slowly disintegrate. We were told the same lies, we shed the same tears, we harbored the same anger. It’s like we’re war buddies. It cemented our friendship. And now, a decade later, I get to be his best(woo)man. It’s wonderful.
I’m wearing a halter tuxedo top, a long black skirt (with tuxedo stripes down the sides and a slit up the back) and what was described as an 80s Vintage Punk Tuxedo Jacket.
It’s all wonderful, expect that I feel like POOP.
With the energy of zilcho I will travel, see friends and family, dress up, doll up my daughter to be their flower girl, take part in the ceremony of two people I dearly love, give a speech, and eventually…..if I’m lucky….. come home and pass out.
But if I can manage not to look exhausted in the photographs I’ll be doing okay.
Wednesday, May 7, 2008
Week 9: Make it Stop!
Every day I am ill.
Every day I feel as though I’m going to vomit yet never do. It’s a sick little game my body plays with me, day after nauseous day. No climactic projectile finish, no seeming end in sight. To actually puke would serve as an ending, at least for that day. But noooooooooooo……no pukey for me. Just illness. Just three more weeks of illness.
I was in the grocery store yesterday, selecting fresh produce like a good mommy, when a wave of nausea hit me so hard I thought I would lose the contents of my stomach right then and there. The bathroom was clear on the other side of the store and I thought “I’ll have to run! I’ll have to drop my basket and run, and I’ll never make it, I’ll throw up on a little old woman, and that’s when I’ll start crying.”
None of which took place. The wave passed. I made it out of there with my dignity intact.
I went searching for remedies on-line and just when I thought I couldn’t possibly feel more queasy some fantastic internet contributor offered up the following suggestion:
“For nausea, mix jello. Do not let it jell. Drink it warm!”
Moving on from the plain disgusting I found out and out straw-grasping…….or “tongue-grasping” rather.
“Grasp your tongue using a dry, clean cloth and pull it straight out, until it feels quite strained and uncomfortable, then hold it for 30 seconds. Feels weird, looks even weirder, but heck – it’s worth a try!”
To some jerk attempting to cash in on my misery and sell me magic anti-vomit beans.
“Here is How My Natural, Safe Technique Works to End Your Morning Sickness, Quickly and Permanently 100% Guaranteed Results or you pay nothing!”
Ultimately I’ve been told Ginger (tea, ale, etc.) and good old fashioned saltine crackers work wonders. And sweet, sweet lawdy do I need wonders. I need to not feel like my very soul is being sucked out of me. I need the man I married to go to the store.
I need a nap.
Every day I feel as though I’m going to vomit yet never do. It’s a sick little game my body plays with me, day after nauseous day. No climactic projectile finish, no seeming end in sight. To actually puke would serve as an ending, at least for that day. But noooooooooooo……no pukey for me. Just illness. Just three more weeks of illness.
I was in the grocery store yesterday, selecting fresh produce like a good mommy, when a wave of nausea hit me so hard I thought I would lose the contents of my stomach right then and there. The bathroom was clear on the other side of the store and I thought “I’ll have to run! I’ll have to drop my basket and run, and I’ll never make it, I’ll throw up on a little old woman, and that’s when I’ll start crying.”
None of which took place. The wave passed. I made it out of there with my dignity intact.
I went searching for remedies on-line and just when I thought I couldn’t possibly feel more queasy some fantastic internet contributor offered up the following suggestion:
“For nausea, mix jello. Do not let it jell. Drink it warm!”
Moving on from the plain disgusting I found out and out straw-grasping…….or “tongue-grasping” rather.
“Grasp your tongue using a dry, clean cloth and pull it straight out, until it feels quite strained and uncomfortable, then hold it for 30 seconds. Feels weird, looks even weirder, but heck – it’s worth a try!”
To some jerk attempting to cash in on my misery and sell me magic anti-vomit beans.
“Here is How My Natural, Safe Technique Works to End Your Morning Sickness, Quickly and Permanently 100% Guaranteed Results or you pay nothing!”
Ultimately I’ve been told Ginger (tea, ale, etc.) and good old fashioned saltine crackers work wonders. And sweet, sweet lawdy do I need wonders. I need to not feel like my very soul is being sucked out of me. I need the man I married to go to the store.
I need a nap.
Friday, May 2, 2008
Discovery
The story goes……… the first P test gave me a faint plus sign, and I was kind of hoping it was defective.
I went back to the drug store and bought the EPT test. Now let me tell you what's great about EPT, there's no f*cking around. It’s digital and reads "not pregnant" or "pregnant". Pretty straightforward. Fairly difficult to lie to yourself after reading the results.
Mine read "pregnant"
After test number two I figured it was time to fess up to Scott. No tears or sobbing from him, no "oh sh*t" or anything of the sort. He'd been told at a very young age that, due to a medical procedure undergone in that region of his body, he may never have children.
You might say he was elated.......
And so I took a photo of my waistline.......... a farewell tribute.
Dear Waistline,
First off, I'm sorry I got really fat last year.
Whoops.
I know I just lost the 25 lbs I threw on you in 2007 and you and I were once more enjoying the company of cute clothes. I know this. I know bikini weather is back. I know. I'm well aware and I'm so truly sorry.
But I'll see you again.
That is a promise.
Let's make a date for this time next year......May 2009......
2009......Oh Lord........I have to go now, I'm liable to cry. Little emotional these days....ya' know?
Please forgive me, dear Waistline.....please find it within your 20 'sum odd' inches to forgive me.
-Nik
I went back to the drug store and bought the EPT test. Now let me tell you what's great about EPT, there's no f*cking around. It’s digital and reads "not pregnant" or "pregnant". Pretty straightforward. Fairly difficult to lie to yourself after reading the results.
Mine read "pregnant"
After test number two I figured it was time to fess up to Scott. No tears or sobbing from him, no "oh sh*t" or anything of the sort. He'd been told at a very young age that, due to a medical procedure undergone in that region of his body, he may never have children.
You might say he was elated.......
And so I took a photo of my waistline.......... a farewell tribute.
Dear Waistline,
First off, I'm sorry I got really fat last year.
Whoops.
I know I just lost the 25 lbs I threw on you in 2007 and you and I were once more enjoying the company of cute clothes. I know this. I know bikini weather is back. I know. I'm well aware and I'm so truly sorry.
But I'll see you again.
That is a promise.
Let's make a date for this time next year......May 2009......
2009......Oh Lord........I have to go now, I'm liable to cry. Little emotional these days....ya' know?
Please forgive me, dear Waistline.....please find it within your 20 'sum odd' inches to forgive me.
-Nik
Thursday, May 1, 2008
The Blogger
While stumbling through this site and finding other expectant mother blogs one of the first I came across was this http://babycadeau.blogspot.com/. Written by a seemingly lovely lady it chronicles about 8 months of pregnancy and ends in the death of her infant.
OH GOD!
I wanted to chronicle this pregnancy because I remember so little of my last. And if the content was dull or I lost interest there’s always the magic “delete” button.
But now…….oh god.
I don’t want to think about it. I just worked with a woman who recently lost her 4 month old to SIDS. She was not quite right in the head and it may be a long time before she ever will be.
For all my complaints at the beginning of this, I do want the baby.……..please, dear God, let the baby be well.
OH GOD!
I wanted to chronicle this pregnancy because I remember so little of my last. And if the content was dull or I lost interest there’s always the magic “delete” button.
But now…….oh god.
I don’t want to think about it. I just worked with a woman who recently lost her 4 month old to SIDS. She was not quite right in the head and it may be a long time before she ever will be.
For all my complaints at the beginning of this, I do want the baby.……..please, dear God, let the baby be well.
Happy-Shmappy Pregnancy Test Commercials
Just once in my life I would’ve liked to have taken a pregnancy test and not have it’s positive results followed by “oh sh*t” and sobbing.
Just once.
EPT and/or First Response commercials are thoroughly irritating. The “yay-we’re-pregnant-this-is-what-we’ve-always-wanted-god-bless-us-everyone” commercials. Ask most any regular woman and that was NOT their reaction to a positive pregnancy test. I have absolutely no statistics on this, yet I’m going to bet you a gazillion dollars that the majority of pregnancies on this here planet earth are of the unplanned variety.
A friend of mine tried fervently for 5 years to have children. Her struggle brought her miscarriage after miscarriage, disappointment and heartache. I became pregnant before she did and I felt so guilty. Here she was trying so very hard, she and her husband were seriously considering spending tens of thousands on fertility options, they had a house full of storage bins with baby clothes, shoes and toys she’d bought over the years……..and there I was with a “whoops” baby, and nothing else.
Very gently I relayed to her a fact that resonates as absolute truth in my soul. Children do not happen on YOUR time, they happen on God’s time. Or the cosmos time. Whichever way you like to think of it.
My friend finally conceived a few years after I did and had a healthy baby girl. 3 years after that she gave birth again, this time to twins. Within 3 years time she gained 3 children. Is she happy? Oh…um…..sure she is. Like a freaking EPT commercial. Except that I think if she woke up tomorrow and found herself holding a positive pregnancy test it would be followed by expletives and tears.
And that’s what I would like to see…….just once…….expletives and tears in just one of those pregnancy test commercials.
How great would that be? The scene opens up on a woman in a white tiled bathroom, staring down at a stick with a plus sign on it, and her only line is…..
……. “SON OF A BITCH!”
Just once.
EPT and/or First Response commercials are thoroughly irritating. The “yay-we’re-pregnant-this-is-what-we’ve-always-wanted-god-bless-us-everyone” commercials. Ask most any regular woman and that was NOT their reaction to a positive pregnancy test. I have absolutely no statistics on this, yet I’m going to bet you a gazillion dollars that the majority of pregnancies on this here planet earth are of the unplanned variety.
A friend of mine tried fervently for 5 years to have children. Her struggle brought her miscarriage after miscarriage, disappointment and heartache. I became pregnant before she did and I felt so guilty. Here she was trying so very hard, she and her husband were seriously considering spending tens of thousands on fertility options, they had a house full of storage bins with baby clothes, shoes and toys she’d bought over the years……..and there I was with a “whoops” baby, and nothing else.
Very gently I relayed to her a fact that resonates as absolute truth in my soul. Children do not happen on YOUR time, they happen on God’s time. Or the cosmos time. Whichever way you like to think of it.
My friend finally conceived a few years after I did and had a healthy baby girl. 3 years after that she gave birth again, this time to twins. Within 3 years time she gained 3 children. Is she happy? Oh…um…..sure she is. Like a freaking EPT commercial. Except that I think if she woke up tomorrow and found herself holding a positive pregnancy test it would be followed by expletives and tears.
And that’s what I would like to see…….just once…….expletives and tears in just one of those pregnancy test commercials.
How great would that be? The scene opens up on a woman in a white tiled bathroom, staring down at a stick with a plus sign on it, and her only line is…..
……. “SON OF A BITCH!”
A History
Many moons ago I was alone. And that was okay.
I’m an only child and I do just fine by myself.
Exactly this time 7 years ago I found out I was pregnant. I was 23 going on 24, newly married and completely terrified. Our “little blessing” was not planned. We weren’t going to have children until we were in our 30’s. HA!
Everything sort of went to downhill after that, mostly details involving my husband’s morality and sobriety. It was somewhat hellish. We eventually divorced. I got on my own two wobbly feet and raised my daughter without aid of government assistance or that helpful little thing they call child support.
We were doing just fine…..by ourselves.
I hadn’t planned on anyone else in the picture. I was not sour on men and I refused to blame others for the mistakes of my ex but I grew up with a rotten step-father. I had so desperately tried to give my daughter a “normal” family, and when I failed at that I worried that her life would mirror mine.
We were doing just fine by ourselves… when Scott came along.
My daughter was 3 when I began dating, and those dates of mine were never allowed to meet her. I didn’t want to be the mom with all the boyfriends, no thanks. So when I met Scott, and determined within our first evening together that I would NEVER sleep with this man (for all the D-R-A-M-A in his life at the time) I deemed him a friend and thus he met my baby Maddy.
He’s the sort of man who’s ‘goodness’ reaches out and hits in you in the face. His energy was irresistible to me. We spent all our time together. Within 3 months we had fallen in love. Within 3 years we were married.
Just married, in fact. He proposed last February and we’d been busy scheduling an April wedding in Arizona and a July wedding in Seattle (don’t ask).
Two weeks before the AZ wedding I missed my period.
So here we go again.......more and more people keep showing up to my party.
I’m an only child and I do just fine by myself.
Exactly this time 7 years ago I found out I was pregnant. I was 23 going on 24, newly married and completely terrified. Our “little blessing” was not planned. We weren’t going to have children until we were in our 30’s. HA!
Everything sort of went to downhill after that, mostly details involving my husband’s morality and sobriety. It was somewhat hellish. We eventually divorced. I got on my own two wobbly feet and raised my daughter without aid of government assistance or that helpful little thing they call child support.
We were doing just fine…..by ourselves.
I hadn’t planned on anyone else in the picture. I was not sour on men and I refused to blame others for the mistakes of my ex but I grew up with a rotten step-father. I had so desperately tried to give my daughter a “normal” family, and when I failed at that I worried that her life would mirror mine.
We were doing just fine by ourselves… when Scott came along.
My daughter was 3 when I began dating, and those dates of mine were never allowed to meet her. I didn’t want to be the mom with all the boyfriends, no thanks. So when I met Scott, and determined within our first evening together that I would NEVER sleep with this man (for all the D-R-A-M-A in his life at the time) I deemed him a friend and thus he met my baby Maddy.
He’s the sort of man who’s ‘goodness’ reaches out and hits in you in the face. His energy was irresistible to me. We spent all our time together. Within 3 months we had fallen in love. Within 3 years we were married.
Just married, in fact. He proposed last February and we’d been busy scheduling an April wedding in Arizona and a July wedding in Seattle (don’t ask).
Two weeks before the AZ wedding I missed my period.
So here we go again.......more and more people keep showing up to my party.
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