Tuesday, October 15, 2013

Oh Ick!!

Warning.....this is going to get a little gross.  Feel free to skip this post if you're a little squeamish.  I won't be offended.

My due date was May 14th.  Two weeks to go and I was feeling huge.  Everyone that saw me said that I looked like I had dropped.  I was generally miserable, and absolutely ready to not be pregnant anymore.  At around 8:30 pm on Tuesday, April 20th I wanted ice cream.  I asked my husband if he wanted ice cream as well, and got in my car and went to the store. 

It's only about a 5 minute drive from my house to Stewart's (for those of you not from upstate NY or Vermont...Stewart's is a local staple.  It's a convenience store mostly.  But the company has it's own brand of everything....milk, soda, chips, coffee, and most importantly ice cream.  I'm pretty sure they started as an ice cream company.)  and about half way there my phone beeped that I had a text message.  As I had been really trying to be good about not looking at my phone while driving, I left it alone until I pulled into the parking lot. 

The message had been from my friend that had just had her baby a week before.  She had sent me some pictures of herself standing in front of a mirror, showing off how flat her stupid, skinny stomach was only a week after having a baby (you can call her a bitch.  I do.)

So I was flipping through the pictures she sent, and responding to her, when I felt more than heard this weird pop.  It has come from my lower half.  I thought "What the hell was that?"  But I think that I knew what it was.

I put the phone down and opened my car door.  I cautiously stepped out of the car.....and felt the liquid roll down the inside of my leg.

I live in a I guess.  There isn't really a town center or a town government or anything.  But everyone knows everyone else.  My daughter (not myself) is related to half of the people that live there.  (Which is a good thing because that means she can't date anyone there without a reasonable possibility that it would be considered incest.)  Stewart's is also the only thing in this little town, so there is an excellent chance that at least 10 people that I knew pretty well and another 10 that knew who I was would have been there.  Considering my typical luck....maybe more like 20.

I hopped back in the car...heart beating out of my throat and drove home.  I called my friend who had sent me the pictures on the way.

Me:  "I have never been so thankful to have to scroll through a bunch of pictures in my life.  You just saved my ass."

Her:  "Why?  What Happened?"

Me:  "Dude, my water just broke."

Her:  "YAY!!!"

Me:  "Yeah, and if you hadn't sent me that text when you did, and if there hadn't been a bunch of pictures attached, and if I hadn't waited until I parked to look at them.....well it would have happened in the store instead of in my car.  In MY Stewart's.  In a small town.  I would've been that girl whose water broke in Stewart's for the rest of my life."

Her:  "Holy shit.  You're welcome."

So I get home and waddle my soaking wet ass upstairs.  I tell my husband that he can't have any ice cream, as I strip off my gooey jeans, because my water broke.  I jump in the shower to try to reduce the amount of amniotic fluid that hits the floor. 

That was a useless effort.  How do women manage this?  I had my mom go to the store to get maxi pads.  Big ones.  I must have changed that thing 8 times before we left for the hospital. 

Every time I had a contraction, more goo gushed out.  It was fucking everywhere.  I was standing on the porch talking to my roommate, waiting for the contractions to get close enough together to merit a trip to the hospital.  I coughed......oh my god.  A spurt of fluid splatted on the stone of the front porch....through the maxi pad.  My roommate was totally grossed out.  "Awww, dude, really?  Like really?  On the porch?"  My husband was equally skeeved out by all the mess I was making.

I cleaned up the tiny mess I had made on the seat of my car.  It was really only a spot about 2 inches across.  He refused to take my car to the hospital.  He didn't want to sit in my "filth".  At which point I told him to shut his mouth or I would lose the maxi pad and leak all over the seat of his car.  It amazing how well a man can listen when you threaten him and his possession with bodily fluids.

The rest of this story will have to wait for another time. 

Friday, October 11, 2013

Oh, You Mean THIS Unmarked Grave, Officer?

So my planned post for today was going to be about my water breaking....which is a hilarious story.  But I find that I'm too pre-occupied with my husband's bullshit to write that post.
So you all get to hear about the special individual that I'm stuck with until death do we part......:::clears throat:::

My husband didn't want any children.  He said so on our first date.  It was almost a deal breaker.  I have the girl child, but I always wanted more children.  A chance to have a real family. 
It took a while, but at some point I became ok with only having my daughter.  She was on her way to her wretched teen years, and if I had another child the two of them wouldn't be friends until they were adults.  I would have to have two more in order to avoid raising another only child (which sucks....don't do it!!!).  My daughter was so independent, I barely had to do anything for her anymore.  If she could drive, she would take care of herself completely.

So we decided to get married, and decided not to have any more children.  He would be a great step father and leave it at that. 

While on our honeymoon, we went deep sea fishing (his thing....I don't really fish).  Someone asked me if I was going to get sea sick.  I said (and I quote) "Nah, the last time I was sea sick I was pregnant, so I'm not worried"....foreshadowing anyone???

I did get sea sick.  Not like yaking over the side or anything...just really queasy.  But the waves were high, and most of the people on the boat were feeling yucky.  The whole next day I was out of commission.  Feeling gross all day.  The next day, still not so good.  We went out to dinner, because even though I felt awful, I was still hungry.  The last day of our honeymoon, I noticed that my boobs were a little sore......oh shit.

The will power involved in not running right to a CVS and grabbing a pregnancy test was of the kind required to kick heroin.  I didn't want to ruin my honeymoon though, so I waited. (Prior to this, I was a frequent pregnancy test user.  If my period was 5 minutes late I was peeing on a stick.  I kept EPT in business.)

Our honeymoon wasn't great anyhow.....but this is already in danger of being a serious post, so I'll leave that alone.

The very next day after we got home I went out and bought a 3 pack of case there was a dud.

Well, for the first time in my life, the first test was a dud.  No control line.  I sighed in relief.  It was a bad test, and that stupid pink positive line was probably a lie.  Waiting until I had to pee again was hard.  But I persevered....

The second test was not a dud.  Two freaking pink lines.  Shit, Shit, Shit.....

After dinner, my husband was playing some video game in our room.  I gave him a hug....and said...."I'm pregnant".

His response?  "What?  What?!?"

I said "I'm pregnant."

Him?  "Fantastic."

The next several months were horrible.  He went through all of the stages of grief I think. 

He asked how I knew I was, two separate pregnancy tests dear.  Had I been to a doctor?  Well, no....but those testy things are fairly reliable.

He accused me of getting pregnant on purpose.  I put an end to that really quickly. 

He told me I was ruining his life.  That I made this decision without him, and he would be pissed at me forever.  Great.

So, not only did I have all sort of pregnancy shit going on, and was already crying at the drop of a hat thanks to my hormones...but I got to listen to this sort of thing at least once a week.

Side Note:  How does a person on birth control find themselves accidentally pregnant you ask?  Well, when a person is trying not to have her period on her wedding night, and begins her birth control cycle a week late, and then forgets that she has done so......that's how.  Well I wouldn't have to worry about that pesky period for quite a while.

He went to one doctor's appointment.  The 20 week ultrasound.  The one where they can tell you what you're having.  I had to guilt him into it.

He didn't care to feel the baby kick.  He didn't care about what the midwife had to say.  He wouldn't get involved in naming, or nursery planning, or anything else until right before I delivered.

It was seriously the worst pregnancy ever.  Of course I tied my tubes the day after I gave birth to my son.  I was absolutely not doing any of this again.

I handled all of this with one hope.  I was counting on my husband instantly falling in love with the little person I was going to hand him.  I was relying on him loving his son instantly, and that it would all be ok.

I was right.  That is what happened.  He loves his son. 

But he is still an asshole.  Almost every day I wonder why I married this man. 

In his past is a long line of women that have just taken care of him.  Women that have spoiled him rotten and given him everything he wanted.  He seems to have always gotten his way in everything, and if he didn't, he left.

If time travel were a real thing, I would go back in time and donkey punch my mother-in-law every time she gave in to his tantrums.  Every time she spoiled him.  Every time she just made his problems go away without him having to deal with them.  Donkey punch. 

All of these women are the cause of my misery.  He married me.  I'm not exactly the "yes dear" type.  Though I am the "I'll just fucking do it myself because it's easier than arguing with you" type.  Much to my downfall.  I realized this waaaaaaayyyyy to late to do any good.  Now everything is a fight.

This post is already long, and not funny, and if I were to gripe about every single aspect of our relationship, and his lack of parenting, and his non-provider attitude.....well it would be a book.  Or a diary.  Dear Diary.....

No....I'll stop now.  I don't want to leave the man.  I do love him.  It just gets harder  every day to remember why I love him.  When I come home from picking the baby up from the sitter, after working 7 hours, and make dinner, clean up from dinner, feed the baby, put the baby to bed, take care of the dogs, fold laundry and then hope I still have time to take a shower so I don't smell quite so bad before I go to bed so I can get up at 5am and do it all over again......and meanwhile he has been playing guitar or Playstation for the last 2 hours.....yeah I'm a little homicidal.

Some of my friends said the first year of marriage is the hardest.  When I was pregnant, a friend said to me "I hope you like him again after you have the baby".  Some said that the first year with a new baby is the hardest.  We are down 5 months, with 7 to go.  I hope he lives through it.  I don't look good in orange, and jump suits don't exactly flatter my waistline. 

Monday, October 7, 2013

And She's Back

Wow.  I just realized I haven't written anything in like 5 months.  That's how old my son is now, by the way.  Of course, the story of his birth is hilarious (well, parts of it) and horrible, and messy.  I'll write that one later on for anyone that really wants to read it.

It's been an interesting 5 months.  My husband has almost ended up on a milk carton at least.....weekly.  My 11 year old is both a wonderful blessing and a wretched, ragging curse of a pre-teen.  My son is the cutest thing that ever screamed his bloody head off at 2am.

The first....month and a half??....was horrible.  The baby was super gassy.  Screamed all the time.  No happy baby.  No quiet, peaceful slumber.  Screaming.  ALL.  THE.  TIME.  My husband almost died.  Every day. 

Then things got better.  Now he's a happy, smiley boy that laughs at everything.  And the baby is cute too.  =)

I have so much to write about.  Breast feeding.  Cloth diaper mishaps.  Child care.  Working from (ha ha ha) home. 

All of that will have to be for another time.  I just wanted to say "I'm Back" to the 3 people that have read my stuff (who probably don't anymore).  I'll be back, hopefully with something funny.

Tuesday, April 30, 2013

How do you feel?

"How do you feel?"

Man, do I hate that question.  I'm 38 weeks pregnant.  I've been accused of having twins on a number of occasions (by complete strangers).  I've been told I've "dropped" by everyone with eyes, and EVERYONE asks me how I'm feeling. the fuck do I look like I'm feeling?  These bags under my eyes are not a fashion statement.  Yes, I know you can see the belly band of my maternity pants.  That's because my shirt doesn't cover it anymore.  No, I'm not going to buy new shirts.  You're lucky I'm even wearing pants today.  Fuck off please?
Why yes, I am still pregnant.  You're quite observant.

Mostly....I feel like a walrus.

Picture Stolen from Alphamom
(Side Note:  That is by far the awsomest pregnancy calendar ever.)
(Ok, except maybe this one..... )

I'm done with people asking me questions.  Am I holding a baby?  No?  Then I haven't popped yet.  Thanks for reminding me that I'm still pregnant.  I kinda forgot.  Guess I should stop snorting lines of coke then, eh?  Since I'm still pregnant.  Unless you want to hear about my mucous plug....back off.

I've been having pretend contractions for 2 weeks now.  Which, in my opinion, is just bullshit.  They don't quite hurt exactly.  But they sure as hell aren't comfortable.  Last night they got a little bit stronger. 

The day they started, it took me most of the day to realize what was going on.  I thought I was just having cramps.  I've had cramps for most of this pregnancy, so that wasn't shocking at all.  Just another thing for me to get all pissy about.

Sometime after lunch I realized that these cramps were coming and going.  Getting stronger and then subsiding.

"Holy shit, I'm having contractions."

Then comes the best game ever.  Do I call my midwife or not?  Do I risk being that girl who calls the doc every time anything happens?  I called them the week before because my feet suddenly swelled up like giant, foot shaped balloons.  The week before I showed up for an appointment I didn't actually have.  Did I want to show up for nothing again?

So I decided that I wouldn't call until 2pm.  If it was still going on at 2:00 I would call.  I had an appointment the next day anyway.  So of course, it stopped.

Also of course, the next day I got reamed out for not calling.  Everything was fine, but I got the whole "if you're concerned, you call us" talk.  Ok, Ok....sorry...jeeze.

Anyway.....last night these contractions got a little bit stronger.  I text my friend, who just had a baby last week:

Me:  "At the risk of ringing the false alarm bell.....I think these contractions are starting to suck a little more."
Her:  "How far apart are they?"
Me:  "No idea. I just realized they were hurting more."
Her:  "Well time them, asshole."

This is about the same thing I said to her last week when she actually went into labor.  No fake contractions for her.  Nope, those are all mine.

The thing is....I can't really time them.  They don't seem to go away.  They come on.....and then they just sort of stay.  I try to note when they get noticably stronger, but either I'm having 15 minute contractions....(ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh)....or I'm just actually crampy with some contracting thrown in for good measure.

I'd talk about my mucous plug....but one wants to know.

In any case, maybe I'll have a baby later.  Wish me luck.

Monday, April 22, 2013


So I'm due to have a baby sometime between now and 3 weeks from now.  I'm partly like "This CANNOT happen soon enough" and partly like "Just let me get these couple of things done first".

Every day there's some project that needs completing.  My baby shower was on Saturday (Thanks everyone!!), so of course on Sunday I had to go to the baby store and buy all the baby crap that I didn't get yet.

Side Note:  Everyone buys cute crap for baby showers.  Little outfit, socks, baby bath robes......I got very limited practical crap.  My two pregnant friends (both due in May also, both having boys also....and we're all blondes.  We're obviously making a small version of Village of the Damned) got me a big bag of all the little crap you NEED.  Diaper rash cream, thermometer, first aid kit, nursing pads....etc.  Otherwise, I have tons of little just oh-so-adorable outfits.

I'm not complaining.  I love outfits.  But I had a lot to buy. 

I got almost all of it, without spending a ton of money (depending on who you ask.  My husband is amazed at how much crap a little baby needs, and I didn't get anything that I deem stupid.  Like a wipe warmer.). 

So then I had to take off all the tags and wrappings and such, put away everything that wasn't fabric, and wash ALL of the clothes and blankets and towels and crap.

I put together the changing table and this little bench thing and the bouncer (with much needed and appreciated help from my daughter).

That was after super cleaning my bedroom on Saturday because the baby is going to sleep in there for the first few months and "look at this dust", and "should I wash the curtains?", and "when is the last time we cleaned the ceiling fan?"

My mom says to me "oh, someone is nesting".

I wanted to punch her in the throat. 

No, I'm not fucking nesting.  I'm not overcome with a huge urge to do all these things.  They have to get done.  How do I change the baby if the changing table is in a box? I have to wash all the clothes and blankets because they smell like chemicals.  I have to clean the ceiling fan because it is caked with inches of dust and if I need to turn it on dust is going to fly everywhere all over my baby.

Ok.  I'm nesting.  Also, it sucks!  I don't want to do this.  I want to lay down.  But everywhere I look is something that really needs to get done before I pop out a kid.

Monday, April 8, 2013

Pony Drama

OK, so for anyone that didn't know, I have horses.  I have my old mare whom I just take out on trail rides and my daughter has a pony.  My mother keeps her horses at my house.  She has 2 horses and a little, useless pony.  Also at my house is another horse that belongs to a friend of mine.
There used to be two little, useless ponies.  They were old ponies, that we adopted back when my daughter was little, and they had to go together.
Well one of them passed away this fall.  It was very sad....
Anyway.....every summer we moved both ponies from my house around the corner to my mother's house to eat the grass in their field all summer long.  This saved money and effort because they could live off just the grass and needed nothing else until October-ish.
So this year we have found ourselves with an obstacle in the way of our usual plan.  The pony that's left can't go to my mother's house by herself.  She will be lonely, and make a ruckus and such.
So I have a brilliant idea. 
Me:  "Let's get a mini horse."
Mom:  "For what?"
Me:  "To keep the pony company.  They don't eat much."
Mom:  "I don't want anything else that I have to feed or pay the bills for.  No mini horse."

OK fine.....

Fast forward to last night...
Mom:  "I got that mini horse."

I'm sorry, what?  It was a terrible idea 2 weeks ago, when it was my idea (This is how my mother rolls.  Her ideas are excellent.  Mine are always terrible.)  Now you just have a mini horse. 

For those who aren't horse savvy, a mini horse is just that.  A miniature.  A pony is a different thing all together.  There's a difference.  (Though based on this one's measurements, it's probably a mini-pony....but I'm getting off topic.)

Apparently a friend of ours had one she was looking to be rid of because she's moving.  So I called my friend and asked her about the horse. 
J:  "She's really sweet.  My daughter rides her.  She picks up her feet nicely.  She is really quiet."

So apparently we are the proud new owners of a mini mare, or a female.

So I put her in the field with the pony last night to let them get acquainted.  There is the typical squealing, and kicking, and establishing of the pecking order.  This happens most of the time when you introduce two horses.  They'll get over it.

Now on to this morning.  I'm driving down the driveway toward the bus stop, my daughter in the back seat.  The mini and the pony are in the field, scratching each others necks.  This is a sign of affection (and super cute) and means they're friends now.

Me:  "Oh good, I guess they're friends now."
Kid:  "Um....why is the new pony jumping up on her like that?"
Me:  (At the mini) "Hey stupid, you know you're a girl right?"

Well the mini jumps up on the pony....from behind. (Anyone know where this is going?)  Then I see it....the mini's very pronounced penis.  She had a dick.  Not only were they friends....they were excellent friends.

So I get my kid on the bus just in time and drive back to the barn, dialing the friend that gave us the mini."

Me:  "So, I was under the impression that this mini was a mare."
J:  "She is...."
Me:  "All except for the dick maybe."
J:  ".........What?"
Me:  "Yeah, she has a penis.  She is a he.  Now I have to go see if he has balls before I go to work."

Again, for those less horse don't spay a female horse.  It's probably ridiculously expensive, if it can be done.  Instead you geld, aka neuter, the males.  If they are intact, it's a stallion.  If they have been clipped, you call it a gelding. 

So, if this boy has his beans, then he technically could have knocked up our aged pony over night.  That's what I need....a baby freaking pony.  Cute and all, but not a good thing.

So the short version of the end of this story finds me calling my dad to ask him to come hold a mini horse while I check him for cojones.  (Ha! Spell check doesn't like the word cojones.)

He comes over and holds the mini while I lift up the tail.....nothing to be seen, but I have never actually checked for nuts before.  So I look underneath....(have I mentioned that I'm very fat with baby, and this guy's belly is only maybe 24" from the ground.....this wasn't comfortable) nothing to be seen behind the penis where you'd expect them to be.  Sigh......So I reach under there and grope him.  Empty. 

So the good news is that I do not have a potentially pregnant pony.

The bad news is that my day began with sodomizing a horse.  This isn't how I expected my Monday to start.

Wednesday, April 3, 2013


Ok.  That's it.  I just want to whine now. 

I don't want to do this anymore.  Can I get a court order for eviction of my unborn child?  You! Get out!

Enough all ready. 

I just want all of the following:

-to tie my shoes without a sharp pain in my crotch when I bend over.

-to not have constriction marks on my ankles from my socks because my feet are too swollen.

-to not snore like a lumberjack (sorry, if you happen to be a lumberjack)

-to be able to roll over in bed without a hoist and pulley system

-to shave my own unmentionable area (thank you honey, but you're terrible at this)

-to sleep for more than 1 hour straight

-to sit for more than 20 minutes without feeling like I've been sitting on a battle axe

-a fucking glass of wine

-no more hot flashes

-to stay up past 9pm like a big girl

-for gas to just pass through my bowels without getting stuck and causing pain in the region of 8 out of 10

-to put my rings back on

-to not lose feeling in my hands if I forget to hold them in just the right position for a couple of minutes

For everything to just suck less I guess. 
I'm sure all pregnant women go through this stage, where they just want it to be over. 
Yes, I know that whining about it won't make it go any quicker.
Makes me feel a little better though....

Tuesday, March 5, 2013

Rise of the Machines

So, on the subject of my fabulous pregnancy.....

I have an app for that. Shocking right? It's called Baby Bump. (P.S. no one paid me to write this....or even asked me nicely for that matter.)

It's a cute little app. It has new info every day, including symptoms to look out for, possible tests I might have done, how the fetus in there is doing developmentally. That sort of thing.

It is also damn near precognitive.

Last night, while sitting in the waiting area at my daughter's martial arts class, I feel a pain begin develop in my right ass cheek. I figure I've been sitting too long, and try to fidget my way into being more comfortable. No matter what, it still hurt like hell.

I get home, and it's still there. So I take Tylenol. No improvement. I lay down in bed later in the evening, and it subsides. Ok cool.

Except it's not cool. I only know what it is because I wrenched my back maybe 6 months ago and the misalignment of my vertebrae pinched my sciatic nerve, causing a fantastic condition called "sciatica".

Fuck sciatica.

It's a deep, dull, constant pain that can reach as far down as your calf if it's severe. I've only felt it as far down as my knee. This time it's sticking to my butt and upper thigh. (How many opportunities will I have to type the phrase "sticking to my butt" without working in the soft core porn industry?)

Thanks to my cute little app, I know that it's caused this time around by the baby being positioned so as to put pressure on the nerve. I know that there is nothing I can do about it. I also know that there is a chance he might change positions and (GET THE FUCK OFF IT!!!) then it will go away, but that worst case scenario I'm stuck with this for the next 2 months-ish.

My app decides to show me this information this morning.
This is the 3rd time that it has delivered a particularly helpful nugget of information at just the right time. It's downright uncanny.

I have a few theories on how this could be.

A - My pregnancy is so damn typical that it's following all of the guidelines to the letter, and so   
      there's nothing odd about any of it.
B - I am subconsciously giving myself these oddball symptoms.  I read about how my nose may be 
      stuffed up because my mucus membrane is expanding (or whatever it said about why my nose is  
      dripping all over the place) ,and my nose gets runny and I think it was like this the whole time.
      (I really don't think this is the case.  I saw that it was a symptom and was like "OH MY GOD!!  .
      That explains it!!)
C - My phone is out to get me.  IT is causing these symptoms and then reporting them to me to prove
      it's usefulness.  Technology is coming to get us folks. 

I have had all the weird pregnancy symptoms you never hear about.  Like being stuffed up, varicose veins in places I haven't even told my husband about, increased severity of my carpal tunnel syndrome, and so on.  Things I didn't know about at all....until my app told me about them.  See my theory unfolding? 

Have any scary apps?   

Wednesday, January 16, 2013

Quoting the Princess Bride

It became clear to me tonight that I may have made a very serious error in my choice of mate. 
This is the conversation that took place between my husband and I tonight:

Me:  "My name is Inigo Montoya.  You killed my father.  Prepare to die."
Him:  "lol" (ok it was via text....while in different rooms....of the same house)
Him:  "What's that from?"
Me:........................ (picks jaw up off the floor)
Me:  "I do not envy you the headache when you awake.  But for now, rest well and dream of large women."
Him:  "No idea."
Me:  (out loud)  WHAT!!
Me:  "Vizzini:  Finish him! Finish him your way"
          Fezzik:  Oh good, my way.  Thank you Vizzini.  What's my way?
          Vizzini:  Pick up one of those rocks, get behind a boulder.  In a few minutes the man
                        in black will come running around the bend.  The minute his head is in view
                        HIT IT WITH THE ROCK!!!
          Fezzik:  My way's not very sportsman like."
Him:  "What the hell?"

Oh my god.  Can I really have married a man who can't quote Princess Bride?  Or at least know it when he hears it?  I mean, Come On..... the "you killed my father, prepare to die" bit can usually be picked up even by people who haven't seen it 500 or so times. 

How could I have been this stupid?  Think of all the lost humor.  All the references to iocaine powder that will never be giggled at.  If i say "Sleep well, I'll likely kill you in the morning" he won't get it. 

But worst of all, is this:
Me:  "Well, you could bring me up some ice cream and we could watch it, since you don't seem to remember it that well."
Him:  "Ok, in a little bit."
Me:  "Oh honey.  I set you up so nicely.  You could've answered with "as you wish".  It would've been epic."
Him:  "Why?"

Kill me.....

Oh Just STFU

The most ridiculous, righteous, most twat-ish thing that I have heard come out of some one's mouth lately is this little gem:  "I love being pregnant."
You what? 
Now most sane women would think that this was said with a sarcastic air. 
No such luck friends.  This psycho was completely serious.
She followed it up with "don't you?"
No, sunshine.  I don't.  I'm not sure what you think there is to love.  Were you bulimic in the past?  So now you have a totally excusable reason to barf up your whipped cream and pulled pork binge lunch, and thus you're stoked?
Do you have small boobs and so you are excited that your A cup is going to swell to a near bursting C cup?  Fuck the pain, blow up these ta tas!!
Let me guess, it's all about the super fast growing hair and nails, and that "pregnancy glow". 
I am as un-stoked about pregnancy as it is possible to be.  I spent the first 3 months not-puking.  I was just nauseated from week 4 to week 16, without end.  It's a very strange feeling to be sick to your stomach and ravenously hungry at the same time.  It was to the point where I wondered if I made myself vomit would I maybe feel better.  I actually first had a hunch that I was pregnant because I spent 80% of my honeymoon feeling queasy.  That's a good time my friends.

I spent most of the first trimester so fatigued that I would come straight home from work, make dinner, and go lay down.  I was out cold by like 7:30 most nights.  As a result, I spent a lot of time being sedentary, as opposed to the fairly active lifestyle I was used to prior to getting knocked up.  The sum of these two aspects of pregnancy is that any muscle I had built dissolved into fat in no time.  At this point I think my 10 year old is stronger than I am.

By far, the best (sarcasm....this is what it looks like) weird pregnancy symptom that I have been blessed with thus far is that due to the swelling in my hands and feet, my carpal tunnel syndrome has elevated from like a level 2 (slightly annoying but not bothering me enough to actually do anything about it) to a level 36 (holy shit, cut off my arms!! I don't need them anymore, cut them off!!!)
Every night I wake up because my hands have surpassed numbness and moved on to a burning pain that reaches up past my elbows.  There is no going back to sleep.  There is nothing to be done about it.  I wear wrist braces to bed, and that means I'll only have to get up once or twice because of my hands.  I'll get up 2 or 3 more times either because I have to pee, or because husband face sucks to sleep next to.
I told my husband that if this isn't temporary....if it doesn't go back to normal after I pop the kid out....then I am going to have to get the surgery done.  I absolutely cannot live like this if  I can do anything about it.  The only reason I get through it now is because I'm already miserable in so many ways, what's the difference?  That, and I know that I can't fix it now.  Not with my little parasite in there.
Then there's my husband......ugh.
I love him, I really do.  Having this kid might get him killed.  
It doesn't help that I have crazy prego hormones, and I'm already chemically imbalanced, as I had to stop taking my anti-anxiety meds.  He must have a death wish.
In short, no sweetcheeks, I do not love being pregnant.  I think you're crazy if you do.  Stay away from me and my children you fucking weirdo.

Wednesday, January 9, 2013 I'm making a testosterone machine

Well, if anyone cares to know, I'm having a boy.  Yippie??
Yeah great.  I wanted a girl.  I know, I know....I have a girl already.  I don't have a clue what to do with a boy.  Everyone says to me "boys are great.  They're so loving and sweet and fun...".
Blah, blah, blah. 
Boys are boys.  Boys are stupid.  I think of all of the things that my husband does that make me grip my forehead and wince while shaking my head in consternation, and think to myself "oh great, now I will get double of this".
There is nothing exciting for me about having a boy.  Girls are pretty, their clothes are precious, thier activities are endearing, and I am one so I can relate.
A boy?  My color choices are blue, and blue.  My decor choices are footballs and sailboats. 
No fun.
I think of all the things my brother did while we were growing up and I shudder.  Breaking things to see how they worked.  Throwing himself off of things because it looked like fun.  All kinds of cuts, scrapes, burns and stitches.  There were road flares involved.  :::Shudder:::
I never did anything like he did.  I had too much respect for pain, death and authority (til my teen years, but that's another story).  
My daughter is smarter than all that.  She doesn't do things that she shouldn't because she knows she shouldn't.  Boys don't work that way.  At least, not in my experience of boys.  They say "hey that looks fun" and jump out of a moving vehicle.  They don't think about the moving vehicle part, or the road rash part, or the possibility of death or dismemberment.  No. 
Because......boys are stupid.
Even naming this boy sucks.  There aren't any sweet, adorable boy names.  I'm not having fun with boy names.
People have asked me, "Are you upset that it's a boy?"
Of course I'm not upset.  It's not like I placed an order for a girl and got a boy instead.  You don't get a choice in the matter.
So instead of a room decorated in purples, I get blues.
Instead of adorable dresses I get cable knit sweaters.
Instead of dress up I get action figures smashing together in battle.
Instead of gymnastics and ballet I get football and wrestling.
And most unfortunately, instead of an easy choice in schools I get to fight with my husband about public school vs. private school.
So it begins....

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Shouldn't You Be Working by Bethany Davenport is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License.