Author Archives: Crystal

A Mother’s Day Freebie!

I know some of you took advantage, way back in the day, of the free baby carrier promo thing I posted. (Which was SO AWESOME, but I obviously haven’t used it yet, you know, because I have no baby yet* and my cat is VERY uncooperative.) For those of you who are interested, here’s another freebie for mommies or mommies-to-be! A free carseat canopy! Go here and enter promo code CCMOTHER. I haven’t ordered one yet, but I actually have heard good things about these canopies. Most likely, you have to pay shipping but, I hear they are adorable and well worth it!

*DAMMIT.

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Using My Own Uterus

This image shows a white wine glass (WMF Easy)...

Oh, how I miss you, wine.

So, in the final few weeks of this pregnancy thing I’ve been doing, I’ve found myself bitter, cranky, easily excitable, anxious and disinterested in things such as being in public, talking to people, eating vegetables, and getting out of bed.

I think, just judging from what I have read, that all of this stuff is pretty normal. I have entered that miserable stage of pregnancy where I am too big/uncomfortable/exhausted to get much done and I am too over it to care. I just want to have a damn baby now. For fuck’s sake, when am I going to have a damn baby?!

The cravings for a giant glass of white wine that plagued me at the beginning of my pregnancy have been replaced with the craving for a giant caramel latte. Several times daily. (I would seriously mainline if I thought it would satisfy me, at this point.) Don’t get me wrong, internet, I need that giant white wine now more than I have ever needed a giant cocktail. Because I believe that my tolerance is now such that it might completely knock me out and shave a few hours off of this torturous game of “Waiting for Baby Without Murdering Anyone”.

I am pretty sure that Baby L outgrew my pelvis weeks ago. She seems still to be attempting to backstroke through her previously roomy environment, which causes a lot of doubling over on my part. And, you know, having the breath knocked out of me mid-sentence. And nausea.

I am growing increasingly terrified of delivery. I mean, I know the shit’s gonna hurt, y’all. Duh. But the longer the wait, the more I am dreading it. On the one hand, I say, “BRING IT, NATURE, I CAN TAKE THIS. AND I WILL TAKE YOU DOWN.” and on the other hand, I’m all like, “Would it be possible to borrow someone else’s vagina to do this with? I mean, come on, this is a joke, right?” As it turns out, y0u have to use your own vagina. Unless you used someone else’s uterus. And alas, I used my own. I am a moron.

As my due date not-so-rapidly approaches, I get a lot of messages from friends saying, “Baby?” or “When are you going to go into labor?”  And to them, I would like to say: I truly love you and appreciate all of your concern. But obviously, if you haven’t heard from me, I am still growing this little parasite and I don’t want to talk about it until she is officially OUT. And sleeping in a bassinet. And not in my rib cage. No offense. I just sort of want to grab an array of kitchen utensils and do some home surgery on myself at this point, and I just don’t have the patience to talk about how I am STILL FUCKING PREGNANT.  Did I mention that I love and appreciate you? I will call you when this thing gets going.

 

 

 

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I Thought Y’all Knew!

Gummy prenatal vitamins DO exist and I sincerely apologize for not letting you all know 9 months ago! Down with horse pills!

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**Update**

This post is for Jells, in response to this post!

Nine Months. A Total Lie.

You’ve all heard the phrase, “If you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all”, right?

Then you can understand, internet, why I haven’t been a regular, every day kind of blogger lately. But I am here today to make amends, (to some degree) so let me tell you right off the bat, internet, that your hair looks LOVELY today.

Ahem…

Today, I am 36 weeks pregnant. That, if you are doing the math, is NINE MONTHS. And if you believe what you have heard about pregnancy lasting nine months, then it would stand to reason that I would currently be IN LABOR. But…alas…I am not. (And that nine months of pregnancy thing? A total lie. They say that, but they are lying. 40 weeks does not equal nine months.) I am, however, dousing things in hot sauce to speed up the process. Heartburn or no heartburn. I can’t take anymore. I can’t remember who said to me, around week 25 or so in response to my inquiry about why pregnancy has to last so long, “At least you aren’t an elephant, they gestate for 22 months. That’s almost TWO YEARS!” but I would like to say to this person, a) SHUT THE FUCK UP and b) you have a point. My thoughts on this vary. BUT, the sentiment has stayed with me. And for the record, I am glad that I am not an elephant. And gestation really isn’t the only reason. Their skin looks painfully dry.

For lack of anything nice to say, here are a few notes on my 35th week:

1. My belly has seemingly doubled in size. Until now, strangers had been oblivious of “the bump” and had treated me just as rudely as they always had. This gave me a small amount of comfort because either they hadn’t noticed that I was knocked up (which essentially meant that I wasn’t nearly as gigantic as I thought) or that people were just as big of assholes to pregnant ladies (which made me feel less like I was handicapped in some way). MB and I went to a flea market last weekend as an attempt to get me out into the land of the living and while we were out and about, three people made conversation about my pregnancy. This was both unsettling (because I realized that I probably now AM as gigantic as I feel) and comforting (because people actually WERE nicer to me than before I was knocked up). I didn’t punch anyone. Not even the lady in the dairy section of the grocery store who yelled across the aisle at me to comment on how low the baby is sitting, judging from the shape of my belly.

2. I’m a bit snappy. Throughout the whole pregnancy, no matter how irritatign things were, I managed to refrain from snapping at MB. Like, almost, AT ALL (which, if you know me, is a total accomplishment). But now? All bets are off, internet. I will bite his head off. And if someone witnesses said head biting, I will bite their heads off as well. No one is safe. I am a loose cannon. (Which should make this baby shower I have to attend tomorrow interesting! HA!)

3. I hurt. Pretty much everywhere. I never understood how a tiny baby, kicking you in the ribs from the inside could be painful. And then it started happening to me. And then I started viewing it as some sort of karmic retribution for accidently dropping my sister when she was a baby. (It was totally an accident, I tried to lift her out of the bassinet because she was crying! Sheesh!) The back pain, I can handle. I am used to my back feeling like it is breaking in half. And the hip pain has mostly subsided (unless I am trying to sleep on my sides or walk through a parking lot).  But my muscles ache. And my head hurts. And the nausea HAS RETURNED. (Did you hear that, ladies?! NAUSEA. AGAIN!) And I am pretty sure that this child is already the size of a 12-year-old.

I am ready to do this thing.

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Welcome to my Cervix.

 

Uterus and uterine tubes.

Uterus and uterine tubes. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

So, its getting down to the wire, internet. I now have 5 weeks until my due date.  This has been the longest goddamned countdown of my life, and here it is, very near the end. And here I am, starting to freak the fuck out.

It is easy, at the start of a pregnancy (and really) all through the second trimester (if you ask me) to realize that you are pregnant and deal with that, but somehow avoid the reality of the situation wherein you will actually somehow have to expel this baby from your LOINS. That reality started to set in at my last OB appointment. The ARNP I have been seeing for the entirety of my care said, “Everything looks good. Next time, we’ll do some cultures and look at your cervix!”

At first, the statement, “look at your cervix” was mildly unsettling. You know, just because I don’t really want anyone to ever talk to me about wanting to look at it. It is private, y’all. Leave my cervix alone. Not to mention that I am feeling like a big, disgusting blimp and haven’t been able to shave my bikini line in order to appropriately display my lady parts.  (Gasp!) I am aware that my ARNP is used to looking at women’s nether regions and that she probably won’t care about my shaving habits.  And I am no stranger to the GYN and people have ventured here before. But I am also aware that this “cervix viewing” can only mean one thing. I am almost done. And one day SOON, a person is going to squeeze out of my vagina and this shit is going to HURT.

I have, thus far, managed to block out the fear of pain and discomfort and pooping. At least for the most part. Hell, I have been so anxious to get this kid out of me, that it has barely been a thought in my head. (Back pain, hip pain, breathlessness, intense heart burn and constant peeing tend to do that to a person, I guess.) But now, here in the home stretch, I am starting to think about what happens when I actually DO go into LABOR. (You know, the moment we’ve all been waiting for. The moment I have been praying would happen RIGHT NOW for the past two weeks.) There is no doubt in my mind that I can do this. I am strong and capable of delivering this child, but I am terrified of the pain and the distruction of my friend, my trusty vagina.

I have read a lot of really good birth stories. I have appreciated how candid and real everyone has been with their most intimate moment, when they meet their child. But lets be real, internet, how much pain are we talking? I mean, I know that the generic answer to that question is something like, “The pain is totally worth it once you see the face of your child” and I TOTALLY GET THAT. But, be for real! Is my head going to spin around? Will I spit pea soup? Will my body split completely down the middle?

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Getting our Shit Together

When the urge to nest hits you, it is difficult to think of much else. Over the last few weeks, I have had an increasingly strong urge to clean all things. Up high, down low. Pretty much everywhere. The problem with this nesting urge is that it comes at a time in my pregnancy where I am pretty much unable to maneuver my gigantic ass in order to clean these things. I can start a project, work at it for ten minutes or so, but then have to sit down and regain my breath and/or overall body function.

Yesterday, however, solely because MB is now aware that he is on “my fiance is pregnant and overly emotional house arrest”, we got a lot accomplished (read: HE got a lot accomplished, I dusted things that I didn’t have to squat to get to).  We were able to put together our adorable swing, the play yard and the stroller and clean the entire basic living area of the house from top to bottom. I feel relieved. Of course, there is still a lot to do, but progress is progress.

Now the dilemma for me is that we have this play yard just sitting in the middle of the living room as a constant reminder that I AM STILL PREGNANT. We don’t even have a BABY to put in this thing yet. And it makes me more impatient than I already was! (If that is possible.) It is hard enough not to be impatient when something is constantly kicking you in your bladder and reminding you of the days when you were empty and peed like normal people with normal sized bladders.

The next stop on the mother of all to-do lists is to pack my hospital bag. I am super ignorant as to what this bag should contain, however, and am worried that I will either forget something super important or pack like I am going on a vacation somewhere. I know that I don’t need to bring 32 pairs of shoes and I am in no danger of packing a bikini (because I cringe at the thought of THIS body in a bikini), but I am pretty sure I will pack like I always do. Like a crazy person. Because you never know how many sundresses you will need after giving birth. You know…necessities. A friend suggested that I check out a website that has a check list for this type of thing, so I guess that will my plan for tomorrow. I will have to try and work it in between my bouts of intense anxiety.

My mood is, however, improving. I didn’t even burst into tears yesterday. Not even once! And today, when I woke up to find that bees had invaded one of our bathrooms, I did not panic and did not become a profanity-screaming lunatic. I calmly explained to MB that, the buzzing sound I thought was the result of a common house fly stuck between the blinds and the window pane was actually about ten bees which had taken over the bathroom. Then I called my landlord, who is on vacation and probably doing Easter things with his grandchildren and calmly explained that this is not cool at all and that I am terrified of bees and chemicals used to kill bees and that exterminators are busy eating ham and searching for Easter eggs and cannot be bothered, but kindly asked that he have someone fix this tomorrow morning (or I will surely go insane). In the meantime, MB attacked the bathroom armed with some sort of spray and a shoe and all seems to be good for the time being. (And he only got stung one time!) Phew.

God, I am exhausted.

 

 

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Baby Update and a Near Breakdown

I’ve officially made it to 34 weeks. I am officially EIGHT AND A HALF MONTHS PREGNANT. And if saying that outloud doesn’t make me feel like a fat-ass, I don’t know what would.

The last week has been a total clusterfuck. (I know I said I would stop saying the f-word but the fetus can’t read, people. And I am TYPING, not SPEAKING.) I started out really excited because we were looking forward to our final ultrasound on Wednesday. I think that Baby L was even excited for us to see her because it seemed she did a constant happy dance for three days straight.

On Wednesday, MB and I had a lovely day. Baby L, however still as uncooperative as ever and not removing her tiny fingers from in front of her face so we could get a good look, looked perfect and is weighing in at 5 pounds 5 ounces, which the tech said is completely normal. MB was excited to get to be at this appointment because he has missed almost every other one because of his insane work schedule. Baby L stuck her tongue out in the middle of the ultrasound and then let out a big yawn as if to say, “YES. I am as bored of this gestation period as you are. Anyone have some cards?” MB and I spent the rest of the afternoon checking out thrift stores to see if we could find anything useful. We didn’t. But we had a pretty fun time, aside from my very slow-paced waddling and hip pain. (Which, we are told is due to the change in Baby L’s position. She is now a lot lower and putting a lot of pressure on my nether-region and pelvis. Hooray!) We ended our afternoon with some Rita’s deliciousness. (Which actually seemed to cure my heartburn!!! SWEET BABY JESUS, I may have found a cure! And a super tasty one at that!)

Yesterday, though, I woke up before 8am with the most severe hip and lower back pain that I have had yet. I decided not to get out of bed at all. And then I started to cry. Because there is nothing worse than having all of this free time and so much to get done and no energy or stamina or…you know…hips…to do all of it with. By the time MB got home, I had gotten out of bed and even managed to cook a very lazy meal for MB and venture out for a necessary shopping trip. A really quick one. But I was a zombie. I felt an overwhelming sense of something. Not dread, exactly. And not frustration, completely. And not only sadness. It was like a mix of powerlessness, hopelessness and loss all at the same time. Why? I don’t know. Maybe because I know I won’t feel normal again for several weeks and I might not ever accomplish the baseboard cleaning that I am desperately yearning to do. Or maybe because I will never have a day again where not getting out of bed is an option. Or maybe just because I am a pregnant, emotional wreck with only 40-something days until she does the biggest, most important thing in the whole world and the uncertainty is starting to wear her down. Who knows?

And though I thought today would be better. And it was. For exactly three hours. And then MB said that he was thinking about going to have a drink with a friend after work today. And then I became that psychopath that I was about the unfolded laundry that one time. And I thought to myself, “Who does he think he is? Beer is not an option! We have six weeks left and I’ll be damned if that jerk gets to drink beer while I sit here and patiently wait to pop this damn kid out. Without so much as a cigarette! Are you kidding me?!” And then I got angry that he had had the audacity to suggest such a thing. And then I got depressed that he wanted to leave and hang out with his friend while I am creating LIFE in my BODY and can barely lift my fat ass from the couch! And you can probably (especially if you are or have been pregnant) see where this is going to end up…where I am hysterically sobbing and snotting all over the place wondering if this child will ever come and if I will ever feel like a normal person again. And if MB will even come home from work today because, after all, I am a complete lunatic and why would he want to be with a lunatic?  Even if this lunatic is cooking his kid! You ladies know the drill…I don’t need to go any further.

Of course, MB (having done nothing wrong AT ALL) has since apologized for suggesting such a ridiculous thing as trying to maintain a social life while I am pregnant and I have showered all the tears and ridiculousness away and am feeling better. (I have to say, I am not sure I feel better because of the apology. Or the shower. Or the fact that “Dirty Dancing” is on TV.) I am no longer hyperventilating and can recognize that I am just sick and tired of being sick and tired and am ready to get a move on. But in the meantime, I am really going to need MB to just stay chained to my side so I don’t lose it. Is that so much to ask?

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I haven’t even HAD my baby girl yet and this already stresses me out!

Forty Ounce's avatarmilk & honey ~ geeks & gangstas

If you haven’t figured it out already, your role as a parent includes keeping your daughter off the pole, which requires setting standards of how she should expect to be treated by others, as well as explaining her anatomy to her.  As much of a free spirit as I am about sexuality and femininity, I found the latter to be one of the more difficult lessons for me to relay to my 4-year-old.  It all started when she was 3, and stopped wearing diapers. I was so proud of myself.  Potty-training– DONE. The next thing I know, we’re watching cartoons and I see her chubby little toddler fingers exploring her nether regions. I mean, you can’t blame her– she’d never had access to that part of her body back in diaper-land.  Undies offer a freedom that I had to teach her to respect.

“What are you doing, pumpkin?” “I’m touching my privacy,” she says matter-of-factly in her…

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