You might not have guessed this about me but I love coupons and I LOVE freebies. So today, I came across this http://bit.ly/v0mamK for free formula samples and I thought that some of you ladies might be interested. Enjoy!
Also, if you also like freebies, I have found a TON here!
Author Archives: Crystal
On Worry…
I have to say, internet, that this week of unemployment has been…well…glorious. It is so nice to feel calm most of the day. I realize now how long it has been since I have felt this way. Calm. It is heavenly.
There are, however, some things that do tend to weigh on my mind these days. I mean, being jobless and free is a beautiful thing, but it also allows a lot of time for thinking. And for worrying. Which, by the way, I am super fantastic and skilled at.
I worry mostly about insurance. Currently, I don’t have any. I have applied for some aid, because as My Beloved and I have discussed, it is sort of unrealistic now to consider finding a job a real option. I am currently 17 weeks along and soon the pregnancy will be painfully obvious (yes, I can still hide it if need be, but not for long) and who is going to hire me at five months pregnant? Then I will have the 90 day probation period, where I will not have insurance and, during that time, the employer will have the option to let me go (and I can’t help but feel that this would be the plan of action because by that time, they would be well aware that I would soon be taking a period of time out of the office or whatever, for maternity leave). So finding a job? Not so much something I want to put myself through. So for now, I await answers from the powers that be to see what I am eligible for. Things are looking good for aid, even though I am pretty proud and never really wanted to have to go this route but, I think it is the best thing for me and the wee one. And being unmarried, in this case, has proven to be SUCH a benefit. (Go team ME!)
I worry, obviously, about money. Even though I have pretty much budgeted the bejesus out of everything and planned for everything short of an alien abduction, I still get a little freaked out thinking that the only income I will have is unemployment. Which, by the way, SUCKS. But, again, the fact that I can stay home and remain mostly stress-free is worth the money I will lose. It honestly is.
The money thing is a big concern, also, because I need to somehow be able to fund my McDouble habit. Which, honestly, has taken a back seat for the time being. But I am not sure how long I can keep the cheeseburger monster at bay. (Note to former employer: Seriously, you should really have thought of how dangerous it is to fire a pregnant lady with a serious cheeseburger problem. This was a grave mistake.)
Mostly, though, I am concerned that I may never sleep again. Why does no one ever tell you, before you get pregnant, that you will NEVER SLEEP AGAIN? Seriously. I was expecting that, once this kid is born, I would be up all night feeding and banging my head against hard stuff, but I thought that this not sleeping thing happened AFTER destroying my vagina. Not DURING gestation. I find myself physically and mentally exhausted by 7pm and passing out and dreaming about fried stuff with cheese and then waking up promptly at 2:45 am, moving back to the couch where I will watch re-runs of bad TV shows from the seventies until I finally get so frustrated that I start the hysterical crying/eating until about five minutes before My Beloved wakes up and comes into the living room. Which is when I will have just fallen asleep. I am not going to even get INTO the painful attempts at sleep while IN my bed. With my giant boyfriend wrapping his tree-legs around me periodically and my giant cat sleeping directly ON MY HEAD. Because I will start crying right now. And it is only lunch time. And my bed time/hysterical crying time is not for another 6-7 hours. I could bear to disrupt the schedule of insanity. It is the only routine I have these days.
Just a Little Fun
This is not really going to be a post, sorry to disappoint. However, I just remembered a website that is a major time sucker and also, well, it is fun…and sort of makes me feel like a little kid!
Enjoy!
Also, don’t judge me, I live in Florida. There is no real snow here. Sheesh.
On A BREAK.
First, I would like to say a HUGE Thank you to all of you ladies (rays of internet sunshine) who have commented with all your encouraging and supportive words. All those words mean more than you can possibly know! THANK YOU!
I actually feel pretty good. I have been a little ill (the vomiting has returned, just in time to make life just a little bit more fun!) but other than that, I am calm and feeling optimistic. I have honestly surprised my self with the lack of spaztastic tantrums and my ability to stay all cheery and to look on the bright side. (I finally learned about this “bright side” I have heard so much about!) And the bright side is this:
While I may have come into this pregnancy reluctantly and even begrudgingly, it has happened. It is a real thing and it will happen whether I am ready for it or not. (This may not sound like a bright side, but hold on, I swear I’m getting there…) Everyone knew that I hated my job and the majority of the people that I worked with and the stress it caused me was painfully obvious to everyone around me. Bright side? I no longer have to deal with the anxiety of working in a toxic environment and try to maintain my sanity for the health of my unborn child. Who, by the way, I am recognizing more and more every day as a real blessing.
So, there it is. Things have happened and are out of my control. And I feel good. Confident. And…strangely happy. (Go team ME!)
I have even gotten several phone calls already to schedule interviews for new jobs. The thing is, I am not even sure I want to attempt to find another job right now. In fact, the more I think about it, I am not sure I want to work at all. Like…ever. And not because I want to be lazy and eat bonbons. Because it dawned on me that I couldn’t bear another job like the last few that I have had. And how good a parent can I be if I am constantly stressed out and unhealthy? So, that’s where I am at the current moment. I am ON A BREAK! (And for you “Friends” fans, I need you to go ahead and read that in the voice of Ross. If you didn’t, you did it wrong. Try again.)
Now if I could remember what sleep feels like…
Of COURSE…
And just when you think things can’t get any more stressful? You get laid off.
I went into work today, begrudgingly as always, and then left…well…more begrudgingly. Five days after announcing my pregnancy, there I am, unemployed. I am not terribly upset about being unemployed, mainly because I can’t think of anything I hate more than that job. (Except maybe one of my previous jobs…) I am exhausted, fat, and now, without health insurance. Isn’t life grand?
That said, I will just put it out there that I absolutely believe that this situation is based solely on my pregnancy and the fact that there were rumors that lay offs would start after the new year. I am fairly certain that, because of my condition, and the expense on the small company that employed me of the time off I will have to take, I was the prime target of this. It is disheartening because I have been there for almost four years, but also, as I said, a relief. Such an intense hatred of something can’t be good for the baby.
But I won’t say that I haven’t freaked out and thought about going and hitting several choice people in the face (or with my car) today. I have. And the fantasies have been almost as real as the ones I have about stabbing the cast of The Real World. And that, my friends, is serious.
I know that things will work out for the best. My Beloved and I did have some things in mind that we couldn’t do while I was working, so now, well, I am all freed up for the time-being. I am hoping that I am eligible for unemployment and can take a little time off to decide what happens next. In the meantime, I am just doing research on assistance programs and things in the area.
It is frustrating to think that a company that I have worked long, and ridiculously hard hours for would do this to me now. NOW?! Really?
Anyone experienced in knee-breaking, hit me up. Have I got some work for YOU.
Also??? I NEED WINE.
Aftermath
The Facebook announcement wasn’t as traumatic as I had expected. I did get a lot of support from my friends and family and it was welcomed and appreciated and I feel so much lighter. SO MUCH LIGHTER. Only one person from work, evidently, saw the post and responded and has mentioned it to me today. I am quite sure that there are others who know but have not said anything yet, which is annoying but sort of a relief. I just want to know that everyone knows and has gotten all the talk out of their systems so we can all move on. Many of my good friends (in fact, almost all of them) have kids already, so they have already proven to be a good resource for me. But I will tell you, I sort of feel, with the influx of all the advice, that my head might explode at any moment. How am I supposed to remember the names of all the contraptions that are a waste of money, or the ones that are baby must-haves? I could write these things down, I suppose, but I am so overwhelmed with the whole thing that I can’t manage to think fast enough to do that. And then, before I know it, I have forgotten and then find myself in a panic because I don’t know the name of that thing that does stuff that makes the kid sleep for HOURS and I NEED THAT THING. What IS it?!
Aside from my normal state of utter panic, I have been doing pretty well. I have managed to answer phone calls that I know will result in conversations about babies, which, two weeks ago, never would have happened. As it turns out, a good friend of mine is also pregnant right now and has not yet made the announcement, but is due two weeks after my due date. This is awesome for several reasons:
1. She will significantly reduce the amount of freaking out I have to do with regard to what to buy for this kid because she has a little one already and knows what is a necessity and what is a waste of too much money.
2. She will probably understand if I am a complete psychopath for the next few months and will probably still come with me to do a baby registry and stuff so I don’t drive my car off a bridge from the stress of it all.
3. I was really wishing that I had a pregnant friend who could hang out with me and NOT drink wine. And she loves wine as much as I do, so we can be bitter about it together. (I don’t think that she is as bitter as I am because she likes babies more than wine and I am still undecided and I believe that I will be until I hold this little alien and decide which is more rewarding: Pinot Grigio or “the baby smell”? Jury is still out.)
4. I desperately want someone to waddle with when the time comes. Waddling alone just sounds depressing.
I had been feeling little flutters from time to time, but nothing to write home about. In fact, I told My Beloved yesterday (and most days) that this baby needs to DO SOMETHING soon because I just feel fat. I feel hideous and obese and generally GROSS. I feel like all these changes are happening to my body, but so far, no real, hard evidence that it is for any good reason. And I am telling you, that is effing annoying. It has been really hard for me to accept all this extra discomfort (and belly mass) without being somehow rewarded. But last night, or early this morning rather, I woke up for my 7th trip to the bathroom and returned to bed, half-asleep. I assumed my position, on my stomach, and started to actually feel something. And, this time, it wasn’t just that tiny little flit of something moving about, it was an honest-to-goodness, baby doing backflips kind of feeling and it went on for a good five minutes straight.
I was both excited and terrified about this. At first, I wasn’t sure that I had even felt it at all, or if I had been dreaming the whole thing.
But in the end, I guess the baby heard my request and decided to DO SOMETHING. And I am quite certain that this is an idication that he/she is both obedient and a genius. Oh, and possibly a gymnast.
Now I will await the first kicks, which I am sure will totally freak me out. I might need therapy. Or to call my fellow preggo friend (THANK HEAVENS!!!)
P.S. Speaking of kicks and whatnot, for future reading on the subject, go here!
We Did It! Broken News!
…and I am not talking about the act that got us into this mess in the first place!
Yesterday, My Beloved and I broke the news to the remaining family members who hadn’t already been told by my mother or his sister. We brought a cheesecake to his mom’s house for dessert with the words, “We’re Preggo!” written in chocolate chips across the top. She must’ve stared at it for 45 seconds before screaming with glee and then laughing/crying for ten minutes. It was just the response we had hoped for. I actually got a little teary-eyed for, like, the second time during the whole 15 weeks that I have been pregnant. (And this time, not because I really just wanted to chug a bottle of wine or sleep through the night…or you know…take my head OUT of the toilet for a whole ten minutes in a row…)
Panic and Maternity Pants
My Beloved and I decided to go ahead and share our news with our family and friends on Thanksgiving. You know, because, everyone is thankful for the upcoming opportunity to change diapers and get puked on for a couple of years only to be rewarded with more and different things such as, “the terrible twos” and the realization that you may never eat in a restaurant again. Oh! And germs! And paying for college! I digress. Anyway, yeah. Thanksgiving.
We decided that, since no one is really making a big to-do about the holiday this year and my mom is out of state for a funeral (and, already knows and is buying massive quantities of unisex baby gear), we just would “bring dessert” to dinner on Thursday. We’ll bring a pumpkin pie with the words “we’re pregnant” written on top and then present it to his mom and watch her spaz for a while and then I will gorge myself with turkey (or said pie) and then take a nap. That’s the plan. I then plan to Facebook bomb everyone else because if I have to say the words one more time, I might hurl myself off a bridge. This way, everyone can react from the privacy of their own homes and will, hopefully, not feel the need to call and discuss it with ME. Because, as previously discussed, I am not sure I can handle the oohs and awwwws. I am queasy enough, people. Besides, if you are a person I would allow oohs and awws from, then you didn’t find out about it over Facebook. Duh.
The only person in my family left to tell was really my dad, because my mom has opened her big, fat mouth to everyone else, although she keeps insisting that she hasn’t but when my grandma said, “So, am I hearing rumors about you or not?” I sort of figured it out. I was waiting for a time to actually speak with him, (he is fairly hard to get on the phone because there is a 16 hour time difference) but finally decided that, if I didn’t want him to find out on Facebook too, I’d better send him an email pretty soon. I did that yesterday. I feel that my dad is going to be a big, sappy mess when I talk to him. And that makes me uncomfortable.
The anxiety is slowly lifting for me, though. I have been able to speak openly with several of the women in my office but have asked that they are respectful of my privacy and so far, that seems to have worked. As we near Thanksgiving, I am starting to feel more and more comfortable with the idea that people will know and I can just move on with my life, panic free! (And believe me, I am aware that it may seem ridiculous the amount of panic I have about this but I am uber-private and having the kind of news I cannot hide takes away a bit of my control and makes me feel…well…naked. And the thought of myself as a naked, pregnant lady, disturbs me…)
On an entirely different note, I have learned that, while the mere thought of maternity clothes sent shivers up my spine just a few short weeks ago, they are delightful. I can’t speak to the tops yet, as I have no need for them at this point but I would like to share with you that I have purchased 5 pairs of maternity pants on eBay and I am having trouble with the idea that, after I have this baby, I will have to go back to wearing regular pants. Seriously. Do I have to? It seems to me that I should get to be comfortable and not feel like an overstuffed sausage, like, all the time. Not just when I am knocked up. I think ALL women should be wearing maternity clothes! Down with non-elastic waists!
That’s really all I got.
Almost Time (Breaking the News Part Deux)
I am starting to realize that, the more time that goes by, the closer it is getting to the time when I will actually have to start telling people about this whole baby thing. I am not really showing yet, at least not to other people. I can tell that my belly no longer likes to be contained in my favorite jeans and that there is a little less room in my drawstring pants which once required constant attention so that I was not walking around nude from the waist down. But other than that, things, to the naked eye, are just as they have been. But I know that this stage will not last forever. I know that soon I will be sporting that “baby bump” that I dread so much. I still haven’t told the majority of my family, and not because they will react terribly or anything like that, but because I really try and find some creative, yet suitable (or totally inappropriate) way to break any news. (Once, when I decided to move across the country, I told my mom that I had a brain tumor and had three months to live, you know, that way when she found out I was just moving, she would be relieved and not kill me. Although, she may have wanted to kill me more after that…whatever.)
I don’t really have the energy to make some big, elaborate announcement complete with confetti and all that jazz. I kind of just want to send an email to all of the family that says, “I’m knocked up. Send presents. Do not touch my belly. I will cut you. Good day.” And while that might do the trick for the family (some of whom live on different continents), I am not sure that I can be that nonchalant about it with these bitches in my office. You see, I work with 23 women and no men. NO MEN. And yes, it is pure hell. Especially for someone like me, who prefers the company of people who compliment the beer-pong playing, shot-taking, frat boy in me. Because it is less work to be a frat boy. You don’t have to think, much less emote. At all. (Hanging out with dudes is like an emotional vacation after being in my office for 40 hours per week.) I am worried that, with these office people, (with whom I never share an ounce of information about my personal life) I will not be able to properly convey (without physical violence) that I am not kidding about the fawning and oohing and awwwing and belly touching. It will not happen or they will die. DIE.
I think I decided that the best way to break the news is to tell the family first (probably on Thanksgiving) some in person, some via whatever other method I can tolerate said family member best, and then posting something on Facebook. My dilemma is, I don’t want nine million replies to the post asking questions. I also am not sure how to be witty and still be clear that I am hormonal and am perfectly capable of ripping throats out.
Why can’t everyone just read my mind already? Sheesh. What a bunch of inconsiderate bastards. This is too stressful!
OB Visits: A Survival Story
My frist OB visit was about three and a half weeks ago. And I didn’t blog about it because it really wasn’t anything but a glorified and ultra-long GYN visit wherein I was only barely able to contain my homicidal tendencies while I sat in the waiting room under an air vent blasting 20 degree wind (seriously, gale force) directly into my face. I got there, expecting that I would be somewhat comforted to be in an environment where women go for their first confirmation, like a real medical one, that they are, indeed, growing a human. I thought that this, if anywhere, would be the place where I would find some serenity. Internet, OB offices, however frilly and ridiculously decorated they are, are not serene. My OB office struck me as impersonal and pretentious. And you may ask, “Why would you not run for the door the second you made this observation?” And my answer to you would be, “Holy HELL! I don’t know about OB visits or offices or even where another one is located in vicinity to my apartment. I don’t know what they normally look like! Or why the Medical Assistants all have the same haircut! Or why they want to freeze all the pregnant ladies into big ol’ preggo pops in here! Why are you asking me questions like this?!” (A little crazy, maybe, but this is how I would answer you. And you would like it.)
So, two hours after I had arrived, paid an obscene amount of money for all of my co-pays for the duration, been informed that my insurance (due to as clerical mistake on the part of my office) was “invalid”, peeing in a cup and having a lady feel around inside my abdomen and inspect my lady parts, I had been told nothing. I was given a lab order and a prescription for Zofran and sent home with a future appointment. That was it. Did anyone confirm that I was pregnant? Nope. Did anyone do ANYTHING that was of any use or comfort to me? Absolutely not!
So, as you can imagine, I didn’t have high hopes for my second visit. (Except that maybe my BP wouldn’t be quite so high that the techs thought I was about to stroke out, I get nervous, what can I say?) Someone, in passing, had mentioned that the second visit would be the visit where they would let me hear the heartbeat for the first time. But, I mean, come ON, internet. We all know that they would be telling me that this would all be just a cruel joke. You know, like April Fools Day except, in November. And not at all funny, mind you. So, again, denial sets in and I don’t even think about it.
Because there would have to actually BE a baby in order for anyone to HEAR a baby. Duh.
So, my second appointment was this past Friday. And I showed up early and I sat in the ice box (read: waiting room) and tried not to stare at all the bellies and wonder which ones of them was as bitter about being there as I was. I peed in a cup. I had my BP taken. I did not have a stroke. And then I was put into a room to fester (read: wait for the doctor). She came in after about 35 minutes, thanked me for my patience, went over a brief medical history sheet with me and then told me to sit on that weirdo table thing that creeps me out. I was reluctant. But she was so cheeful and adorable. I wanted to pinch her cheeks and/or kick her in the shins. I couldn’t decide. But it didn’t matter, both would have been slightly inappropriate.
But I did as I was told and I lay back on the table and she put the cold goo on my tummy and we listened. At first I heard this loud “swush, swush” and was unimpressed. I was annoyed that I was freezing and that I could have been at home wrapped in a blanket, watching something uplifting on TV. You know, like Maury. And then the doctor’s face lit up and she said, “The really fast one is the baby. It sounds perfect.” I felt awful because although it was amazing to actually think about what was going on in that room, I really just couldn’t think about anything except bolting up and running out of there at top speed. I thought, for a second, that the doctor’s eyes were welling with tears so I promptly diffused the situation by saying something ridiculous, probably about sandwiches but I can’t really remember because the whole thing is a huge blur.
Just like that, though, it was over. There was some real evidence that I had not just spontaneously stopped menstruating and started craving corned beef hash. I am going to have a baby. A fucking baby, ya’ll. For reals.
So…like any expectant mom would do, I ran to my car, and started to cry hysterically and contemplate driving my car into the ocean, which, let’s face it, was only three blocks east. I could practically see it. I decided to go ahead and drown my fears and sorrows and all that stuff, not in the ocean, but in way too many dollar menu items from McDonald’s.
But me and the “baby”? We made it. We are significantly fatter than last week. But we are alive. And our hearts sound perfect.
Broken Condoms 