Mourning the Lady Parts

There was really never any question, after I found out I was pregnant again, that Baby O would be our last child. I was never really sure I wanted to have kids until I had Baby L, so when a second was coming, I knew I was done. At my first OB/GYN appointment during this pregnancy, I was already asking about birth control for after Baby O was born. Because, you know, if you are keeping score, BOTH of my pregnancies were accidental and I was on the pill when I got pregnant this last time, so I was pretty sure the pill wasn’t going to prevent Captain Super Sperm from getting me knocked up again. But I wasn’t sold on the IUD method because I just didn’t want some weird object floating around in there. And I didn’t want something so invasive as a tubal ligation. (Mostly because I am a total wuss and, up until I had my kids, had had almost NO medical issues in my life. Seriously, I had an x-ray once.) But I wanted the permanence of a tubal ligation. You know, without the incision. Gross.

At my first OB/GYN appointment, there was a poster on the wall advertising Essure so I asked about it. Seriously? Permanent? Yes. In-Office procedure? Awesome. No incision? SOLD. So, I had decided at 14 weeks that I was getting this shit taken CARE of. With a QUICKNESS, you guys.

So, yesterday, I had my “counseling” appointment. Which basically means that I watched a video of women and doctors and some women doctors talk about their experiences with it and how awesome it is. And then I signed a consent form.  There is a waiting period of 30 days before I can have the procedure done. Because, you know, I might change my mind and decide I want another kid. (HA! If I ever say anything like that, internet, please remind me how long it has been since I have slept or eaten a meal while it was hot. Or while sitting.) So, now we wait.

What I didn’t expect was that I feel sort of like I am having to mourn the loss and/or use of my lady parts. I mean, first of all, I never really wanted to use them. And they are definitely USED at this point. And I don’t want to use them again. But it is sort of sad to think about. I never really thought about how much of a privilege it is to be ABLE to have children. Even if you don’t want them and don’t plan to have them, you have the POWER to create life. I mean, how amazing is that? I still don’t want to have another baby, you guys, it is just a crazy thought that I won’t be ABLE to.

I’m not going to change my mind. Because even if I did go absolutely batshit crazy and decide that more kids was a good idea, I wouldn’t do it. MB and I had our boy and our girl and we are absolutely elated to have completed our family and so QUICKLY! (This might have worked out for us. It seems doable. Hard, but we got this. In your FACE, universe!) Really, this is the only way to go. It is this or Captain Super Sperm over here will have to just stay away from me until I am all old and stuff. Because, I don’t even trust a vasectomy at this point. My husband is no joke.


A Revelation

A pregnant woman

A pregnant woman (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Today, I am 21 weeks pregnant.

The whole thing is still kind of sitting in the pit of my stomach like a brick, some days. Like, I am not sure if I am going to wake up from some really stressful dream wherein I have accidentally gotten knocked up again. AGAIN. Some days, there is a heaviness and an uncertainty that I can’t shake. Some days, I cry a lot.

Today was not one of those days. Today, I had my second OB visit. Of course, I had the appointment on my calendar for 1pm and it was actually at 10:30 am so I was pretty sure I wouldn’t get to see the doctor. But, they saw me. And they didn’t even make me wait for hours. MB was able to come with me. Which only happened once throughout my entire pregnancy with Baby L because of his work schedule. We got to hear Baby O’s heartbeat again and, to my surprise, it didn’t make me want to run out of there or drive my car into the ocean. I felt calm. Serene. Ready to DO this thing. And then MB and I went to lunch. Alone. To one of my least favorite restaurants. But I had a surprisingly good sandwich and then a delicious chocolate malt. Because I am pregnant, you guys!

And then we came home and Baby L was playing contently in her playpen with her grandma standing by. She must have heard me come in, because she peered outside of her little baby pen and saw me and she got the most excited I have ever seen her get for anything or anyone. And in that moment, everything wasn’t just OK, you guys. It was beautiful. And I’m having another baby! And he will be beautiful and wonderful and hilarious and his little eyes will light up when he sees me and he will clap and giggle and I will fall in love with him every day!

You will have to forgive my little revelation, but please know that if I had blogged yesterday, you would have been swept away by the flood of tears that were flowing and FOR NO REASON…so this is a vast improvement.

Also, Hooray for babies!

Open Letter to Baby L at Four Months

Dear Lilah,

Today you are four months old. Can you believe it? (Well, considering that you currently have no idea, I’m sure, that FOUR WHOLE MONTHS is a big deal…you probably don’t really care…) I certainly can’t.

Your third month of life was SUPER stressful for me because you had a cold and then it went away. And then you got a worse cold after your cousin started school. I spent about 95% of my time panicking and listening to your breathing to make sure that you weren’t going to suffocate. Then I spent the other 5% of my time panicking that I might be panicking too much and wondering if I should be medicated or if this was normal for a new, first-time mom. Either way, it was pretty rough. There was a lot of snot involved. And only about half of it was yours, because I got super sick too. No fun. But nothing the two of us couldn’t handle. We’re like the dream team, you and I.

You have become super giggly, despite all the gunk in your face. You like to look at your reflection in mirrors and you are generally happy to sit in a bean bag and have brightly colored toys held in front of you so that you can grab at them and try and put them into your mouth. You do the same with my hair. But you also like to stick your entire hand into MY mouth, so I suppose we are even.Your dad and I were watching a little show called “Hell’s Kitchen” and having a discussion the other day about how people get to be so lucky as to eat in the HK restaurant and he looked at you, sitting there in the bean bag, recovering from tummy time, and asked you, “Do you have to have tickets!?” in a super high-pitched voice. And you cracked up with him for a half hour while he repeated the question over and over again. I think you both had a wonderful time with that. I should take a video of the way that he talks to you so you can see, when you’re older, what a dork your father is. But, remember, he’s OUR dork. And we love him dearly.

Tomorrow, you will have your four month vaccinations. And of course, I am a nervous wreck because I always end up crying more than you do while also sort of wanting to punch the nurse in the face for hurting you. Luckily, your Aunt Amanda will be coming with me to your appointment so that a) I might cry less if I am not holding you while they jab you with needles and b) I don’t punch anyone for hurting you. It should all be fine.

Your hair is finally starting to get a bit longer and it feels glorious on my chin when we’re cuddling. I’m so glad that you’ll still cuddle with me (not as much as when you were brand new but still enough that I get my baby fix every day) and you are actually getting better than ever at it. Now it is less because you have no choice and can’t hold your head up, but because you want your mommy. And that makes something inside me feel all warm and fuzzy and like I just might exlode.


You make a ton of faces now. When you are displeased, you make a pouty face that, however heartbreaking, is also freaking hilarious. One day recently, you were dressed up and ready to go and visit Grandma J and you started to cry. The pouty lips were in full effect. But there I was, trying to comfort you, but you were so darn cute, I found myself laughing hysterically. (Sorry for that. I would say it won’t happen again, but I cannot promise this.)

As always, everyone loves you and wants to make you smile. But, for now at least, you save most of the smiles and giggles just for me. And you make your mommy all melty inside. You are truly one of a kind, my Lilah. One of a kind indeed.

All of my love,


Update: on this day in history, your father put you into the bathtub. In your socks.

Still No Baby. (Insert a bunch of expletives here.)

Well, internet, my due date is two days away and here I sit…STILL pregnant. I haven’t been having any more significant signs that labor is near, besides feeling generally craptastic and large. But I DID see the doctor and have my “membrane stripped” on Monday. And yes, that is exactly as much fun as it sounds like it would be. The doctor said that I am 60% effaced and about 2 centimeters dilated, which was a little uplifting, because, lets face it, progress is progress. Right?

I have been searching the internet intently, trying to find all of the natural methods of inducing labor and have tried just about everything I can to get this baby OUT OF ME (and I am sure I was quite a site over the weekend in my mom’s pool, furiously kicking my legs while swimming and muttering, “GET OUT OF ME.”) . (I did not, however, try the “mustard seed/nipple method” suggested by Southern Fried’s mom. Mainly because I would have to a) go to the store to buy mustard seed and b) locate some sort of tape that isn’t duct tape.) Later today, I plan to eat jalapenos and pineapple while doing jumping jacks. And then I plan to seduce MB. Because there is nothing more irresistable than this giant belly, let me tell you. (He actually doesn’t seem to find me any less attractive with the baby dome, however, I find myself to be a heinous, gigantic beast.) I will not be trying the castor oil method because I am not a fan of being deathly ill. (Crazy, right?)

The doctor did tell me that, after my next appointment, next Tuesday, if I still don’t have a baby instead of a baby bump, we will talk about induction. And I really don’t want to have to get to that point. I just want this to happen. Like…you know…on its own terms…and…well…NOW-ISH.

So, that’s basically all I got. Still pregnant. Still suffering heartburn, backache, insomnia and general crankiness. And yes, friends, I know you want an excuse to blow off work, but I cannot MAKE Baby L join us, she is stubborn “like her mom” as you all keep saying. Grrrr…

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?


Over the weekend, MB and I attempted to remedy some of the clutter that has started accumulating due to the abundance of new things we are acquiring for Baby L. We managed to clean out the closet in our bedroom and switch some things around, making more room in the spare bedroom and some other minor things, which was pretty satisfying. I have, despite the intense urge to organize, been so exhausted, that I have been unable to do little without MB’s help. That, my friends, is super frustrating. I wonder why the “nesting” part of this process can’t happen during the time when you aren’t narcoleptic and in severe pain. Who came up with this damn schedule? I feel frustrated with the progress (or lack thereof) that I feel we are making on things, but then I realize that I still have several weeks and will just have to start working at a pace that I can handle. And make lots of honey-do lists for MB. He doesn’t seem to mind cleaning things that I can’t reach. Or lifting boxes and moving them from one place to another. And he knows that soon, he will be assembling strange devices and massaging my calves, possibly simultaneously. The housecleaning thing has made me feel slightly more prepared, either way. I have a plan. And that is better than where I was two weeks ago.

Housecleaning is sort of liberating though. There is something really freeing about getting rid of old things and finding places for things that have sort of just lingered around for the past months. My urge to clean house is spreading to other areas of my life. Namely, Facebook. I will tell you, internet, Facebook housecleaning is more difficult than cleaning toilets, if only because I fear deleting friends will hurt feelings. And, well, to my knowledge, toilets are without feelings. I am, though, as I have mentioned before, very private about things and Facebook is one of those places where privacy is pretty hard to come by (duh, the internet). I can control what I post and who sees it, but I can’t control what people say to me on my page, therefore, trying to keep my personal life personal is a little difficult. To date, I have basically been managing my privacy settings on facebook by creating groups and adding people to a “restricted” list instead of deleting them. Why? Because I am a wuss. Do I want these people all up in my bidness? Evidently not. Can I delete them without the guilt of having done it? NO. Because I am a super-wuss.  But I’m just going to go ahead and rip off the band-aid. Because I really only want the people I actually care about to get to share my new life with me. Why is it so hard to passive-agressively tell people that they suck the life out of you and you don’t want them involved in the happy new life you’re leading? You would think that would be easy!

In other news, I have another sonogram next week and I am super excited about it. This should be the last time we see Baby L before she actually arrives. That’s kind of bittersweet, because I am already so tired of waiting but I am glad that we will at least get to see her one more time to hold us over. The last time I had an ultrasound, the tech said that the baby was breech and that “hopefully, she’ll turn before next time”, which, of course, made my mom a nervous wreck as I, too, was breech and premature and my mom has catastophic visions of everything because she is psycho. I’m not worried at this point, though, because I was only about 29 weeks at that point and I’ve read a lot that says that the baby will usually turn around 36 weeks. So, fingers are crossed there.

I also went ahead and scheduled our tour of the maternity suites at the hospital where I will deliver. I’ve been there before and am pretty sure that I know what I am getting into, I did choose to deliver there after all, but I am excited to do this with MB because every day he seems to be hit more and more with the “Holy shit, I’m gonna be a DAD!” realization. (Which, by the way, is super adorable.)

I know I am late in doing this, but we are still not signed up for a birthing class. The hospital where I am delivering offers several “marathon classes” which are held all in one day on a weekend so we are going to try and get into one of those in the next couple of weeks. They aren’t terribly expensive and I am pretty excited about attending. If you took a birthing class, how was your experience?

I think that’s about all that’s happening with me so far this week. You know, aside from trying to stay awake for more than two consecutive hours and not inhaling entire bags of Cheetos.

Updates on Week 30

Now that you all know how I did with the shower and all the belly touching, I thought I would enlighten you on how Week 30 of pregnancy was for me. Like, without all the cuteness and gratefulness of that post-shower post.

1. I’m either ravenously hungry or so full that I could vomit. The ravenously hungry thing happens several times a day and has to be remedied within minutes or I will get the torturous “heartburn of death”. The disgustingly full thing happens, usually, after I have had three bites of something that I really, really want to eat. Like ice cream. Or a cheeseburger. It is pretty frustrating, at this point. Eating has become terribly annoying.

2. My pelvis is being pulled apart by some invisible force. I feel that someone bangs on it with a hammer while I am sleeping. Or sitting. Or after I walk for more than 20 minutes straight. I am pretty sure that this is one of the most awful things I have ever experienced.

3. There is absolutely no comfortable position to sleep in. I have tried the whole body pillow thing, which did seem to relieve some of the pressure on my pelvis but it also relieved me of the ability to sleep in the same bed with MB, which is tolerable sometimes, but sometimes makes it harder to sleep just because he isn’t there. I have tried stacking pillows in ridiculous positions all around my body, which works for a period of time, until I start hurling (from what I am told) them in all different directions so that I can *get comfortable.

*A myth for pregnant women in their third trimester.

4. I have begun to waddle. I don’t think that I need to say much about this because if you have ever SEEN a really pregnant woman, then you are familiar with this.  It makes me feel like a giant penguin.

5. I am not AS obsessed with cake as I was several weeks ago. I can’t say that my cravings for it have stopped completely, and I won’t lie and tell you that I don’t drool every time I pass this place. (OMG, tiramisu cupcakes. TO. DIE. FOR.) But, for the most part, my cravings for cupcakes have been replaced with cravings for Easy Cheese and/or grapefruit juice. 

6. The peeing has become ridiculous. I feel that I cannot go 35 seconds without peeing. Usually, this pattern starts as soon as I get comfortable in my bed (comfort in bed IS a myth, unless you will be forced to get right up, then it comes quite often) or if I have gone into a store that I am sure will have the most disgusting public restroom ever (the other day, I gagged for a full five minutes after entering a public restroom and peeing at lightning speed and running out, hands still soapy). 

I had a prenatal appointment yesterday and everything appears to be going just as it should be. Glucose test results were “wonderful”, heartbeat is “perfect”, and Baby L seems to be growing at a normal rate. I, on the other hand, am slightly anemic but was assured that I am SO slightly anemic that there is nothing to worry about right now.

So, there you have it.  Now, bring on Week 31!


I did, however, forget #7 wherein I mention the fatigue. Oh, holy Jeebus, the fatigue. I could probably sleep for 16 hours per day if that were acceptable (or if I could do it without anyone knowing what a slack ass I would be). Even though I am almost never comfortable, I can usually sleep about 9-10 hours per night (or at least mostly sleep) and still feel like I could wake up, eat breakfast, and then promptly take a nap. I am starting to develop a desire to start this nesting thing I hear so much again, but I don’t have the energy to move off of the couch. What is a girl to do?

Better Late Than Never

Today, at nearly 30 weeks, I had the anatomy scan which should have (and would have, if the system hadn’t tried to kill my baby) been done about 9-10 weeks ago. This being able to go to see doctors thing is pretty rad, I must say. Everything looks good so far, but of course, Baby L is stubborn and, just like last time, wouldn’t roll over so we could get a decent look at her face. The tech did manage to get a few decent shots, though, and I will go back in four weeks for another scan, just to check up. It feels good just to know I haven’t been abandoned.

20120307-135011.jpgThe last three months have really worn me down (and OUT). I think that this has been the most trying period of my life. I have stayed awake at night, my mind racing about what I would do if I never got some assistance. How I would pay. Where I would go. I have forgotten how to relate to people at times. I have been so consumed with worry that nothing has mattered. And the attempts at easing my mind by MB have been appreciated but have mostly failed. I had forgotten how to breathe. How to sleep. How to interact. Since my appointment last Thursday, I have gotten some of my normalcy back. I have laughed outloud. I have remembered to breathe. And mostly, I can sleep again. I can actually rest without the panic that loomed over me for so long. And I am telling you, all of that pent-up panic sure does wear a person out, I could likely sleep until the end of this pregnancy at this point. (Relief is the new Ambien, people.)

I still worry about unemployment. And I still harbor a good bit of anger about being fired after announcing my pregnancy and knowing what kind of morons and wastes of space are still employed there (but aren’t pregnant, so they get to stay) but I am working through that. And am certain that the parties involved will get what they deserve for what they did to me and my unborn baby. I try not to harp on the absolute absurdity of the whole thing and I try not to harbor any animosity and am certain that karma is a bitch, but, it is hard to take the high road when your child (whom you haven’t even met yet) could suffer from the insensitive and discriminatory actions of another person/entity. Just saying. I still worry things won’t work out. But I am faithful. And I am sure that they’ll get theirs. And I love being witness to karmic bitchslaps.


I had a full day yesterday of hysterical crying, yelling, and pleading with people at the Medicaid office and the County Health Department. I believe that I showed the state of Florida that pregnancy mood swings strongly resemble that of bipolar disorder. True story.

But, after everything (and I can’t even go into all the craziness that I had to endure yesterday), the guy I had spoken to before at the County Health Department came through. I showed up for my 8:15 appointment this morning, checked in and sat down. Just like a patient. At, like, a doctor’s office.  You know, like…where they see patients who are SEVEN MONTHS PREGNANT! Shirley, the mean lady with the bad weave (I will refer to her as Bad Weave Shirley from now on), was nowhere to be seen or heard upon my check-in, which made the experience much more pleasant right at the start. Yes, I had to wait in an office for a long time. And yes, I had to pee in a cup  AGAIN (because it is not at all obvious to them that I am knocked up). And yes, they stuck me with needles but…OH. MY. GOD. Internet, this was the best doctor’s appointment I have ever had.

Some highlights:

1. I have gained one pound since my last visit there on 1/31 (the day of the proof of pregnancy). I thought it would be quite a bit more. This puts my total weight gain at 23 lbs. And no one has told me if that is normal or not. But I don’t give a damn. I feel fantastic about it.

2. Baby L’s heartbeat is perfect.  And hearing this news made me tear up. And this time, not because I wanted to drive my car straight into the ocean. You know, like that first time.

3. I have an appointment for an anatomy sonogram next Wednesday. I am super excited for this appointment, even though it is just a regular sonogram and not one of the 4D ones this time. But I hope to be having a 4D within the next month. (Eeee!)

4. I have a follow-up appointment in two weeks. Can you believe I am actually going to see a medical professional TWICE in TWO WEEKS!? I can hardly contain myself. I seriously feel like I could cry every time I think about it.

5. Currently, my Emergency Medicaid is covering everything and will for the next 45 days. By the time that is gone, I should have ACTUAL Medicaid and the nightmare should be mostly over. Then I get ready to pop this chicklet out!

6. I can deliver at the hospital I had picked back in the good old days when I had insurance! I don’t have to go to a scary hospital that I don’t trust! Hooray!

7. I had a glucose test. Ick. I don’t know the results yet but should by Monday!

I had a good day, internet. I feel like a weight has been lifted. I wish I could just squeeze Baby L for doing such a good job of…you know…like…growing and stuff. 

Now, if you will excuse me, I’ve just had a ginormous breakfast and believe that I need a ginormous nap to match!

Two Steps Back

This morning, I was scheduled to see a doctor (for the first time in nearly four months) at the county health center. This appointment was my initial appointment for my prenatal care (which, if you are keeping track, I already did when I had insurance and, if I hadn’t already done it, should have taken place about six months ago). If you follow here at all, then you know that I have been struggling with the state to start recieving Medicaid now for a few days shy of three months and have yet to have received anything. After being denied Medicaid on my first try (because of some ridiculous paperwork issue that I was assured would NOT be an issue), I was instructed to walk in to the County Health Center and get a proof of pregnancy. I did that the same day. I was also told that I would be able to receive Medicaid for 45 days, as a temporary supplement until my application was processed and all was well. Well? No such luck. I sat at the Health Center and waited for nearly four hours with a six month preggo belly for a nurse to “confirm” my pregnancy (which, I might add, at this point, can be confirmed by anyone with EYES). I got a piece of paper stating that I am, indeed, knocked up, and I left. I faxed this “proof” to the medicaid office and I waited. I finally, last week, was able to have a “phone interview” with the Medicaid office which consists of a really rude woman repeating all of the information that you indicated on your application and then practically hanging up on you. It is totally fun.

In the 2.5 weeks between the time when I received the proof of pregnancy and had the phone interview, I tirelessly contacted every agency that could possibly have anything to do with my case and was given the runaround about 36 more times. I went back to the health center. I faxed more information from here to there and there to here and finally, the health center, after receiving an order from a higher-up I had accidently gotten in touch with. (I say “accidently” because if these people were competent at all, they would not have transferred my call to him and then probably wouldn’t have had to deal with me for quite as long. Their bad.) The mean lady with the bad weave scheduled my appointment reluctantly, and said that she would make sure that all of the information I had given her would be forwarded to the appropriate place so that I could get this fabled 45 temporary Medicaid. (Which, I had discovered by this time, is something that no one likes to discuss. I think that it has the same first rule as “Fight Club” and they are afraid for their teeth, but…this is not helpful.) Evidently, nothing was ever forwarded anywhere and I have not been given this 45 day whateverthefuck. So, I think to myself, “At least I have an appointment scheduled. And by that time, my medicaid should be situated anyway, so I should be fine.” But I was still sort of under the impression that my situation was understood and that I didn’t need to have everything all set in stone in order to have this appointment.

Fast forward to this morning, the day of my appointment. I was scheduled to be seen at 8:15. I got a call at 7:55 from the mean lady with the bad weave stating that there were no nurses available today and that the doctor had been “injured” and that my appointment had been rescheduled to Thursday. And I say, “Okay. That’s fine.” I mean, what can I do? I am at their mercy. And it isn’t like it will get in the way of my grueling work schedule, so it will do. So, I am disappointed, but I am still glad to have the appointment and, nothing will get me down. You know, short of going into labor. Or the zombie apocolypse. Or, god forbid, BOTH.

Three hours later, mean, bad weave lady called again. She said that she has to cancel my appointment altogether because my medicaid has not get “gone through”. I finally convinced her to keep my appointment on the books because the Medicaid office has all the information that they had requested and my application should be processed by then (fat chance of that) and she reluctantly agreed, but she did tell me that if all is not sorted by my appointment on Thursday, I will be responsible for paying for the entire visit. $600. 

To that, I say, “No problem, mean bad weave lady! I have only been unemployed for three months and am seven months pregnant. I can totally spare $600! Especially since I have only been begging YOU specifically to explain this process and offer your expertise on this issue for the last month and you have been so unbelievably…bitchy and unsympathetic and did not inform me that this might happen when you scheduled the appointment when I was standing in front of you pouring my soul out. I would LOVE to shell out that kind of money. In fact, I don’t need this baby either. Are you in the market for a white baby girl? She won’t have any hair yet but I am sure you can make her look as ridiculous as you and give her a nice, hideous weave as soon as she starts growing some. And you know, meanness can be taught.”

Translation: Ummm…okay?

So, here I am. Seven months in and making little to no progress. Now, if you will excuse me, I have to resume phone stalking the medicaid office.