An Open Letter to the Preggos (This One’s for you, Anna)

Dear Preggos (Mostly you, Anna),

I wanted to write you a letter because I feel that you are about to go through something that no one can really prepare you for. Something that you will remember for the rest of your life. Something that will be the most traumatic, yet ridiculously beautiful thing that will ever happen to you and your body. And no one can tell you how profound it will be. But I am stubborn. And I’m going to try.

First off, I want to let you know that everyone fears childbirth because the idea of squeezing that little person out of your vagina is a big deal. And when I say “big deal”, I mean it. Because, and I’m not gonna lie, that shit hurts. But, don’t worry, you won’t even remember that part. I mean, you won’t REALLY remember it. Because the adrenalin makes you a beast of a person and it will feel like hell but it will feel like you could seriously move mountains if you wanted to. (They won’t let you attempt that, anyway. You are pretty much confined to a bed. But you are a strong ass bitch.) So, you will have this vague memory afterward of this pushing and this nurse yelling at you and you wanting to rip her face off. But in the end, you will have a baby. And, I mean, seriously, what is better than that? Unless you happen to give birth to, like, a suitcase full of money instead. Because, holy shitballs, that would have been awesome. Anyway…yeah. It hurts. But it is a small price to pay. So get over that fear and accept the reality that that little thing is coming out. Whether you like it or not. You will sleep easier. I promise.

Secondly, I feel it is imperative that you know that parenting is super hard. Like, harder than being pregnant. (Which, if you ask me, is the worst fucking thing EVAR, because you have all this stress and no one will bring you a cocktail.) You bring this little meatloaf home from the hospital and you, if you were like me, are totally clueless as to what to do with it. And I read everything. And it didn’t matter. I was a total wreck for weeks. Because just when you think you got this thing all figured out, it does something new. Like, changing its sleep pattern. Or growing a tooth. Or going from being the happiest baby ever, to being a screaming, inconsolable monster. Because all of that happens. And no day is the same as the day previous. Ever.

Thirdly, you probably have this idea of how you will raise your kid. You know, like you won’t use a pacifier because nipple confusion, blah blah blah. Or you will only breastfeed. Because, after all, breast is best. But that baby doesn’t care about your plans. Sometimes, you have to find some way to plug that baby’s pie hole long enough so that your head doesn’t explode. And sometimes, breastfeeding is harder than you had anticipated. And you might do it, and if you can, you are my hero. Because I couldn’t make it happen with either of mine for varying reasons. I did it. But not for as long as I wanted to. And not for lack of trying. Those babies just had other plans. And guess what! They both use a pacifier and drink formula. And they’re alive. And they are thriving. And its okay. And you might be disappointed in yourself for giving in or not doing everything the way you had intended. But…seriously? Shit happens. And you just do the best you can. And that’s all anyone (including you) can expect.

You are going to have some days where you will want to run away from home. And you will feel like shit about feeling that way. But believe me, it happens to the best of us. (In fact, early this morning, I almost escaped through my bedroom window while both of the kids demanded things as I tried to get ANY amount of sleep to prepare me for the day ahead, wherein they would demand MORE THINGS…) Sometimes, you will want to jam sharp things into your ears to stop the noise. And sometimes, you will consider crawling into the oven. Because, motherhood is not a joke. And its all okay. Because then, that baby will look up at you, totally helpless and totally beautiful and innocent, and you will fall in love all over again. And you will. Again. And again. And again. Because you are a mom. And that’s what that means.

Sometimes, when I am having a hard time, and it is the middle of the night and someone is refusing to sleep. Or someone has a fever. And my husband is sleeping and I feel like I am all alone and it will never END, I have to take a step back and remind myself what a beautiful thing I have done by having these babies. I have to remember the first time I saw their little faces and how much I loved them, even then. And how smart and amazing they are. Which is sometimes easier said than done when you are sleep deprived and frustrated and haven’t washed your hair in four days. But it is all worth it, you guys, seriously.

My advice to you (especially you, Anna) is to remember, through all the crazy and even if you feel totally alone, that it will pass. And tomorrow is a new day. And while this is the hardest thing you will ever do, it is the most important. And the most wonderful. And you aren’t alone. (And if you ever need reassurance of that, you guys, I will be right here, blogging about being puked on and having been up for 72 hours straight. Don’t worry.)

Good luck to you!

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Go Time!

Well, folks, looks like Baby O will be joining us soonish! I’ll be admitted for induction tonight at 8 pm. This came as a shock to us, and I’m excited. And super extremely over the top terrified. I guess maybe the second time around isn’t any less scary! I hope there’s no repeat of Baby L’s stubborn ass antics! I’ll keep you all posted!

Notes on Week 38

Okay, internet, if you have been following along, you know that I am not a giant fan of pregnancy. And you might also remember that my first one was full of fun and craziness. You know, with losing my job, fighting with Medicaid to even get prenatal care and then just feeling generally miserable for THE WHOLE EFFING THING. I have been lucky this time. Baby O hasn’t given me nearly the amount of physical agony that Baby L presented me with during my pregnancy. You know, until NOW.

NOW?

Now I am not sleeping because, between trying to maneuver this giant belly and keeping Baby L from actually sleeping ON MY FACE, I have barely enough time for that sort of shenanigans. Sleep is for the weak, they say. They do say that, right? Anyway, if this is true, then I hereby declare myself, The Incredible Hulk of Insomnia. I do not turn green, though.

Except, wait. Yes, I do. Yesterday, I was taking out the trash and something smelled really awful and I turned green, and hurried and puked in the bathtub. Yep. 38 weeks and still puking. I guess there just wasn’t enough of that in the beginning of this whole thing for it to be over.

Then I took 45 minutes to effortlessly (read: with great effort and discomfort) ease on my maternity pants and haul my giant ass to my 38 week check up. Where I was told that nothing had changed. I am still pregnant and will remain that way until the time should come wherein…I am no longer pregnant. The good news is that my doctor praised me about my weight gain (only 17 pounds, which feels more like 850), which, you know, made me hungry.  And when I realize that I am hungry, I usually do so because MY CHEST IS ON FIRE.

The heartburn has returned. And with a vengeance. I am not a fan. I am not a fan at all. I can’t even drink WATER without wanting to kill myself. Water = sandpaper. Bread = fire. Hot sauce? Well, hot sauce is expectedly hot. But since I love it and it has the same effect as ANYTHING ELSE EVER, I eat it. Have I mentioned to you, internet, how before I was pregnant, I got heartburn like ONCE PER YEAR and now I have it 36 times per day? No? Oh. Well, yeah. That’s what is happening in my esophagus. You’re welcome for the enlightenment.

Baby O is officially kicking me in the ribs. This is the kind of discomfort that one can never describe to someone who has not experienced it. I never had this experience with Baby L and, up until two days ago, had not had any trouble with Baby O. But now, he loves my rib cage. LOVES. That’s all I am going to say about this. Because it is so annoying that I feel like if I talk about it too much, it will happen again and I will either cry or punch something. Or both.

I am WAY too emotional. I have cried three times today and two of the three times were about nothing. I mean, probably not nothing exactly. But definitely stupid things. Like, that I didn’t have any more bottled water in the refrigerator and all that was cold was Dr. Pepper which, (if you can IMAGINE) gives me super bad heartburn. Then I decided, since my mom had my kid for the day, and my husband was out doing man things (or getting a massage. Yes. Seriously.) I would finish watching “Sophie’s Choice” (because I have this fascination about WW2 and the Holocaust and things of that nature, because I am a total dork and that stuff is interesting) and then I watched Meryl Streep have to CHOOSE between her CHILDREN. And then I had a breakdown and felt the need to punch a German soldier. Luckily for them, there aren’t many German soldiers around my neighborhood. And MB wasn’t home. (Sidenote: I did have a flash of the diploma that hangs on the wall in the house of the old man that I take care of sometimes that states that his middle name is Adolf. But I didn’t punch him either. Come on, that would be mean.) I am tired of crying for no reason. And I am tired of wanting to punch imaginary Nazis. (I mean, I would probably want to do that anyway, but I am WAY too serious about it today.)

(Another sidenote: Is there some reason that “Beaches” is ALWAYS on? I mean, I loved this movie when I was a kid (which may also be weird, but my best friend loved it too…) and I have a really hard time NOT watching it when it is on but how many times can a pregnant lady watch “Beaches” without sticking her head in the oven? Honestly.)

Also? The PEEING. I cannot stop peeing! That is all.

My point, internet? I am SO READY to feel like a normal person again. But I am SO NOT READY to have a baby. I just need a pause button. And that pause button should not only pause the progress of this pregnancy when pushed, but sort of make the pregnancy nonexistent so I can have beer. You know, until I push play again. I swear, I would push play again, you guys, I just need a break. Then I would need a bring me beer button. Because that would come in handy forever.

 

35 Weeks and a Reminder of Things to Come

Last night, I decided to stay up a little later than usual to get some “me time” and watch a little “SVU” and play Candy Crush Saga (you might be familiar and if you are, you know that playing this game might as well be a full time job and that it will take over your whole life if you let it) so that I didn’t go completely insane from all the baby-chasing I’ve been doing. So, I took an hour. I relaxed. I watched some good TV drama and I headed to bed. And then, as I was lying down next to my snoring hubby, it hit me.

I have to deliver a fucking baby again. In, like, FIVE weeks. And I don’t want to deliver a baby, you guys. I know, I know. I have done this before. And I rocked it. But I also REMEMBER it. So, that whole, having experienced it thing? Not such a comfort. I am not necessarily scared. But I am not necessarily NOT scared either. I don’t want to vomit into that weird green container again. And I don’t want to spend 22 hours sleeping in 4 minute increments between contractions. And I don’t want to eat nothing but ice chips (which will make me vomit MORE).

I started having these horrible flashbacks of gushing water and hospital beds. And pitocin. And nurses who made me want to break things. (Namely, their faces.) And I guess this has all started to set in now because I usually am so preoccupied with trying to lasso Baby L into standing still for 45 seconds so that I can hoist my fat ass off of the floor that I forget that I am actually going to have to DO THIS THING. The fact that I have to hoist my fat ass off of the floor in the first place is somewhat of a reminder, but it is fleeting. Because I have a 25 pound outside-the-body baby to attend to.

But, I have definitely entered crunch time. I have also definitely realized, despite having just done this less than a year ago and knowing what to expect, I am totally not ready for this new meatloaf. I don’t have my bag packed. I don’t have a plan on what to do with Baby L when I am in the hospital (besides, you know, freaking out that she won’t be with me for SEVERAL DAYS! What the hell will I do?!). I haven’t toured this hospital that I have to deliver in. I don’t even know where the maternity unit IS. I need to get ON this, internet. I need a big slap in the face and a “GET IT TOGETHER, WOMAN!”

First, I’m going to have a cup of coffee.

Until I return, if you need a refresher on my first birthing experience, you can read it all here, here and here.