Gigantic

Okay, so I don’t know if I told you guys or not. But I’m pregnant. I know. It is shocking. Don’t worry though, internet, this pregnancy isn’t nearly as bad as my last one. When I was pregnant with Baby L, my world was a pretty dismal place. It was a world where people, including MB, could NOT POSSIBLY have understood how uncomfortable I was. Or how much peeing I was doing on a daily basis. Or how painful getting up to make it to the bathroom to DO all this peeing had become. With the back pain and the hip pain and the headaches and the giant belly, my life was hell. And I was SURE that if I left the house, some stranger would tell me how fat and hideous I looked and that I would either burst into tears and vow never to leave home again or punch them square in the neck…Or both. Because I was a total lunatic. And I make no bones about saying it. But I was miserable. And I needed a drink.

This time around, I have experienced heartburn and back pain and headaches. And I have avoided mirrors on certain days for fear of slitting my wrists at the sight of myself in this state. But I have fared pretty well here. I mean, I have been violently and deathly ill on FOUR occasions and have thought that I might never be able to eat anything again. (These illnesses weren’t your run-of-the-mill, pregnant lady morning sickness illnesses either. They were BRUTAL and lasted DAYS.) But once these days passed, I was able to go back to semi-normal, feeling like a regular lady instead of one who is baking a baby. You know, because if you avoid the mirror and there are no real pregnancy symptoms, it is really easy to pretend that none of it is happening at all. And I was blissful in those moments.

Over the past few weeks, my belly has started to take over my house. It has grown quickly and with a fury that I could not have expected. And I can no longer ignore it. I am the size now (at least, in my head) that I was when I delivered Baby L who was full-term. (I don’t really know for SURE that I am the same size, just that I FEEL it.) I can’t see my feet anymore. And those lovely comments I got during my last pregnancy about how I looked 5 months along the whole time…well…those aren’t coming this time. So, I have accepted that I look like a pregnant lady. And today, internet, I tried on clothes. Like, in a store. Under terrible lighting. And a few days shy of 8 months along. And to top it off, these were NOT maternity clothes. AND I HAD TO TAKE PICTURES OF THIS EXPERIENCE. (That’s really another thing altogether but the long and the short of it is, I did a “Sample and Share” Market Research study, wherein I had to try on some clothes, take pictures and have a friend do the same, and then we got the clothes for free…but maternity clothes were not an option.)

I don’t know when this happened, internet, but I am GIGANTIC. And now there is photographic evidence. TWICE IN THE SAME WEEK. (you know people didn’t even refrain from photos at my SPRINKLE?! THE NERVE!) And now, here I am, wondering if I could make it the next two months without actually ever leaving the house in order to spare myself the shame of possibly not fitting inside my Volvo. (Yes, I drive a Volvo. And this should give you an idea of how large I am. Or at least how large I feel. Because I drive a tank.)

What’s a girl to DO?

(Interested in getting some free “Sample and Share” goodies? You can sign up here! It’s free…and sort of awesome!
http://crowdtap.com/invitations_landing

Land of the Pressed and Devil Tots

English: These are what tater tots look like.

Devil Tots: Delicious, but potentially deadly.

Many of you might have seen that I was (finally) Freshly Pressed last Saturday! I have to say, I was pretty sure that the Land of the Pressed was somewhere far, far away and somewhere that I would likely never be invited to, but then, there it was in my email! “Congratulations!” And then I peed my pants. (I don’t remember if I ACTUALLY peed my pants, but I am currently 30 weeks pregnant and never really redeveloped any pelvic floor muscles after Baby L so it is safe to assume that I probably did.) Anyway, it was super exciting and WOW! What a ride.

I want to first thank all of the newbies who stopped by and/or started following! I have to apologize in advance for my foul language, probable impropriety, and, last but not least, my tendency to talk about my bodily functions with way too much detail (please see pelvic floor muscle comment above). Chances are, you may have already witnessed some of this, if you looked around a bit, and maybe aren’t offended or scared off, but if this is the first you’ve heard of it, don’t say I didn’t warn you guys. I’m most likely gonna tell y’all ALL about the state of my vagina on more than one occasion.

Moving on…

So, to celebrate/commemorate my invitation into The Land of the Pressed, I got the stomach bug from hell and dropped my iPhone into the toilet while simultaneously vomiting. Because, you know, if you’re gonna do something, you gotta really DO it. I’m not going to get into all the nasty I endured during this time (you’re welcome), but I will tell you that OH. MY. GOD, internet, I have never been so sick in my entire life. I may or may not have vomited into Baby L’s toy drum (a bath toy) because I have (evidently) lost my ability to vomit WITHOUT SIMULTANEOUSLY PEEING. (See pelvic floor comment above. Again, don’t say I didn’t warn you.) Because I have had four (FOUR!) of these “stomach bugs” since I became pregnant with Baby O, I am starting to suspect that this is his way of telling me that he hates tater tots. I know, that sounds weird. But literally, EVERY time I have gotten violently ill like this in the last several months, tater tots were involved. They will be called “Devil Tots” from here on out. So, I have, between trying to be a mom and a pregnant lady and trying to recover from this horrible illness (“Devil Tot Syndrome”), I have been out of commission. I haven’t responded to all of your lovely comments or had time to give them all of the attention that they deserve. So, I’m sorry. And I’m on it.

Bear with me, newbies, and don’t think I don’t appreciate you. I’ve just been busy trying not to pee on myself.

 

I’m Not Homicidal, You Guys!

Image representing Woot as depicted in CrunchBase

Image via CrunchBase

I know I have been a little distant. It’s not you, it’s me, internet. There has been a return of the snot over here in the Oopsie household. And it afflicted my spawn and then myself. Making things very messy and unbearable. But things are looking up. Both in the snot department and otherwise.

Here’s an update! Hooray!

On Sleep Training:
Okay, so do you guys remember when I was going insane because my kid wouldn’t sleep? And remember when I said that I desperately wanted to get her sleep trained so that I could sleep alone in my bed with my husband? And remember when I was concerned because I am knocked up and expanding (although, not as rapidly as expected) and soon won’t have ROOM to share a bed with my 8 month old? You do? Oh.

Let me first say that I have gotten my kid MUCH better at going to sleep in her crib at night. And she even naps. Most of the time, IN THE CRIB also…But then let me tell you that, over the course of the last (almost) two months of snuggling with my little nugget every night, I have kind of come to enjoy it. In fact, I actually miss her little baby face-slaps when she isn’t lying beside me. Needless to say, sleep training has worked. But it hasn’t worked all the way. On me, at least. I am pretty sure that if I weren’t so sappy and missing her, she would be sleeping alone all night, every night. But I let her go in the crib until about 3-4 in the morning and then I can’t take it anymore and I need a cuddle. It might be the hormones. Or because, and I hate to admit this, with the new baby coming soon, I am sad that I will no longer to devote all of my attention to my baby girl. But, we all seem to be sleeping better now. And Baby L and I wake every morning, warm and toasty and smiling. And that makes my whole day. (You know, unless she is teething…which she is…again…)

On The Living Situation:
We found a house to rent! This is amazing news. And not just because I am steadily nearing the point of homicide, but because, even though we were looking for a two-bedroom for now, to save on expenses, this house is less expensive than I would have expected AND it has three bedrooms and a GIGANTIC back yard. Woot!

And yes, I know I was just talking about BUYING a house. And believe me, MB and I are ON IT. We just can’t do everything as quickly as we need to with such a short amount of time to prepare for Baby O. So, we signed a year-long lease yesterday and we will save and be as frugal as possible until next year…and then we will re-evaluate and try again. I am actually not as upset about this as I thought I would be. Mostly, I think, because I am just happy to be getting out of this house so that I can finally get a few minutes of peace.

On My Mood:
This pregnancy is pretty boring, you guys. I’m not complaining. But you might be if you got all excited that I was going to get all super bitch like I did when I started this blog. Believe me, super bitch is alive and well. But I am not sure she is even worth blogging about. Because she sort of just gets pissed about no one ever doing the dishes. It is less about puking this time. And I know everyone would rather read about puking than lazy people. I mean…AmIRight?

Anyway, I feel strangely calm. I am terrified of the single income situation and adding in the expense of rent. But I am certain things will work out. I am not sure what has happened to me. Or why my anxiety hasn’t kicked in and caused some sort of mental break, but I am serene. I’m not gonna lie and tell you I don’t want to drink an entire bottle of Pinot by myself. But I can wait. I mean, maybe only until 30 seconds after I give birth. But still…that totally counts. I recently called my husband “an accidental master of the Tao” and I sort of feel like he might be rubbing off on me. I feel confident in our situation. Fat, but confident. And I mean, I guess I can deal with the fat thing…because, let’s face it, this is the last time I will ever have an excuse to gain a bunch of weight and eat copious amounts of cupcakes. So there.

And We Meet Again…

So, generally, I have been feeling pretty good through this first 4 months of pregnancy. I mean, I must have been feeling pretty good because I was able to keep this pregnancy a secret until just a couple of weeks ago. So, I didn’t accidentally puke on anyone. Which, you know, would have TOTALLY happened in my last pregnancy. Because there was no warning of nausea. Just crazy, sneak-up-on-you vomit. Good times.

I will tell you that, because the symptoms and all the fun details of pregnancy were so fresh in my mind, it was super easy to pretend that this couldn’t really be happening. Because the threat of what was to come was just too much. Like right now.

It is almost 11 at night and I am sitting on the couch watching “Intervention”, thinking about how I could eat my sister-in-law’s entire birthday cake right now. And not because I’m hungry. But because it is chocolate. And because this baby doesn’t seem to discriminate about food like his sister did. He wants it all. He wants onion rings and carrot cake and Special K cereal and fried pickles. And regular pickles. But mostly, he wants pears. Yes. Pears. Which I guess is a really good thing because Baby L just wanted cupcakes. Specialty cupcakes with names like, “The Marilyn Monroe” or the “Bette Davis“.

As much as I have tried to avoid these symptoms, here we are again. I have heartburn (although on a much lesser scale than last time), my back aches (somehow MORE than I remember and probably because Baby L ripped me to shreds and took the liberty of realigning my spine), my head hurts a bit in the morning and I can no longer sleep comfortably in any position for more than an hour. And my belly doesn’t hesitate to remind me of all the fun to come! SO, I am feeling it, internet. I am right back there where I was last year at this time. I wish I could clone myself so I could punch myself in the face for being such an idiot for doing this again so soon.

I think I am over the hump as far as fatigue goes. I mean, I am awake. And it is now after 11 pm. And I have an 8 month old child who keeps me busy all day and hates sleeping. And I have had TWO NAPS since last May. (And, believe me, I wish this were an exaggeration…) And I haven’t passed out. And this makes me happy. Because I know it won’t last. And before too long, I will return to the land of the narcoleptic and I will be stressing about cribs and covers for my carseats and wondering how in the hell I am going to stay up all night taking care of a newborn and then chase a one-year-old around all day. (Help me, Cheesus…)

I really am hoping, internet, that this whole beginning pregnancy thing is some sort of indication that the last trimester will be a piece of cake. Because Baby L sure tried to kill me. (22 hours of labor? Really?) Uggghhh…

 

Broken Condoms…Reloaded (Alternately Titled “Holy Shitballs” Which Seems to be the Common Response)

Seriously, I know the title sounds a little gross. And I also know that I might get some serious weirdos starting to hang around…but I will have to deal with it. Because I am too tired to think of a clever title that fits this post. Because, internet, I’m knocked up again.

And yes. You read that right. I, Broken Condoms lady, reluctant mommy blogger, is knocked up AGAIN. And before you all start dropping like flies with the sheer shock of it all, let me go ahead and clear everything up for you. Please feel free to let me know if I leave anything out…

1. Yes. I was taking birth control pills. And yes, we were also using condoms on the rare occasion that I actually let my husband touch me. Because pregnancy was enough to scare me into wearing a titanium suit around him if I had to. None of this worked, evidently. Hence this post. (Grrr…)

2. How do I feel about this whole mess, you ask? Well, internet, I feel a lot of things. I’ve been keeping this under wraps for awhile so a lot of that emotional shit, I have since come to terms with, but let me try and run you through what I have experienced thus far. First there was denial. I think that when your first child is 5.5 months old and you find out that you are, indeed, expecting again, the first thing that happens in your brain (especially if you have been taking any and every means of preventing this from happening) is that you decide that it can’t be true. It has to be some cruel joke that the Universe is playing on you. Wait, is it April Fools’ Day? You got me, Universe, you really, really got me. But then you start to vomit and you think, “Hey, I must have a stomach bug.” Seriously. I convinced myself for 4 days that the positive home pregnancy test was the Universe playing a joke and that the morning sickness was actually just a stomach bug. After I puked a few more times, though, I just started to have a little breakdown. I kept thinking about all the things I was about to have to do (AGAIN) that drove me so crazy the first time. You know, like the not sleeping (which I am, obviously, currently not doing anyway) and the back pain and the intense need for double cheeseburgers from McDonalds. And then I cried a lot. Daily. For a LONG TIME. I considered options. And I discussed everything with MB (who, by the way, was in support of whatever I decided even though he felt that we, as a couple, are strong enough to do this shit all over again. Curses.) I stared at my daughter for hours and contemplated the birth of our second child and what it would mean for us and our family. I reasoned with myself about eventually wanting to have another child in the next couple of years anyway and how having this baby would make me…well…DONE with childbearing. And that thought gave me solace. But then I cried some more. Because, holy crap, internet, the kids will only be a year apart! And how will I chase a child who will inevitably be starting to walk and carry a newborn around and not sleep all while MB is at work all day?! How will I manage?! But then I stared at my daughter some more. And I thought about how hopeless I felt when I found out I was pregnant with her. And how doubtful of my abilities I was before she was born. And I felt a little bit better. Because dammit, I am a fantastic mom. Am I necessarily ready to be the “mother of two”? No. But was I ready to be a “mother of one”? Hells no.

The acceptance part started after I had to go to the Health Center and get a proof of pregnancy again so I could start the medicaid process (because, though, MB and I are now married, my insurance did not start until January 1st) AGAIN. (Which, if you remember, was pretty much the worst thing EVER for me.) A week later, the crying had stopped, for the most part, and shockingly, the Health Department had my Medicaid set up before I showed up for my appointment. (I didn’t have to make a SINGLE PHONE CALL.) I saw that as a good omen. And then I was all set to hear the heartbeat of the baby (as it was estimated that I was about 14 weeks along at this point) and the PA couldn’t find it on the Doppler. And this might sound crazy. Or horrible. Or whatever…but I was actually relieved. I felt like this might be my “out”. She set me up with an Ultrasound (which was more than three weeks away) and sent me on my way. To panic some more. Needless to say, I started the processes all over again, thinking that it might just be a fluke. Hello, denial.

My ultrasound was yesterday afternoon. I told my sister-in-law in the morning what the situation was and she offered to come with me to the appointment in case MB couldn’t get home from work in time. MB made it home at the speed of light and the three of us trekked downtown and, just like that, I’m gonna have a little boy. Due June 6th, 2013.

3. So, yeah, I know I didn’t answer “how do you feel NOW?” in that monster paragraph up there. The truth is. I feel peaceful. Obviously, fat. And sleepy. And a little scared. But also a little relieved that this whole thing is already almost half-way over and no one could tell I was pregnant (SCORE!). I haven’t gained any weight. I haven’t been nearly as sick as last time. Things have been fairly uneventful. So, do I feel good about the whole thing? Ehhh…I don’t know if GOOD is the right adjective. But I feel okay. I am alive, I am healthy. My baby is healthy. And I still have a wonderful partner and a beautiful daughter to remind me that this is not the end of the world. (Because, in some intense moments, I feel like I could lose it.)

4. I haven’t told EVERYONE in the world yet. By that, I just mean that I haven’t announced the news on Facebook. And I probably won’t do a giant, “We’re pregnant!!!” post. Because the people who matter have either already been told or will be soon enough. I don’t need to tell 200 more of my closest friends. Also, I am still sorting out the fact that I feel sort of ashamed that I let this happen so soon after having Baby L. Yes, I know I did all I could to prevent it, internet. But it feels so…irresponsible. Seriously. I mean, come ON, internet. Who DOES this?

(As I type this, THIS is what is happening on my TV. How can I not be optimistic?!)

http://youtu.be/DkLRXMBFtYo

Anyway, so that’s what’s going on over here. And maybe why I have been sort of distant lately. Please don’t break up with me, internet. I can’t do this alone!

FAIL.

I had sort of made up my mind, since the beginning of my pregnancy, that I would give birth on May 4th. Why? I have no idea. Did it happen? Hells no.

Alas, I am still motherfucking pregnant.

My BH contractions started to intensify over the last few days, however, and I was sure that this meant that I was going to go into labor AT ANY MOMENT. And then when I started to actually vomit (AGAIN?! SERIOUSLY?! WHEN DOES THIS END?!), I was SURE that the wait was over and little Baby L was coming. I was positive that I was effaced and dilated and that, like my mother, I must just not be able to feel the contractions yet (she literally had NO IDEA that she was in labor for me until, like, an hour before I was born. We should all be so lucky.) and that I should ready my hospital bag immediately. But then, after the ONE BH contraction which was slightly more uncomfortable than the last, there was nothing. And then there was more nothing. And then, this morning I had an appointment with the doctor, who confirmed that, well, NOTHING IS HAPPENING.

20120507-133913.jpgI can’t say that it is complete nothing. My cervix has thinned a bit, and I am dilating, however, not even ONE CENTIMETER YET…which makes me sort of want to punch someone in the throat. (In fact, I would sort of like to line up some really annoying people and punch them one by one. And then eat a bowl of ice cream. Because…well…I am still, after all, a pregnant lady.) If anyone is interested in putting together a lineup, hit me up, I will send you a list. Some of the people might be SLIGHTLY unattainable (I am sure Phil Collins is busy doing something really obnoxious and will not be available for throat punching), but I will accept look-alikes or any approved equally annoying substitute.

Anyway, that’s where we’re at. Preggo and punchy. Any other way just wouldn’t be right.

 

 

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.