Tag Archives: Pregnancy

Phew…

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. 

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A Little Crazy, but Mostly Grateful

It has been ridiculously easy for me to find things about pregnancy to bitch about, which I am sure that some of you understand all too well. I have, between the heartburn, the pain of ten hammers banging against my pelvis (sometimes for days straight), the lack of sleep, and many, many other things, been pretty uncomfortable and, a lot of times really stressed and really unhappy. I have dreamed, since the day that I found out I was expecting, of the day that I would get this kid out of me. The reason, at the beginning, that I wanted her out, was because I wanted to feel normal. I wanted to sit on the porch at sunset and drink cocktails and talk to my girlfriends on the phone. I wanted to go to the dive bar down the street with MB and smoke cigarettes and listen to mediocre live music. I wanted a bloody mary with my breakfast on Sundays, for Christ’s  sake. I wanted my life to remain unchanged from the way it had been for the last several years.  And I couldn’t believe that I would have to sacrifice nine whole months of my life to grow this kid. And that I would have to do it with no breaks. NO BREAKS.

I still want this baby out, internet. SO BADLY. And not just because I want a cocktail (but oh.my.god, do I want a cocktail). I want to hold her and nibble on her tiny fingers and toes. And rock her to sleep. And see her expression the first time she eats peas. (Her father hates peas and his expression, while hysterical, isn’t cutting it anymore.)

It took me a long time to get excited about this pregnancy. And then it took even longer to admit that I had started to get excited about it. I guess because no one expects any of this from me. I got all mommy-fied, seemingly overnight and surprised even me.  I still find myself awake in the middle of the night, terrified and on the verge of breakdown. But then I remember how much I have overcome in my life and how strong I am. And then I remember how lucky I am to be doing this with MB, and with the help of my amazingly supportive family and friends. And I know I, with their help, can do it.  I feel confident that the people in my life right now are the right people. I feel that I am finally at a point where every relationship I have is healthy and reciprocal and I feel…damn fortunate.  And now, to top everything off, I am gonna have a little person all for myself. That I MADE.  And that still blows my mind.

With my due date less than three months away, I am starting to feel, though ill-prepared, that this is all coming together. I have cut people out of my life who were self-absorbed and self-involved and have started to focus on me. And my little family-to-be. And I might be an emotional wreck sometimes, and I might go completely insane because I can’t wear pants that don’t come up to my eyebrows, and I might even start crying because my DVR didn’t record the newest Law and Order: SVU episode. But at the end of the day, it’s all good. I have a lot of things to be grateful for right now.

And who am I kidding? Law and Order: SVU reruns are on all day, every day.

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A Little Bigger, No?

Here I am today at 28 weeks. I hate this picture and really can’t stand to look at it at all, but I do still want to document this whole pregnancy thing and figured, what the hell. I can’t really hide this anymore, right? Yeah. And I waddle too. I am a sexy bitch.

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Third Trimester, You’re a Bastard

Today, I am 28 weeks pregnant. 

This is really awesome because this means that SOON MB and I will be welcoming Baby L into the world and we could not be more excited. (I am probably more excited than he is because I just can’t wait to have my body back! OMG.) But I can’t say there isn’t a fair amount of panic welling up inside me. You know, because I went from being a carefree, fun-loving employed and generally happy person, to essentially being two people. Complete with psychotic mood swings, ridiculous food cravings and a rapidly expanding waistline.

I feel seriously unprepared right now. Is this where the nesting thing is supposed to kick in? Because I have an intense desire to reorganize the entire house. But I scarcely have the energy to bend over and pick up the shoes that have been sitting in front of the door for two days.  I gather that this is normal? It’s really hard to have this intense drive to do something that my body doesn’t let me do.  Screw you, third trimester, you are a bastard.

Some notes:

1. The heartburn has returned. I am tempted to say that it is worse than it was in the first trimester. It never really went completely away but had gone from the every other day routine to once or twice a week in the Second Trimester to a bottle of Tums per day for over a week now.  My fiery esophagus is going to drive me insane.

2. Bending over has ceased to be an option.  When I look down at my belly, I don’t see this massive bump (and no, I am not delusional, I guess I am just getting used to it), I see my body, just grown enough to accommodate my little Baby L and I am more and more okay with that. But Jeebus forbid, I drop something on the floor and have no one near me to pick it up. I feel, sometimes, that it will be simpler to get down on all fours to pick items up from the floor than to attempt to bend down to pick things up. No good.

3. I am a narcoleptic insomniac. Explain that one. I cannot sleep when sleeping is appropriate because my belly has grown to be the single most uncomfortable sleeping partner IN. THE. UNIVERSE. I have a body pillow but cannot find a way to maneuver my belly and/or the pillow into a position where I don’t feel as though I am crushing my child’s head.  I don’t want to crush my child’s head, I just want to be comfortable, for Christ’s sake! On top of not sleeping when sleeping is appropriate, I could fall asleep in the middle of a rock concert. This is not a joke. I have adjusted my sleep schedule, due to necessity, and now allow myself to sleep when tired (meaning naps are now permitted) but I find that, it takes me hours to fall asleep, I remain asleep for 4 hours, wake up for 3, and then go back to sleep for 2 and then, around three o’clock, I am DONE. It doesn’t matter where I am or what I am doing, I might have just fallen asleep. And caffeine is a no-no (or at least the amount of caffeine I would require at this point). Feel free to shake me.

Generally, I am uncomfortable. I knew that it was only going to get worse so I can’t say that I have been caught off guard or anything, but Holy GOD people, why is pregnancy so LONG?!

 

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On Progress

This morning I had my second (and hopefully final) phone interview for my second (and hopefully final) application for Medicaid. I have to say, it went so much better than the first one. My first experience with a live person at the Medicaid office left a very sour taste in my mouth. I spoke with a seemingly very bitter, very impatient woman who clearly had no compassion or people skills. This time, the lady was calm, helpful and wished me a good pregnancy (what’s left of it) and a good day. This may not seem like much to you, internet, but then, you may not have to deal with the Medicaid office. Trust me. Being wished a good day is almost as good as her handing me a wad of cash at this point.

I feel good. I feel like she explained to me EXACTLY (and not in a roundabout way) what I need to submit to them. (And I plan to submit it daily for the next ten days and then phone stalk and/or in-person stalk them for that same length of time.) I have all the information they need and I am pretty sure that there is little to no room for error at this point. (I am aware, however, of who I am dealing with and have not let out that sigh of relief just yet.)

I have an appointment with the county health department on Monday morning. This resulted when I spent over a week trying to get proof of my pregnancy correctly sent to the Medicaid office by the Health Department and was told by a gentleman from the department itself that his employees at the Health Center were incompetent and that I should not leave that office until the information has been sent directly to him and I have been given an appointment to see a doctor. This worked, but I had to wait two weeks and now really have no idea what kind of an appointment this even is. I know it will last two hours and that I’d better not be late. Or else, says the incompetent lady with the bad weave.

Either way, things APPEAR to be going in the right direction. And I am still optimistic. And I haven’t murdered or mamed anyone yet! Hooray! If you think about it, ladies and gents, send some good juju or prayers (or whatever good vibes you believe in) this way. I gotta get this thing going! My little bean is already a black belt in karate!

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A Hero

Well, it is official, the shower invitations have been sent out and some RSVPs have even been received. It is pretty crazy to think that, in less than three weeks (THREE WEEKS!) we will be having a baby shower (A BABY SHOWER!).  MB and I have been pretty good at pretending that we are not parents-to-be and that we are just highly boring individuals who can never, ever have any alcohol. It still doesn’t really feel real. But there it is, right around the corner. Imma have a baby, y’all.

Holy crap.

I have had a lot of fun picking out outfits and furniture (even though we are trying to keep things to a minimum until we make the big move which will most likely happen in August) and learning about how other moms’ experiences have been.  I never really thought that I would be reading articles (or blogs) about parenthood or posting about diapers but here we are. 27 weeks along and ready to start a whole new journey. I can’t help but feel a little bit lost about the whole thing though. I guess a lot of women can use this time to bond with their mothers over parenting and all that jazz (which, don’t get me wrong, I guess I am doing, but I have never been all that close with my mom and, well…it is all very new to me). This is exactly the kind of experience I would have wanted to share with my grandmother. She died on my 23rd birthday, so she has been gone a long time, but her absence takes away a lot of the excitememnt for me. I would have loved for her to be here to help me prepare for and to meet her first great-grandchild. I would have loved for my child to experience the same kind of love and…gosh, there are no words for the kind of beauty she brought to be…I won’t even try to explain all of that. I will just say that, holy crap, she would have been so excited. And my baby would have been so lucky to have met her. She just had a way of making me…better…and I try to remember her as often as I can to remind MYSELF to be a good person. And a good friend. And just…overall good. I really hope I can instill this in my child. I have a going list of things that I want to pass down. That I feel I need to pass down.

1. Lefse. My grandparents were both full Norwegian and when I was very young, my grandma taught me how to make lefse and it was my FAVORITE THING EVER. I learned, after my grandfather passed and the family was together for the first time in years, that, not only was I the only grandchild that she ever taught to make it, she never even taught her own kids. (Two of whom are actual chefs!) So, yeah, I was totally her favorite.

2. Humility. My grandparents were poor. They worked as missionaries in New Guinnea when their first three children were small. They were Christians and they were damn good at being Christians. (I’m not gonna lie, internet, the mere mention of Christianity makes me cringe because I…well…am not a fan of religion at all…)  They were the kind of people who were respectful of everyone. And genuinely LOVING to everyone. EVERYONE. My grandmother would have given the shirt off her back. She helped whomever should could, whenever and with whatever resources she had. I definitely was raised, (mostly by my grandparents) in an environment RICH with love. They showed me the true meaning of agape.

3. Sense of worth. My parents weren’t really all that accessible when I was a kid. My dad wasn’t around and my mom worked full-time to support herself, my sister and I. And when she wasn’t working, she was partying. Luckily for us kids, our grandparents moved all the way across the country when our parents decided to move to Florida and became our caretakers when our parents weren’t.  I can’t speak for my sister, but I can say that I never really got any positive reinforcements from my mom. That I was smart. That I was pretty. That I was a worthwhile person. (I was informed, much of the time, that I was getting fat or things of that nature, but…you know…) My grandma, on the other hand, made me feel like a rock star. And not because she was a liar, but because she saw those things in me. She believed in me, like, for real.  I need to make sure, more importantly than all else, that my daughter knows she is SO. FUCKING. SPECIAL. And so loved. And that she can do whatever she wants to do. And it doesn’t matter if her nose is pointy or she has freckles. Or if her ass is a little big (which she would have inherited from her mother), she is amazing. And she is worthwhile. And the world is hers.  I want to make sure she knows I am her biggest fan.

Yesterday was my grandma’s birthday. I’m a little sappy about it. I miss her. She was my hero. I just hope I can make her proud.

On a Serious Tip

If you follow this blog at all, then you know that I lost my job of nearly FOUR YEARS just DAYS after announcing my pregnancy on Facebook. I have spoken with a LOT of people regarding pregnancy discrimination over the course of the last few months and today, found this article and thought it was VERY informative. I tried to reblog it for you, fellow preggos but was unsuccessful, but please check it out. Pregnancy discrimination is a real thing. A real, terrible, thing. 

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Share your story or input on pregnancy with the EEOC here: commissionmeetingcomments@eeoc.gov

Your Cake is My Cake

When I found out I was pregnant, I felt a little like I had to let go of my whole life. Like I would have to change anything. Like my friends wouldn’t want to have anything to do with me because no one wants to hang out with “the pregnant girl”. Because God knows, I never wanted to hang out with the pregnant girl! I would have to refrain from smoking and we couldn’t go to the dive bar down the street and listen to really bad live music or karaoke. And she would probably want to go home and go to bed at 7:30. All of these things suddenly became true of me. And I couldn’t bare to drag my free, without-parasite friends down. I did, however, find solace in the glorious dream of food. Before you are pregnant, you hear other preggos say things like, “I wouldn’t normally eat this, but the baby wants it.” or “I could never eat this much food if I weren’t pregnant.” I delighted in the idea of chili dogs and french fries and massive quantities of lasagna for dinner. And mid morning snacks of ice cream and potato chips. But there are things they don’t tell you, internet. Oh yes, there are things.

In the first trimester, I wanted to eat my weight in double cheeseburgers, as you know. The main draw of these McDoubles was that the grease factor was such that they coated my stomach and actually prevented my getting heartburn and/or vomiting my face off for several hours. Well played, McDonalds. But once that severe nausea was gone, McDoubles started to taste like the craptastic pseudofood that they actually are. This made my heart sink. For the emotional attachment I had developed for them and they comfort that they gave me could not easily be replaced.

There were also no chili dogs. Does this mean I didn’t dream of chili dogs all day long? NO. It means that chili dogs or anything containing tomato sauce (including lasagna) caused so much discomfort that I would have sooner gouged my eyes out with spoons than eaten them. I sat daily, eying my now fiance, MB, wishing that I could dip him in chili and cheese and eat him up without experiencing karmic and regular heartburn. (There is a moral here, never fantacize about eating the one you love.) But the hunger that I experienced without constant McDoubles only caused MORE heartburn and MORE nausea.

During the second trimester, I told myself that, because this would be the “honeymoon phase” of pregnancy, I would eat salads and things that were not cooked in a vat of oil. This is easier said than done. Because I don’t want a salad. I want cake. I want cake right now. And I don’t care what kind of cake it is. Or who this cake belongs to. I will eat this cake lightening fast and with little to no remorse. Your cake is my cake.20120213-115958.jpg

I don’t even eat sweets, internet. I am a potato chip girl. I love the delicious, salty crunch of Ruffles. I want to dip them in buffalo cheese dip that I reserve to make for special occasions and put them between the bread of ALL sandwiches alike. But now? I can’t eat potato chips. They are too salty and they are not cake.

A misconception about the glory of eating during pregnancy was that you will have a crazy, huge appetite and can eat constantly. I was looking forward to this. Not because I have been a restricter or anything in the fast, but mostly because I really just effing love food. My Norwegian grandparents taught us to eat like we would never eat again, but along with that Norwegian tendency, I also inherited the ability to gain weight by THINKING about food. So, I was excited to be pregnant and to have an excuse. They don’t tell you, though Internet, that you will salivate over food all day long, but when you begin to eat it, ravenously hungry and close to inhaling the person who is kind and brave enough to dine with you, you will not be nearly as hungry as you think. In fact, you will take exactly three bites of that beautiful me

 

al and then realize that the baby inside you has shifted to sit on the exact place that simultaneously makes you have to pee and vomit. You are full. After dreaming of this giant plate of pasta deliciousness all day. (And you don’t even like pasta.) You will have to-go boxes from every establishment you have passed by over the course of the last three months because, let’s face it, internet. You are full now, but this will not stop you from stopping at 13 more restaurants on the way home and trying again.

 

Registry Smegistry…

So, even though there is still a fair amount of frustration surrounding this Medicaid issue and the time it takes those morons to process anything or return a phone call or…you know…ANYTHING, I have been trying to focus on the positive aspects of “the home stretch” as it has been called. I wouldn’t necessarily say that I am nesting just yet, but I am definitely daydreaming about the day to come when I accidently drop a napkin on the floor at a restaurant and can effortlessly bend to retrieve it. Its the simple things, internet, that keep me truckin’ along. The main thing that I am trying to manage is my baby registry. With my shower being exactly a month from tomorrow, I am starting to feel ill-prepared and a little panicky about what I will need that I may not have thought of. (Some of this panic has also stemmed from a text message from my lovely, fellow preggo, Jess which read, “You don’t have enough stuff on your registry!!!”

My question to you, internet mommies and mommies-to-be?

What one item could you not live without? What is the best invention ever?

HELP! PLEASE!