And the actress looks like she wants to go home...

So, I don't specifically get MAD at the hubster when he goes out after work.  I'd like to think that if he were pregnant, he wouldn't mind if I went to happy hour once in a while, or out with friends every few months on the weekends. When I first got pregnant, I was all like "Oh, I don't care if he goes out...blah blah blah, I'm such a cool pregnant wife," but these days it's really hard for me not to get mad. I'm so over sitting on the fucking couch night after night.

"Well, dumbass, why don't you go out? Call a friend? Invite people over?" This is what non pregnant Teresa would have said to someone with this complaint. Non pregnant Teresa would  think "You are choosing to sit on the couch. Get the F up and do something and stop feeling sorry for yourself."

Yes. It sounds really easy. It does-but it isn't. First of all..I am uncomfortable people. SO uncomfortable. Think of the most uncomfortable position you could think to ever be in and imagine staying like that all day while trying to act normal. You have to pee every 10 seconds, or fart, or burp, or regurgitate. Knees hurt, ankles hurt, boobs hurt, the inside of my stomach is sooo sore from where she kicks me,  and sometimes I cry at night from it.  Plus, I just can't relate to people at this point. I am consumed by my pregnancy. It's all I can think about, and I am 100% aware that no one wants to hear me bitch about the pain, or gush about Georgia's cute new pink shoes, or talk about breastfeeding vs bottle feeding.

Chris and I went out to dinner last weekend to a bar that we always used to always go to, and I felt like an alien. I felt like everyone was staring at me with disapproval.  I wasn't a cute chick out on a Friday night, I was somebody's pregnant wife ,wolfing down root beer and nachos. I hated every second of it.  Plus the booth we were sitting in sucked, and I thought I was going to need back surgery by the time we left.

So anyway, I understand that sometimes Chris wants so take a break and go out after work. I do too, but I can't.  I think things would get bad if I forced him to stay in every weekend while I just sleep or sit on the couch.  So I don't say anything and I usually fall asleep anyway.

BUT!

Inside, I'm really secretly mad that he is going out. And jealous. And sad. I want to go too. I want to think about things besides where the nearest bathroom is. I want to talk to people who are not parents or pregnant about non parental/pregnant things. At the same time, I am starting to realize that once you ARE a parent, everything changes. I am sort of in limbo right now about who I am.  I don't want to be consumed by mommyhood (vom I hate that word)but this pregnancy has consumed me so much, that I wonder if "mommyhood" has the same kind of  super power over people? Will I only be able to talk about my kid for the next 18 years? I hope not, but at the same time, I've seen it happen to so many people-why would I be different? 

I'm scared of becoming a parent, because I love baby so much, and I want to hopefully give her the best life she could possibly ever have.  But I'm also scared of becoming a parent because I don't want that to be my only identity. Right now, my identity is annoying ,pregnant whiner, and I'm ready to move on. I just don't know who I am moving on to.

So anyway, all this is stemming from Chris going out tonight. I'm just sad. And tired.  And scared. And sore.

Friday Night Date

From: Christopher Smith
Sent: Friday, February 18, 2011 12:03 PM
To: Teresa Kelly

Subject: Re:

Let's go out to dinner!

From: Teresa Kelly

Sent: Friday, February 18, 2011 12:05 PM
To: Christopher Smith
Subject: RE:

 =(. I’m too fat.

From: Christopher Smith
Sent: Friday, February 18, 2011 2:50 PM
To: Teresa Kelly
Subject: RE:

 Let’s go out to dinner!  It’s too nice to be sitting at home…

From: Teresa Kelly
Sent: Friday, February 18, 2011 2:51 PM
To: Christopher Smith
Subject: RE:

Easy for you to say. You don’t feel like you are going to crap a tugboat.

From: Christopher Smith
Sent: Friday, February 18, 2011 2:52 PM
To: Teresa Kelly
Subject: RE:

 That’s disgusting!

From: Teresa Kelly
Sent: Friday, February 18, 2011 2:53 PM
To: Christopher Smith
Subject: RE:

If I tell you the baby hurts, it doesn’t get the same point across.

In which I pee on myself

So, I know this isn't a big deal or anything-but I'm really awesome at peeing in a cup. You do this a lot during pregnancy, so my unknown talent has actually become very useful during the past eight months. Now, just so you know, I did not just "become" good at urinating in a plastic cup. It has taken me years of practice-probably starting at 18 years old when the term "cop a squat" became a regular phrase in my weekend vocab.  You know, at 18 there isn't really anywhere to go to par-tay, so many parties take places in the woods (really?).  Well, for me they did anyway.  At that time I was kind of trying to decide if I wanted to be some kind of 90's revived hippie chick (which thankfully I decided AGAINST) ,so I was down with nature and bonfires at the time. ( Even though I did want to vom  all over the stupid, crying, bongo players on the beach the day Jerry Garcia died) But whatever. My point is, there are no bathrooms in the woods...get what I'm saying? I also went to frat parties sometimes, but even at frat houses sometimes copping a squat in the backyard is a welcome alternative to using a bathroom that is occupied by 18 dirty, sex obsessed college football players. Or something. 

Anyway.  So my years of squatting began then-there were no cups involved per se-but being able to go to the bathroom without going on yourself  takes a little practice-luckily I practiced SO MUCH that I am totally able to do this with no problem.  Gas Stations? HA! I laugh in the face of gas stations!  Lorenzo's Pizza? HAHAHA! They have nothing on me! By the time I was 23 I could pee in a small plastic coffee mug, in the backseat of a moving vee-hick-el driving from Philly to Wilmington, while wearing a hula skirt and sunglasses at 2AM and singing my ass off while harmonizing to Bon Jovi.

Anyway, today I am sad. Today, I had...an accident. Today I went to my 36 week check up, and of course they need to take a urine sample. So I'm all "yeah bitches" and I go into the bathroom. I open the lid. AND I MISS THE FREAKING CUP. And I'm wearing a gray sweat suit so, like, you can see EVERYTHING that happened. Mortifyyyyying.

Now, in my defense. I can't see over my stomach. I haven't shaved or anything since probably October-I can barely bend over to put on my shoes, you know, because there is a FREAKING PERSON living in my uterus!  There is a head in my pelvis people! My pelvis! So it was only a matter of time before I have some kind of accident that involves urine.

So, I miss the cup and peed all over myself in my gray sweat suit. I started crying because I'm fat and I have cramps, and I can't walk. I can't sleep at night because I have restless leg syndrome (for realz, RLS  is no joke!) and I get charlie horses, and my arms and legs feel like they are detaching from my body, and my back (still) feels like I am carrying the state of Texas on it, and now, I've wet myself. 

I don't think I will ever feel pretty or sexy again.

Oh say can you sing?

So, I'm sure that all two of you heard or (if you were lucky) have heard ABOUT Christina Aguilera's Super Bowl snafu, in which she  disrespected the land of the free and the home of the brave by messing up the lyrics to the Star Spangled Banner. I thought she pretty much disrespected America in 2001 with those STD riddled assless chaps, and that stupid single "Dirrty", but whatever. Americans are serious about their national anthem. I think that's nice.

So before I get to what I want to talk about, I have to say, that sometimes when you are singing you DO forget your place. Granted, the times  that I lost my place when I was singing, i was in a bar and no one was paying attention to me. I was NOT in front of hundreds of millions of people singing the most famous song in America. But anyway-there have been occasions mid-song where I start thinking about what I'm going to do tomorrow, did I remember to turn off the stove, is that weird ugly guy that comes to every show a stalker or is there just one like him in every bar? And all of a sudden I'm like "Damn, I lost my place." Now with THAT said-if I were singing the national anthem at the Super Bowl, I really wouldn't try to think about anything else. I would concentrate on the lyrics and concentrate on what I was doing.  Because I'm paranoid like that. Christina was probably like, "I got dis, you vocally challenged mortals"

I am really convinced that most singers don't know what the fuck they are singing about when they sing the SSB.  The only thing they know is that they have to make the note "free" " REALLY long, and  add that interval that everybody adds on the melody.  I don't know what it is-even though 13 years ago I did get an A in my sight singing and ear training class, and could recognize the intervals when they were played. But-yeah that was a long time ago, and I haven't used those types of skillz  in forever. I'm sure if I took a refresher course, I would be a star student again (haha-sarcasam) but anyway-I'm talking about when the singer sings " O'er the land of the free-EEEEEEEE"  and the audience goes all crazy, and claps, and screams and wooo-hooos. Yes-THAT PART, to a lot of singers, is the most important part of the song.

Lyrics? What lyrics? Oh, there are lyrics?  Yes, dumbasses. There are lyrics, and if you actually took a minute to read them, and become familiar with the actual story you are singing about, I don't think people would lose their place. And did you look up "rampart" before you sang it? That is another thing-I would never sing a song unless I knew what the hell I was singing about. If I was going to sing a cover song, I would at least try to get some background on the song to see where the writer was coming from, and if I could somehow relate and interpret it to my own life and experiences. Like, I love the song Creeque Alley by the Mamas and the Papas, but I would never sing it, because it has nothing to do with anything I've ever experienced. It's about how they made it to LA. Why would I sing about that?

So my point is, if singers took the time to think about what Frances Scott Key was actually saying, I think they would sing the song differently. Oh and a rampart is like a protective wall for defensive purposes.  I know this because I sang the SSB once in high school and I was like 'what the fuck is a rampart?" so I looked it up in the tablets of stone dictionary. Listen to the story, and THEN interpret the song. Don't just go for the money note.

Which brings me to my next subject. Melisma. I one hundred and fifty thousand percent blame Mariah Carey for the overuse of melisma in pop singing.  First of all-yes, I am a fan of melisma. Yes, I have done it before when appropriate. Yes, it's really fun to do. But Jesus Christ, you don't do it for every freaking note in the song. Just do it sometimes. Or how about just ONCE at the end for dramatic effect?  Aretha Franklin and Janice Joplin are two of my favorite singers. While they do use that style in their songs, they never sounds like the melisma fairy flew in and barfed all over their melodies. They do it for subtle, but impressive dramatic effective. It works.  One of my other favorite singers, Judy Garland, did not use this style at all and I am convinced she is one of the greatest vocalists of the century. I'm pretty sure she does not have a three octave voice, but she can emote so much in her straight forward style of singing that she doesn't need to have one. it isn't about the notes for her ( well, I mean of course she wants to hit the right notes, but I'm talking about how emotional she is when she sings) Frank Sinatra probably never covered two octaves in any of his songs-but it is  his turn of phrase that I think drew people to his voice.  Does anyone do this anymore?

Singing, to me, has become a lost art (thank you American Idol) and now has turned into a big melisma screaming  crap festival, where people don't care  what they are singing about, they just want to be the highest and the loudest.

I didn't mind so much that Xtina messed up the words, everyone screws up sometimes. But I really hated HOW she sang the song, and I'm surprised that more people didn't comment on that.

Meow!

I'm getting big ya'll. I weigh 127lbs. Now before you hit me over the head with a rolling pin or whatever object is closest to you, just remember that this is my blog and I'm sharing with you my feelings about my pregnancy. Not anyone else's. So on that note...I shall continue.

I KNOW that 127lbs is not big at all.  It's on the small side for women and many people would like to weigh that much. Yes, I understand. And I wouldn't mind being 127 if it was all evenly spread out..some for my arms, some legs, some butt, but it's literally mostly ALL in my belly. My thighs and boobs have gotten a little bigger, and my once rock hard butt looks really weird. It isn't fat, it just isn't, like, up there. It looks kinda saggy. (I hope it goes back to normal), It's just that there is  a TON of weight in my middle. I feel like a weeble wobble. I feel like I have no balance. I have to roll myself off the couch, off the bed, into the kitchen, and into the bathroom ( FYI-These are the VIP hotspots for those living the pregnant life. Don't be jels).  I know all pregnant women go through the perils of weight gain, and everyone is telling me I'm lucky that I am so small, but seriously. No one likes gaining 25lbs in their stomach. I'm sick of feeling like I have no energy, I'm tired of laying in bed, I'm tired of wearing UGGS and slippers. This sounds a lot like my last post, no?

So anyway, yesterday I'm at the doc for my  weekly checkup and I start telling her I'm having bad gas pain.  She gives me this look like I'm the biggest retard on earth and is like "Uhhh..those are contractions" and tells me to get over to labor and delivery.

OOOOKAY.  First of all, I have never been pregnant. I have no idea what the fuck a contraction feels like. From what I've seen in movies and on television, women who are contracting are doubled over, sweating, usually stuck in traffic ina taxi cab in Manhattan, screaming bloody murder, and threatening to castrate their husbands/boyfriends/baby-daddys if they don't get to the hospital NOW.

I have never seen any show where a pregnant woman was like "Damn, I really have to fart. I'm gonna head on over to labor and delivery." So sorry if I didn't know I was having contractions.

Anyway, I get to L&D and it' s super crowded because of all the poor preggers who have fallen in the snow. There was a mom there with her 19 year old daughter who fell on the ice and had to be checked out. While her daughter was being evaluated the mom was having a conversation with this guy whose wife was also there.  I found their conversation to be really disturbing, as the weird guy was asking the mom all about the daughter's boyfriend and if he was "gonna do her right" and then said to the mom "I guess your conversations about birth control don't really work." The mom didn't seem offended, but I was totally mortified for both parties involved. I'm just like "Is this conversation for real?" Like why would you basically tell a stranger her daughter is a dumbass for not using birth control?

Luckily I didn't wait too long, and was taken in the back to be monitored. I had to undress and put on the hott hospital gown. Some genius has invented ties that go on the side of the gowns! How fab!  My ass won't be hanging out.

So I get hooked up to some machine that monitors Georgia (my daughter) and the contractions and lay there for about an hour. At this point, I'm still not convinced I'm contracting so I'm not too worried. Just playing with the cell phone and reading trashy gossip mags. Hum...labor and delivery is not so bad.  The nurse comes in and says there is no way I am going home and that I am contracting every two minutes. I tell her I can't really feel anything, and she tells me they are very mild contractions but she wants to make sure I'm not dilating and does the lovely finger test to check my cervix. Now last time my cervix was checked, the nurse told me I had a perfect cervix. Today she said it was short, thin, and could almost put their finger through it. I had to stay to be monitored to make sure the contractions were not causing any cervical changes.

Long story short-I was dehydrated, which is why the contractions started. "They" put me on IV fluids for a few hours. I wished really hard that a doctor would come in and tell me that burritos were really good for stopping contractions (that never happened), Chris arrived and stayed with me last two hours, and then we went home.  But not before I got into a conversation with the nurse about all of the women who come in with "kitty" inspired tattoos around their lady-parts. I think you know where I am going with this...

I'm exhausted.