Well, I didn't want to write this post. I've been avoiding it but since I'm up at 1:0a AM and nothing else is going on. I'll just get on with it.
I am three days past my due date.
I never ever thought I would be over 40 weeks pregnant. I mean, I never even considered it. I think I'm actually still in shock. And I'm kind of pissed too. I'm like, SO ready to move on to the next phase of my life. It isn't even that I'm sick of being pregnant (which yes-I am). I just can't DO anything. My body is exhausted. Totally exhausted. I tried walking to the local java joint today and you would have thought I ran a marathon. I regurgitate everything I eat, and right now my daughter is kicking the shit out of me. I thought they weren't supposed to move that much at 40 weeks? I can't tell if it hurts because I'm having contractions, or because she is moving all around. Regardless of what it is, I'm very uncomfortable.
Pregnancy is so different than what I thought it was going to beI can't put into words what this experience has been like just yet, because I don't know. I haven't reflected enough because I'm so caught up in when the hell she is getting here that I don't think of much else. Right now I feel like I am about to get seasick from all of this movement so I will finish writing at a later date. I guess she loved the warm milk I just had or something. Oh, and remind me to tell you about the castor oil conversation I had with my husband.
Showing posts with label Pregnancy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Pregnancy. Show all posts
Thursday, March 17, 2011
Monday, March 7, 2011
I'm Every Woman
So I really want to get one more post in before I birth my sweet baby. I thought I was going to keep up this blog,but during pregnancy it's kind of hard. How many times can I write about how much I hate being pregnant? It's just not my bag baby. I am so excited to meet Georgia, of course, but I just wish she could just, like, ring the doorbell and show up as a 25 year old engaged, college graduate who worships the ground I walk on.
So anyway-with impendingdoom birth and all that, I started to think about NOT being pregnant. I think it's going to be so weird. For the last nine months I've constantly had to take care of myself in a way that I never have before because I was (am) responsible for the health of my unborn daughter. I hope I can keep it up after she is born. I didn't drink much coffee, tried to eat very healthy, early nights, early mornings, no drinking. Yes, I did eat an assload of spanish fries, but I don't think they'll do too much damage. Maybe she'll pop out saying "Hola" or something. Anyway-some crazy part of me thought that I actually might MISS being pregnant! And then I looked at myself in the mirror and was like..um..yeah...never mind.
So the STATS: I started out at 98lbs. I now weigh 129! Hopefully it comes off fast. I wouldn't actually mind keeping about 5 extra lb post, because then I won't have to get every freaking piece of clothing hemmed,taken in, fitted, shortened-whatever. I don't have any stretch marks, and I am retaining a little bit of water in my fingers, and my once rock hard butt looks now resembles "naked old lady in the locker room ass" but my sister told me that goes away. I probably gained an inch around on both thighs, and my boobs went from an A cup to a C cup. So all in all, I guess not so bad. I don't think anyone likes gaining weight. It pretty much sucks, but obviously I HAVE to gain it while pregnant, so topping out at 130 isn't the worst thing in the world.
Now...on to the BIG news! My twin sister Jill had her baby! Last week! Mason is here! He is so freaking cute-he looks like a little sweet pea. He was 5lbs 90z and born just a few days before his due date. I remember how weird I felt when my younger sister had her first baby. I was all, wtf? How did that happen? She's a MOM! I feel the same way with my twin sister. uh...somebody's mom? It's crazy. She is going to be a great mommy and I am very proud of her, because I heard she was very brave throughout labor and birth.
Remember when you were little and how you thought about your friends' moms? They were just... moms. They didn't have a past, or feelings, or personalities. They were just there to say yes or no, or to yell at you if you got caught smoking cigarettes( O wait, that was my mom), to tell you to go to sleep, and to make sure you were equipped with tools to make the best decisions in order to have a successful life. Okay, well, that one I didn't realize until recently. I've had a bit of a bumpy road, but I think that my parents instilled the right value system along the way, and I think I turned out okay. I was able to see the warning signs, and make some changes before I got to a point where I wouldn't be able to help myself. My life turned out great actually! I'm not the super singing phenom that I once thought I would be, but that's okay. I have baby Georgia on the way, and my wonderful husband. And my new nephew. And my three other little nephews, my siblings, my grandparents, awesome aunts, uncles, cousins, and a small but wonderful group of good friends. I have so many wonderful role models that have helped me along the way. I love my house (which I will write about at another time), I love living in Philly, I really do like my job-and most important of all-I finally like myself! After years and years and years of negative self talk, of feeling like I sucked, of lucid nightmares, losing my singing voice, and basically feeling like I was drowning in the biggest blackest ocean in the world. I've conquered my demons all by myself, and frankly, I think I rule because of it!
So on that POSITIVE note, I leave with the mystery of childbirth lurking ...er...somewhere. I'm kind of scared shitless actually, but I've gotten through so much shit over the past few years, that I think I can get through this too. Women have babies every day. Not every woman has gone through my struggles and came out a winner.
*Random shout out to Whitney Houston. Although, she hasn't exactly come out as any kind of winner. But she did sing I'm Every Woman, and Oprah loved it.
So anyway-with impending
So the STATS: I started out at 98lbs. I now weigh 129! Hopefully it comes off fast. I wouldn't actually mind keeping about 5 extra lb post, because then I won't have to get every freaking piece of clothing hemmed,taken in, fitted, shortened-whatever. I don't have any stretch marks, and I am retaining a little bit of water in my fingers, and my once rock hard butt looks now resembles "naked old lady in the locker room ass" but my sister told me that goes away. I probably gained an inch around on both thighs, and my boobs went from an A cup to a C cup. So all in all, I guess not so bad. I don't think anyone likes gaining weight. It pretty much sucks, but obviously I HAVE to gain it while pregnant, so topping out at 130 isn't the worst thing in the world.
Now...on to the BIG news! My twin sister Jill had her baby! Last week! Mason is here! He is so freaking cute-he looks like a little sweet pea. He was 5lbs 90z and born just a few days before his due date. I remember how weird I felt when my younger sister had her first baby. I was all, wtf? How did that happen? She's a MOM! I feel the same way with my twin sister. uh...somebody's mom? It's crazy. She is going to be a great mommy and I am very proud of her, because I heard she was very brave throughout labor and birth.
Remember when you were little and how you thought about your friends' moms? They were just... moms. They didn't have a past, or feelings, or personalities. They were just there to say yes or no, or to yell at you if you got caught smoking cigarettes( O wait, that was my mom), to tell you to go to sleep, and to make sure you were equipped with tools to make the best decisions in order to have a successful life. Okay, well, that one I didn't realize until recently. I've had a bit of a bumpy road, but I think that my parents instilled the right value system along the way, and I think I turned out okay. I was able to see the warning signs, and make some changes before I got to a point where I wouldn't be able to help myself. My life turned out great actually! I'm not the super singing phenom that I once thought I would be, but that's okay. I have baby Georgia on the way, and my wonderful husband. And my new nephew. And my three other little nephews, my siblings, my grandparents, awesome aunts, uncles, cousins, and a small but wonderful group of good friends. I have so many wonderful role models that have helped me along the way. I love my house (which I will write about at another time), I love living in Philly, I really do like my job-and most important of all-I finally like myself! After years and years and years of negative self talk, of feeling like I sucked, of lucid nightmares, losing my singing voice, and basically feeling like I was drowning in the biggest blackest ocean in the world. I've conquered my demons all by myself, and frankly, I think I rule because of it!
So on that POSITIVE note, I leave with the mystery of childbirth lurking ...er...somewhere. I'm kind of scared shitless actually, but I've gotten through so much shit over the past few years, that I think I can get through this too. Women have babies every day. Not every woman has gone through my struggles and came out a winner.
*Random shout out to Whitney Houston. Although, she hasn't exactly come out as any kind of winner. But she did sing I'm Every Woman, and Oprah loved it.
Friday, February 25, 2011
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.
"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, February 18, 2011
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.
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.
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
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.
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.
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
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.
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.
Thursday, January 13, 2011
I Don't Sleep to Dream
So I pretty much dread going home from work these days?
"Why," you ask, "would one ever not want to get home from work?"
Because...it really sucks. I get home, I attempt to walk my dog but the baby is just chilling on my bladder and it hurts SO BAD when i stand up, that I can only make it around the block . I feel so terrible that I can't take Buckely on a nice, long walk, not to mention it is freaking freezing out, my knees, feet, and back are killing me, and there is a foot or something that kicks me in my ribs constantly. I hate it. =( So-that happens first.
Then I try to figure out what to make for dinner. I have no idea what I want to eat anymore. The whole process is overwhelming. Last night I almost had a melt down and ended up just eating popcorn and cake. Sooo bad for my daughter. Again, the guilt. I also try to be really cheerful for Chris when he gets home, but all I want to do is cry and lay on the couch and complain about stupid shit.
I count down the minutes to 8PM-where I can go up to bed without feeling like a total loser. 8PM is a respectable bedtime, right? Not too early? I just want to be aloooooone really. Chris and Buckley usually come up around 10PM, so that plenty of time for me to just lay there and feel my daughter move around while imagining how much fun we are going to have prom dress shopping. Well, actually I'm not "just laying there" I'm rolling around trying to find a comfortable position, maneuvering pillows, legs, and comforters, and trying to at least feel ...I don't even know what the word is. Comfortable ain't it. Settled, I guess.
Click Click Click Click Click Click! Little feet on the hardwood floor-Here comes Buckley! He jumps into bed, of course climbing right on top of me. He makes sure not a spot on my face has gone unlicked. I'm too exhausted to even move, so I just let him stay there and it's so annoying, but my pillows are just right, and if i move them it will take an hour to get settled again.
Clomp Clomp Clomp Clomp Clomp Clomp Clomp! Here comes my husband. He is very loud coming up the stairs and into the room. He doesn't mean to bang dresser drawers when he closes them...but...he does. It's annoying.
Now Chris and Buckley are both in bed with me. They both want to snuggle. I'm like, falling off of the side of the bed, I have no room, I want to scream, but I know that they both love me and are trying to be supportive. 10 minutes later everyone is snoring and I'm still laying there, trying not to fall out of bed, unable to fall asleep, wondering what my daughter could possibly be doing in there that requires a karate chop kick every two minutes. My hips feel like they are burning, my back feels like I am carrying the state of Texas on it, and I break out into a cold sweat every time I think about the fact that I am going to be a parent.
Ahhhh...sleep. Finally. For like a half hour. Then I have to get up to pee and I lay there for an hour trying to decide whether or not it is worth it to get up to use the bathroom. Finally my bladder feels like it is going to explode, so I get up into the cold run (waddle) to the bathroom and waddle back in bed.
Now there is REALLY no room in bed. Chris and Buckley have taken advantage of my weak bladder and stretched out everywhere. I pick up Buckley and put him in his crate, try to move Chris out of his sideways position, roll myself into bed, and mess around with all of my pillows for another hour.
Rinse and Repeat. Rinse and Repeat. Rinse and Repeat.
BEEEEEP !BEEEEEP! BEEEEEP.! Oh goody, it's time to get up again. =/
"Why," you ask, "would one ever not want to get home from work?"
Because...it really sucks. I get home, I attempt to walk my dog but the baby is just chilling on my bladder and it hurts SO BAD when i stand up, that I can only make it around the block . I feel so terrible that I can't take Buckely on a nice, long walk, not to mention it is freaking freezing out, my knees, feet, and back are killing me, and there is a foot or something that kicks me in my ribs constantly. I hate it. =( So-that happens first.
Then I try to figure out what to make for dinner. I have no idea what I want to eat anymore. The whole process is overwhelming. Last night I almost had a melt down and ended up just eating popcorn and cake. Sooo bad for my daughter. Again, the guilt. I also try to be really cheerful for Chris when he gets home, but all I want to do is cry and lay on the couch and complain about stupid shit.
I count down the minutes to 8PM-where I can go up to bed without feeling like a total loser. 8PM is a respectable bedtime, right? Not too early? I just want to be aloooooone really. Chris and Buckley usually come up around 10PM, so that plenty of time for me to just lay there and feel my daughter move around while imagining how much fun we are going to have prom dress shopping. Well, actually I'm not "just laying there" I'm rolling around trying to find a comfortable position, maneuvering pillows, legs, and comforters, and trying to at least feel ...I don't even know what the word is. Comfortable ain't it. Settled, I guess.
Click Click Click Click Click Click! Little feet on the hardwood floor-Here comes Buckley! He jumps into bed, of course climbing right on top of me. He makes sure not a spot on my face has gone unlicked. I'm too exhausted to even move, so I just let him stay there and it's so annoying, but my pillows are just right, and if i move them it will take an hour to get settled again.
Clomp Clomp Clomp Clomp Clomp Clomp Clomp! Here comes my husband. He is very loud coming up the stairs and into the room. He doesn't mean to bang dresser drawers when he closes them...but...he does. It's annoying.
Now Chris and Buckley are both in bed with me. They both want to snuggle. I'm like, falling off of the side of the bed, I have no room, I want to scream, but I know that they both love me and are trying to be supportive. 10 minutes later everyone is snoring and I'm still laying there, trying not to fall out of bed, unable to fall asleep, wondering what my daughter could possibly be doing in there that requires a karate chop kick every two minutes. My hips feel like they are burning, my back feels like I am carrying the state of Texas on it, and I break out into a cold sweat every time I think about the fact that I am going to be a parent.
Ahhhh...sleep. Finally. For like a half hour. Then I have to get up to pee and I lay there for an hour trying to decide whether or not it is worth it to get up to use the bathroom. Finally my bladder feels like it is going to explode, so I get up into the cold run (waddle) to the bathroom and waddle back in bed.
Now there is REALLY no room in bed. Chris and Buckley have taken advantage of my weak bladder and stretched out everywhere. I pick up Buckley and put him in his crate, try to move Chris out of his sideways position, roll myself into bed, and mess around with all of my pillows for another hour.
Rinse and Repeat. Rinse and Repeat. Rinse and Repeat.
BEEEEEP !BEEEEEP! BEEEEEP.! Oh goody, it's time to get up again. =/
Sunday, December 19, 2010
blah blah blah bitch moan pregnant blah blah blah
I've recieved a few emails from friends asking me to post a new blog ASAP. How nice! So, in honor of YOU, yes YOU, I am posting today.
Honestly, I haven't felt like writing because I know whatever I write is going to just be one big bitch-fest. I'm so O-V-E-R being pregnant. Yeah-I know my pregnancy hasn't been that bad. I've only weigh about 119. But on me that's a LOT. I had a ridiculously stupid breakdown in Anthropologie today. I started crying because everyone in there was cute wearing cute clothes, and I wear the same 5 fucking maternity outfits every week. I HAAATE it so much. I try to mix and match and wear cute accessories, but really I just despise maternity clothes and I hate how my body looks. I've pretty much refused to let Chris see my naked pregnant bod. It isn't gross or anything, I guess. I don't have stretch marks or cottage cheese thighs/ass, but I just feel frumpy. I always feel off-balance, and I run into tables and things all the time because I sometimes forget how much bigger I am. I miss my Victoria's Secret stuff. I am going to burn this maternity shit as soon as I have my baby. Who I love-don't get me wrong. I'm totally blown away by the connection I have with this little thing, and she's what keeps me going. Yes, I feel that delivering her safely into the world and having her be happy and healthy is way more important that the fact that I hate being fat. But a girl is allowed to complain, right?
See-I told you .You didn't want me to write anything.
Honestly, I haven't felt like writing because I know whatever I write is going to just be one big bitch-fest. I'm so O-V-E-R being pregnant. Yeah-I know my pregnancy hasn't been that bad. I've only weigh about 119. But on me that's a LOT. I had a ridiculously stupid breakdown in Anthropologie today. I started crying because everyone in there was cute wearing cute clothes, and I wear the same 5 fucking maternity outfits every week. I HAAATE it so much. I try to mix and match and wear cute accessories, but really I just despise maternity clothes and I hate how my body looks. I've pretty much refused to let Chris see my naked pregnant bod. It isn't gross or anything, I guess. I don't have stretch marks or cottage cheese thighs/ass, but I just feel frumpy. I always feel off-balance, and I run into tables and things all the time because I sometimes forget how much bigger I am. I miss my Victoria's Secret stuff. I am going to burn this maternity shit as soon as I have my baby. Who I love-don't get me wrong. I'm totally blown away by the connection I have with this little thing, and she's what keeps me going. Yes, I feel that delivering her safely into the world and having her be happy and healthy is way more important that the fact that I hate being fat. But a girl is allowed to complain, right?
See-I told you .You didn't want me to write anything.
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
Tell Me Something Good
One thing I'm learning throughout this pregnancy, is that my girly goodies are no longer MY girlie goodies. They are EVERYBODYS ! With the bleeding I've had, I have to keep going to the doctor, they look at my vag, and tell me nothing is wrong and send me home. It's SO annoying, but I have to go every time it happens. I have not ever spent so much time talking about my private parts ever in my whole life... not to mention that every time I hop into some stirrups I am reminded that I have not done any waxing, shaving, or grooming since July! Thank GOD my stomach is in the way I can't see anything down there. But still, when I'm laying there all hairy, I can't help but think, "Damn. It's 1992 all over again. Somebody put in some Bell Biv Devoe."
And someone remind me that I NEEED a pedicure. Not WANT a pedicure, I NEED a pedicure. I don't care if it's about to be December. Between my big stomach, the fact that I can't see or bend over to shave, my toe nail polish that's been on my toes since September, and the fact that I usually lay around in sweatpants and stuff my face all weekend, well, let's just say I'm desperate for compliments. I need to feel pretty!
So last night I'm laying there ( hairy legs included) in the oh so flattering position of stirrups (remind me to tell you about Chris the first time he saw me get into stirrups. It thought he was going to throw up.) I'm watching my daughter's heart rate on the monitor. The nurse is telling me they she is going to do an internal exam, you'll feel pressure, blah blah blah. All of a sudden we get into an awkward discussion about the size of the speculum. Well, any conversation in stirrups is awkward really. But anyway...
"Oh. We are going to have to use the extra small speculum for you! There is no way this one is going to fit!" Uh...okaaaay.
"Everything is so nicely in place, and your cervix is so easy to find!" er...great?
"You are so tiny inside, really, that bigger speculum would have been so uncomfortable."
I make a stupid joke about how my husband will be upset about this small speculum news, and she looks at me like I have 5 heads. I mean, I'm sorry but the conversation was "wide open" (hehehe vag humor) for a good penis joke. Or not.
I guess not. So anyway-I'm not sure WHAT to make of all of this news about my small cervix, or why I should give a crap, but I decide that I guess she is complimenting me in some kind of strange gynecological manner. I'll take it! So, my small, beautiful cervix and I are laying there, proud of our compliments, when she busts out with "Yep, that won't be the case after you have the baby. After that, it all goes to hell."
EXCUUUUSE ME? Are you telling me that my beautiful, small cervix, is going to be ugly and hard to find? Like EVERYONE ELSE you examine?
Well! I never!
And someone remind me that I NEEED a pedicure. Not WANT a pedicure, I NEED a pedicure. I don't care if it's about to be December. Between my big stomach, the fact that I can't see or bend over to shave, my toe nail polish that's been on my toes since September, and the fact that I usually lay around in sweatpants and stuff my face all weekend, well, let's just say I'm desperate for compliments. I need to feel pretty!
So last night I'm laying there ( hairy legs included) in the oh so flattering position of stirrups (remind me to tell you about Chris the first time he saw me get into stirrups. It thought he was going to throw up.) I'm watching my daughter's heart rate on the monitor. The nurse is telling me they she is going to do an internal exam, you'll feel pressure, blah blah blah. All of a sudden we get into an awkward discussion about the size of the speculum. Well, any conversation in stirrups is awkward really. But anyway...
"Oh. We are going to have to use the extra small speculum for you! There is no way this one is going to fit!" Uh...okaaaay.
"Everything is so nicely in place, and your cervix is so easy to find!" er...great?
"You are so tiny inside, really, that bigger speculum would have been so uncomfortable."
I make a stupid joke about how my husband will be upset about this small speculum news, and she looks at me like I have 5 heads. I mean, I'm sorry but the conversation was "wide open" (hehehe vag humor) for a good penis joke. Or not.
I guess not. So anyway-I'm not sure WHAT to make of all of this news about my small cervix, or why I should give a crap, but I decide that I guess she is complimenting me in some kind of strange gynecological manner. I'll take it! So, my small, beautiful cervix and I are laying there, proud of our compliments, when she busts out with "Yep, that won't be the case after you have the baby. After that, it all goes to hell."
EXCUUUUSE ME? Are you telling me that my beautiful, small cervix, is going to be ugly and hard to find? Like EVERYONE ELSE you examine?
Well! I never!
Monday, November 15, 2010
If that horse and cart falls down...
So...there are a lot of things I don't like about being pregnant. I'll freely admit that I am not a huge fan of carrying life. That said, if anything were to happen to my little life, I would fight to the end to try to save her.
I had some bleeding/cramps today, so I called my doctor and they told me to go right in to make sure I wasn't having contractions. I felt sick to my stomach when the nurse said that, even though I obviously know that bleeding is a concern when you are pregnant, and yes-contractions/labor were a possibility. That's why I called. To hear someone say it out loud though is just really horrifying. Especially because I know that if I did have the baby now, they would not try to save her because she is not 24 weeks old. That is totally devastating.
Being pregnant isn't like walking around with a bowling ball tied to your stomach. I mean, it kind of is but that is sort of the least of the whole experience of being pregnant. ( I mean, maybe I'll rethink this statement when I'm at 38 weeks-but for now it isn't the main focus). I worry about this little thing all the freaking time. I'm the only house she has ever known, I'm the only person who can take care of her at this point. I know Chris loves her- I absolutely know he does. When my sister was pregnant with Rocco, I loved Rocco but it was a different kind of love. What kind of love is it? I don't really know. How is it possible to love someone you have never met? I do know now that I like to play music for her, I like to eat yummy food and imagine that she is moving around like crazy due to the excitement of the jelly filled donut I just ate (even though I'm pretty sure she can't taste anything). I like to pat my stomach and imagine that it makes her feel safe and comfy, I try to find a good sleeping position so that I don't squash her, I try to find all these little jobs that don't seem like much, but they are the only ways I can feel like I can let her know that I love her . Mostly though, I just want to hug and kiss her so bad that it almost makes me cry. Sometimes it does make me cry.
I swear I'm not trying to act like I'm the first person to ever get pregnant. I know everyone loves their babies. It's just weird because before I was pregnant, I too, thought it was just like strapping on a bowling ball, and sometimes you go tired. Yes, I thought miscarriages were sad-of course. But I didn't really GET them. The responsibility is so much bigger. It's so overwhelming. I don't know how I'll be able to handle loving another person so much that it makes my heart break. I mean, I'm okay with love and everything. I love my family, my family loves me, I love my husband. It's just that when a nurse says "We aren't sure where the blood is coming from, and we don't save the babies until they are 24 weeks old" and THEN hands you a packet that says "Information on A Threatened Abortion"...I don't even know how to explain it. I wanted to get inside myself and curl up with my baby and protect her until she is old enough to come out.
I know there has to be a cutoff point. I also know that the nurse has to deliver bad news to moms to be all day, and that if she cried with everyone she helped, she wouldn't be able to do her job. Maybe if I hadn't been so close to the cutoff I wouldn't have felt so upset. I was totally overcome with this emotion of being powerless. There would be nothing I could do to help baby. ( She does have a name, but I have not made an official announcement...even though if you ask I'll tell you)
Ultimately, I think I'm going to be okay. I just think I've just had my first little tiny taste of parenting, and it is totally frightening. Totally.
I had some bleeding/cramps today, so I called my doctor and they told me to go right in to make sure I wasn't having contractions. I felt sick to my stomach when the nurse said that, even though I obviously know that bleeding is a concern when you are pregnant, and yes-contractions/labor were a possibility. That's why I called. To hear someone say it out loud though is just really horrifying. Especially because I know that if I did have the baby now, they would not try to save her because she is not 24 weeks old. That is totally devastating.
Being pregnant isn't like walking around with a bowling ball tied to your stomach. I mean, it kind of is but that is sort of the least of the whole experience of being pregnant. ( I mean, maybe I'll rethink this statement when I'm at 38 weeks-but for now it isn't the main focus). I worry about this little thing all the freaking time. I'm the only house she has ever known, I'm the only person who can take care of her at this point. I know Chris loves her- I absolutely know he does. When my sister was pregnant with Rocco, I loved Rocco but it was a different kind of love. What kind of love is it? I don't really know. How is it possible to love someone you have never met? I do know now that I like to play music for her, I like to eat yummy food and imagine that she is moving around like crazy due to the excitement of the jelly filled donut I just ate (even though I'm pretty sure she can't taste anything). I like to pat my stomach and imagine that it makes her feel safe and comfy, I try to find a good sleeping position so that I don't squash her, I try to find all these little jobs that don't seem like much, but they are the only ways I can feel like I can let her know that I love her . Mostly though, I just want to hug and kiss her so bad that it almost makes me cry. Sometimes it does make me cry.
I swear I'm not trying to act like I'm the first person to ever get pregnant. I know everyone loves their babies. It's just weird because before I was pregnant, I too, thought it was just like strapping on a bowling ball, and sometimes you go tired. Yes, I thought miscarriages were sad-of course. But I didn't really GET them. The responsibility is so much bigger. It's so overwhelming. I don't know how I'll be able to handle loving another person so much that it makes my heart break. I mean, I'm okay with love and everything. I love my family, my family loves me, I love my husband. It's just that when a nurse says "We aren't sure where the blood is coming from, and we don't save the babies until they are 24 weeks old" and THEN hands you a packet that says "Information on A Threatened Abortion"...I don't even know how to explain it. I wanted to get inside myself and curl up with my baby and protect her until she is old enough to come out.
I know there has to be a cutoff point. I also know that the nurse has to deliver bad news to moms to be all day, and that if she cried with everyone she helped, she wouldn't be able to do her job. Maybe if I hadn't been so close to the cutoff I wouldn't have felt so upset. I was totally overcome with this emotion of being powerless. There would be nothing I could do to help baby. ( She does have a name, but I have not made an official announcement...even though if you ask I'll tell you)
Ultimately, I think I'm going to be okay. I just think I've just had my first little tiny taste of parenting, and it is totally frightening. Totally.
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
The Not So Immaculate Conception
Yooooooou-Whoooooooo! I'm over here! Yes-ahem, hello and hi.
Starting a new blog is awkward, isn't it? Sort of like a first date, except not really. I was blogging about my wedding last time we talked and had a few posts about my future baby, but now that I am about to become a mother-my wedding seems as though it was years ago. Sort of. It also seems like it was just yesterday. Which I find depressing. No sexy newlywed time for me and the hubster. I found out I was pregnant as soon as I came home from our Barcelona honeymoon in July-which is sort of embarrassing.
There. I said it. I find the whole "honeymoon baby" thing to be totally embarrassing.
Everyone does the math when I tell them the due date. They make jokes about it , "Guess ya didn't do too much sightseeing hehehehe" and I have to go along and hahahehehohum and act like I'm totally okay with the fact that these people have a mental picture of me in all of my baby making glory. I hate it. Oh-and for the record my wedding was on June 19th, 2010 and my daughter is due March 17, 2010. She is possibly a wedding night baby, but not concieved before, as I was totally wrapped up in place cards, guest counts, and tulle and barely knew my future (now present) husband existed. So there. Now you all know I did it on my wedding night, and on my honeymoon, like MILLIONS OF OTHER PEOPLE IN AMERICA. Isn't it soooo hilarious?
So anyway, I guess this blog will mostly be about me and my journey out of the bars and into motherhood. Bottles, binkys, and boppies will now become regulars in my vocab. Bebe, bloody marys, and brunch will slowly become mystery words of yesterday. Well, not really, but I'm sure for the first few months I'll be totally brain dead and not able to think about much besides keeping the baby alive, and safe. I'll try my best to NOT majorly screw up her first month of life.
Starting a new blog is awkward, isn't it? Sort of like a first date, except not really. I was blogging about my wedding last time we talked and had a few posts about my future baby, but now that I am about to become a mother-my wedding seems as though it was years ago. Sort of. It also seems like it was just yesterday. Which I find depressing. No sexy newlywed time for me and the hubster. I found out I was pregnant as soon as I came home from our Barcelona honeymoon in July-which is sort of embarrassing.
There. I said it. I find the whole "honeymoon baby" thing to be totally embarrassing.
Everyone does the math when I tell them the due date. They make jokes about it , "Guess ya didn't do too much sightseeing hehehehe" and I have to go along and hahahehehohum and act like I'm totally okay with the fact that these people have a mental picture of me in all of my baby making glory. I hate it. Oh-and for the record my wedding was on June 19th, 2010 and my daughter is due March 17, 2010. She is possibly a wedding night baby, but not concieved before, as I was totally wrapped up in place cards, guest counts, and tulle and barely knew my future (now present) husband existed. So there. Now you all know I did it on my wedding night, and on my honeymoon, like MILLIONS OF OTHER PEOPLE IN AMERICA. Isn't it soooo hilarious?
So anyway, I guess this blog will mostly be about me and my journey out of the bars and into motherhood. Bottles, binkys, and boppies will now become regulars in my vocab. Bebe, bloody marys, and brunch will slowly become mystery words of yesterday. Well, not really, but I'm sure for the first few months I'll be totally brain dead and not able to think about much besides keeping the baby alive, and safe. I'll try my best to NOT majorly screw up her first month of life.
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