Tuesday, May 17, 2011

5/17/2011 - Hey, Guess What?

I have a massive rash on my tits! What fun! It showed up sometime on Saturday evening and has been holding steady ever since. It travels nowhere but the boob area, stopping right at the perimeter. This is awesome. Just when I thought I was out of shitty things to talk about, up pops the boob hives! They're hot and itchy and irritated with sweat (which rocks as I'm still working out 8 hours a week) and nothing is making them feel better. I bet SH finds me even more desirable now.
Oh, and speaking of sex appeal, the other night we were getting ready for bed. I was sitting at the edge of the bed, facing the pillows (profile to SH) with my knee bent sideways, applying my nightly regimine of lippy and hand cream when, out of the corner of my eye, I saw SH look down to my upper thigh (right where it meets the ass cheek on the side there...I had on short shorts) and touch it ever so gently. IMMEDIATELY I knew something was wrong with my body. The touch had that sort of sympathy feel. I looked down to find about 5 dimples of fucking cellulite on my upper thigh!!!!!!!!!!!!! ARE YOU KIDDING ME!? This has to be some sort of a joke. I screamed and jumped up.
"Oh my god! Oh my god! Where did that come from? What IS that!?"
SH looking as though he wished he never touched it
"Honey, Jesus! Look at me! I'm a fucking WHALE and now I have cellulite!?"
"It's not a big deal, babe. You're pregnant"
"My THIGHS aren't pregnant! Holy shit.  My whole body is going to hell. Why did you TOUCH it!?"
He sat thinking. What would be the right answer? He opted for the truth.
"I just wanted to see what it felt like."
Oh my god.
"Next time just go to the fridge and caress the god damn cottage cheese! This sucks!"
So there. TWO things. It just keeps right on sucking.
I've also decided I hate the floor. Like, HATE...THE...FLOOR. Why does everything have to be on the fucking floor? Shoes, feet, bags, cats that want to be picked up, low shelves in the kitchen, the cat box. It hurts to bend over now. Hurts to scrunch down. It feels like I'm wearing a huge, fully stuffed backpack in the front of my body, IN my body. I lean over and my lungs feel like they're going to pop, my stomach wretches its juices toward my mouth, my eyeballs bulge. It's horrible! I can't tie my shoes without groaning and panting like a dog in heat. Getting a Tupperware lid requires me to hunker down to an "all fours" position and crawl my way to the back of the cabinet.
We went to a party on Sunday and I was talking to a girl who was drinking a bottle of water. She went to screw the top back on and it fell on to the floor. I audibly gasped like "Oh no! Now what?" as I watched it spin a lazy circle. I was really upset, almost angry. Then I realized I wasn't the one who had to pick it up. That was a great feeling.
5 weeks and 2 days to go, or so they say. I think the math might be off here.
I'm wondering if once I give birth that I'll feel all light and empty inside right away. Like I can just sit up and take in a full lung of breath. Whew.
I sure hope so.

Monday, May 9, 2011

5/9/2011 - The Last Word

I feel like I've talked about my distaste for breastfeeding my infant ad nauseam but over the past few weeks, a shit storm has rained down upon me and I'm going to rant one last time before I let it go forever (I hope).
People, listen. You can feed whomever you want with your boobs. I'm not trying to make a law banning breastfeeding. I'm not judging you for sticking your nipple into your infants mouth. This is a personal choice and it does not make you a better person or mother than me. Much like women who choose to have a C-section or women who choose to have an epidural are not any less "motherly" than those who do it without drugs in a birthing tub in a shed in the back of their house. It is a personal choice. Those babies aren't any stronger, more beautiful, healthier or better off than the babies who came out an incision in the stomach.
Say anything you want about breast milk, and people do. It cures diseases. It's "best" for the baby. It'll help you lose weight. WHATEVER. I don't want to fucking do it and I am not going to feel any guilt about mixin' up some formula and handing it over.
In fact, in January a study was done regarding the nutritional benefits of breast milk versus modern formulas and the results came back the SAME. One was not better than the other.
I have countless friends and family members that even say "I breast fed my baby and my friend bottle fed. My baby was sick ALL the time and her baby was totally fine."
Now, believe the study or don't, HERE is my gripe.
Riding me for choosing not to breast feed is a waste of fucking time. Know why? Because it doesn't affect you in the least! MIND YOUR OWN BUSINESS. Me giving my child breast milk or formula won't affect you AT ALL. You can still sleep a full night and go out with your friends. You won't be kicked out of your house or have your car repossessed. Your life will go right on ticking. My choice won't change anything you do.
If people are so concerned with the health of other people's babies, why don't we go after unhealthy pregnant women? The house that my little fetus is getting to develop in is FABULOUS. I eat roughly 90 grams of protein a day, loads of fiber and tons of fruits and vegetables. I drink at least 64 oz of water a day if not more. I don't smoke or live with anyone who does. I don't eat fast food. I exercise 8-10 hours a week at the gym and walk the dog another 2-3 hours a week. 99% of my meals are consumed at home, made by me and in 33 weeks, I've gained 14 pounds. Now, compare me to the fat, unhealthy, sloth-like pregnant women I see everywhere. Women who use their pregnancy to eat whatever the fuck they want and lay around on their expanding asses. Women who smoke and act like it's 100% their right? Now, when THOSE women decide to breast feed whatever disgusting junk they put into their body to their babies, they are held high in society as doing what is BEST for their infant! But mention to her that maybe she should be doing a little better job helping her fetus grow? OH NO!  That is completely taboo! Who do we think WE are judging someone for not working out or eating a balanced meal? It's just none of our business.
That's right! And neither is this.
Back off, boob freaks! You're gonna get yourself punched.
*pant pant*
There. Done.

Friday, May 6, 2011

5/6/2011 - The Barf-A-Thon is Back

My fingers smelled like puke the other day. Like, all day. I washed. I scrubbed under my fingernails. I moisturized with smelly lotion. Nothing helped. Little did I know this was foreshadowing at its finest.
Yesterday morning I woke up after another exceptionally bad night of sleep. Seems the mountains of pillows I have accumulated for my comfort aren't really helping me and are also hindering my cat's ability to sleep with me, which of course, wakes me up all night long. Anyway, I woke up early so that I might take SH to work before heading off to school. I had a doctors appointment later that day and was feeling...I don't know...generous, so I invited SH along (the first he's been invited to). As I'm putting toothpaste on my brush, I feel a wave of nausea. "Oh no" I think "this has to be over". Once the brush touches my teeth, I dry heave exactly three times. Nothing that big, but disturbing none-the-less. Now, if you've never enjoyed the sensation of throwing up with a baby inside of you allow me to explain. It felt like someone kicked my belly up toward my boobs three times in a row. My muscles tightened and that baby FLEW. Crazy.
Well, this morning I wake up and want NOTHING to eat. I mean, absolutely nothing sounded good. After about 40 minutes (way too long to wait, I know) I decide on poached eggs (my new favorite breakfast food), tortillas and beans. As I boil the water, the nausea hits. I take this as a sign my blood sugar is low and, without thinking of its consequences, open the fridge and quickly down 4 swigs of orange juice. I walk out of the kitchen to grab something and feel it hit.
"Oh shit!"
I race to the kitchen sink where I proceed, FOR FIVE MINUTES, to throw up every last trace of  acidic orange juice (still cold) and whatever sort of bile I had in there. My eyelids are sweaty, my throat is burning, my stomach hurts from being pressed against the counter, my baby is bouncing away and people that are walking by (we live on the first floor and our windows literally open up to the sidewalk) are pausing outside to stare. I can do nothing but continue until my body is done with whatever it feels offended it so much and then do my best to blow the orange snot out of my nasal cavity before heading off to teach a class.
I thought this shit was over. Brutal!
Ah, the doctor answered all of my questions, so here they are;
1. Yes, fairly close to normal.
2. You can wear your own clothes if you want.
3. I quote "It's not the 50's. We don't shave your privates and put you under. Come as you are."
4. No it is not.
5. I will quote again "You can take it home with you if you want, it's yours."
And I found out I am up 14.4 pounds since when this whole thing began. Making me a very rotund 136.4 pounds. Which sucks but is definitely better than I thought, especially after my eat-a-thon in Chicago.
I made a comment in birthing class the other day (after everyone in the group shared how much they just adore being pregnant) that I hate being huge and groaning when I tie my shoes. The wacky teacher said "Well" in a tone "we don't want skinny pregnant ladies!" All the ladies clucked their tongues and looked shamefully in my direction.
And I thought, this is what people are giving me so much slack over! They think I want to look as though I'm not pregnant. Or stay "skinny" throughout! This is an impossible wish and certainly not mine. My panic about this weight gain comes from what happens AFTER, people. What happens when all of the weight isn't "baby weight" and I'm all of a sudden carrying around 8 pounds of fat more than I did when I became pregnant? What happens when I'm clocking 2 hours of sleep and can't bare to drag my ass to the gym? What happens when I come home to find my jeans don't fit? My arms are flabby? My abs can no longer be seen?? This is my panic. So do I want to gain 30 pounds because that's in the "normal" range? No I certainly do NOT! I want to gain whatever it takes to float this baby around, house this nasty placenta (I may post that pic!) and increase my blood flow plus the weight of my fetus. And that is that. Nothing more. But I will take a little less. I shudder to think how long this is going to take.
Ol' fatty fatty two-by-four...
I forgot to mention this other stupid story in my last post, so here it is.
I went to the gym to swim a few weeks ago and as I was descending the stairs into the pool, a woman of about 20 floated by.
"Oh! Congratulations!!"
"What are you having? A boy or a girl?"
"We don't know, we want to be surprised."
She let her noodle float away and stood up, very seriously.
"Well, if it's a boy you should name it Brandon."
I'm silent
"That's the name of my boyfriend."
I dropped under the water and swam to the next lane.
Are you kidding me? I've heard some stupid shit since I've been pregnant, but that about tops the list. Name your child after my BOYFRIEND? What!? How does that even make sense!?? Not like, name it Peter so it can have your last name (thank you K). Or, name it after a brave war hero. Name it after my BOYFRIEND?! Jesus CHRIST!
So, we've decided on the boys name. Brandon Alexander Joseph.
After some random chick's boyfriend that I've never met. What a great story for our son to have.
Fuck that.

Monday, May 2, 2011

5/2/2011 - Jesus Saves and Other Good Stories

I've been getting Braxton Hicks contractions like a motherfucker lately. If you're not sure what they are, they've been described in books as "practice contractions". So, they aren't really PAINFUL, per se. Just uncomfortable. Your stomach (which, in fact, is your uterus. I'm just giving you a focal point) starts to tighten up like a charlie horse and then holds on for about 30 seconds. My BHC's kind of "roll" down my belly from the top to the bottom and then hold on for dear life. At first I thought it was this baby doing some sort of wacky shit in there, but later discovered it was not. I am now getting anywhere from 2-5 a day. I said to our birthing class teacher (more on that kook later) "If this is what a contraction is like, I'm not going to have any problems!". She looked sympathetic and said "Oh, honey. I hate to tell you..." I get it. I get it.
People have been staring at me in my enlarged state for a few weeks now. Which is fine. I did/do it too. It's not like you see a big ol' pregnant woman everywhere you go and there's just something...interesting about it all. You need to stare. When I notice these people, I never make eye contact. I figure it's just better to let them take it all in and think they're being sly than to catch them and make them feel stupid. Or worse, have them strike up some nonsense conversation with me about their own child birthing experiences. No thanks.
Anyway, I was walking the dog the other day and crossed the street at the stop sign. I noticed the guy to my left didn't proceed forward after I had cleared the crosswalk.
"Let him stare" I thought, and stuck 'er out a little more. He began to roll forward and then slammed on his brakes. His window was rolled all the way down and he stretched the top half of his body through the opening.
"Oh!! Oh!! JESUS SAVES!!!!!!!!!!!!
I looked over at him. No sense ignoring that. And sure, he was a couple ticks shy of completely loony. Late model car with plenty of dings and rust, an even amount of teeth in his mouth and hair on his head (like, 9), threadbare shirt. And I stood there for a moment pondering if he perhaps thought me the Virgin Mary. Listen, I know that sounds ridiculous but you weren't there. You didn't hear his tone. It was as if he had witnessed a miracle. And, because I love working with crazy, I lifted my hand in a slightly rounded royal wave and bowed my head to him, pleased to have made his day. He laughed a crazy cackle and sped on, happy as a clam.
Don't ask me.
My mother recently told me that she didn't want to read this blog anymore if I wasn't going to put "some good things about pregnancy up there, too". Which is totally ridiculous for a blog that is named Pregnancy BLOWS, but I did think of something positive so this is for her (she's not reading anyway).
All of a sudden, I am getting the royal treatment everywhere! The other day I was standing in line for the bathroom and the woman in front said "Oh my gosh, ladies, let her go first. We all know how THAT feels." I was texting at the time so I had no idea she was talking to me until the woman in front of me grabbed my arm and ushered me to the next available stall.
At Target, I was standing in line with about 100 items in my cart. The man in front of me who, I shit you not, had THREE items (storage bin, white sport socks, Trident spearmint) said "Oh, why don't you go ahead!" (I declined the offer).
At the gym a few weeks back I was taking a few large plates off the leg press machine I wanted to use and guy stopped his workout mid-rep and flew over to the machine "Let me get that for you!"
Huh? It's crazy.
But pretty positive, huh mom?
Now, the birthing class. We have 3, 3-hour classes to take in order to learn how to push or whatever they want you to learn. The teacher is a total whack-a-do. Sweet Husband, who never says anything negative about anything leaned over after 20 minutes and said "She's a NUT!" I smiled "You love her, don't you?" I nodded. She's kind of nature mother-y. Says stuff like "You are all HOT mamas!" and "You will never be more powerful than when you have a LIFE *pause for dramatic effect* INSIDE....OF...A LIFE!" Then she'll purse her lips like she's about to kiss you, eyes wide, and stare at each of us for a second or two. Super weird. How can you not love that?
We don't go back for another two weeks, but BELIEVE that I will be writing more on her. She's got material coming out her nose!
And now, on to the belly pictures!!

Whew that's nasty! My ribs and hip bones are still hanging on for dear life. With a mere 8 weeks to go, I'm afraid they may soon lose the battle.
I've also finally developed the dark line down my stomach, as you can see in exhibit 2. Except mine isn't symmetrical on the top and the bottom, which drives me NUTS!!
When I was a little kid my mom used to French braid my hair. Once she had finished I had to "check" it. This meant I put the heel of my little hands on the top of my ears and place my palms flat to my head. If the braid didn't hit both my middle fingers at the exact point on each side, I'd freak out and she'd have to do it over. She quickly became a PRO at symmetry. This I never outgrew. So just imagine what this does to me every day.
My doctor, whom I adore, has encouraged me to keep a list of questions handy on my iPhone so that I might ask her (and not forget) every time I see her. I like to get creative with my lists and then read them aloud as if they were some sort of essay topic assignment. On this week's list;
Beef Curtains, Will They Ever Return To Normal?
Hospital Outfits, Really?
Poontang Hair During Delivery, How Much Is Too Much?
Nudity, Is It Really Necessary?
and last but not least;
Placenta, May I Take A Picture?

Answers on my next post!