With much jumping and yanking, I managed to get into a larger pair of my pre-preggo non-stretch jeans and do up the zip and button. I have even managed to sit down in them.
Ha. I'm enjoying the muffin top, at least while puttering around the house.
This post brought to you by the enormous pile of laundry waiting to be done. Stupid rain. Also imma plug H&M low rise stretch jeans as they have gotten me through 9 months of preggo land whale and subsequent post-preggo "fuck I have no clothes" freak outs...
Showing posts with label Knocked Up. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Knocked Up. Show all posts
08 February 2013
19 November 2012
Fourth Trimester Quickies
Am over this busted tailbone crapola already; can I please have my ass back?
Girding one's loins to check out the stitches with a hand mirror took about two weeks. Even then I only managed a 5 second peeping-between-my-fingers look. What can I say, I'm squeamish like that.
Peanut's Halloween costume was Boob Tape; because she's constantly stuck to mine.
Speaking of, she categorically refuses a pacifier. If it ain't 100% authentic boob, she will have no truck with any other soothing device. Hence the new entry on my CV as Human Pacifier.
Me: "She had her third Poo Explosion which required a bath today."
Middle Sis: "And eventually you'll stop counting them."
(Already have for the record)
For the longest time Peanut refused to let rip with her epic farts in front of Mon Amour. It was like she was all "I'm a delicate princess, Daddy" The expression on his face when she finally let rip with a series of 3 was priceless.
In the car
Mom: "She likes when he goes fast or over the bumpy cobblestones."
Me: "Funny, fast and bumpy rides is how I got pregnant with her in the first place."
My boobs are bigger than my baby's head. This is a source of never ending marvel for Mon Amour.
The hormone surges are obnoxious; I can't watch anything where someone's dog/kid/parent gets ill or dies because I turn into a blubbering mess.
Hippie hubris is thinking you can use the nifty new cloth diapers now that your baby is over 8 lbs and having to run out 15 minutes before the store closes to get more infant disposables.
Did I mention I want my ass back?
Girding one's loins to check out the stitches with a hand mirror took about two weeks. Even then I only managed a 5 second peeping-between-my-fingers look. What can I say, I'm squeamish like that.
Peanut's Halloween costume was Boob Tape; because she's constantly stuck to mine.
Speaking of, she categorically refuses a pacifier. If it ain't 100% authentic boob, she will have no truck with any other soothing device. Hence the new entry on my CV as Human Pacifier.
Me: "She had her third Poo Explosion which required a bath today."
Middle Sis: "And eventually you'll stop counting them."
(Already have for the record)
For the longest time Peanut refused to let rip with her epic farts in front of Mon Amour. It was like she was all "I'm a delicate princess, Daddy" The expression on his face when she finally let rip with a series of 3 was priceless.
In the car
Mom: "She likes when he goes fast or over the bumpy cobblestones."
Me: "Funny, fast and bumpy rides is how I got pregnant with her in the first place."
My boobs are bigger than my baby's head. This is a source of never ending marvel for Mon Amour.
The hormone surges are obnoxious; I can't watch anything where someone's dog/kid/parent gets ill or dies because I turn into a blubbering mess.
Hippie hubris is thinking you can use the nifty new cloth diapers now that your baby is over 8 lbs and having to run out 15 minutes before the store closes to get more infant disposables.
Did I mention I want my ass back?
10 November 2012
The Immediate Aftermath
I was pretty out of it immediately following Peanut's birth. They did a small episiotomy out of precaution since both Peanut and I had been in labor so long; the OBs putting me back to rights told me all of the stitches were external and I could have probably gotten away with no cut at all. You know I was high as hell because I was all "Cool, slice up my vag, I don't mind."
Mon Amour went to the nursery and to see the multitude of peeps in the waiting room while they kept me for observation. I passed out not long after that.
I woke up about two hours later, slightly chilly and with very little feeling in my legs still. And I was still pretty epidural stoned. I started reenacting the scene from Kill Bill where The Bride is laying in the back seat of the Pussy Wagon telling her big toe to move.
Eventually the new shift came to check on me and they finally brought me downstairs to my room where a lot of people were still waiting for my grand entrance.
Man, having to speak English and Italian epidural stoned and post very very long labor was a trip into itself. I'm still not sure if I was slurring my words or not.
Shortly after hauling my high ass from the wheelchair to the bed, I started to feel really cold. Really really cold. I had my mom get the extra wool blanket from the closet but it still didn't help. I started shaking like an epileptic in the throes of a mild seizure. They called I the doc on duty, who reassured us this was entirely normal, due to a massive surge of hormones post labor. It would pass in a bit and it might reoccur later on. Whee.
Everyone finally left and I shivered myself back to (somewhat) normal under my blanket and passed out again after drinking a small tanker's worth of water.
I woke up later drenched in sweat, sheets and nightgown soaked. This too was due to hormones, excaberated by my fever and the drugs they gave me to counter it. I gingerly hauled myself to the bathroom, with my roommate admonishing me to leave the door unlocked just in case. I very carefully and slowly sponged myself off and peed, then made my way back to bed, where I peered at the pics of Peanut snapped by my mom and Mon Amour; I wouldn't get to see her until the morning, assuming my fever had gone by then. With the aide of the leftover epidural in my system, I managed to keep the anxiety at bay.
I also was woken up and admonished for not telling the doc who released me to come back downstairs that I had a fever in labor. It is probably for the best that I still had problems figuring out A) which language I needed to reply in and B) how my tongue worked, because a lucid response on my part probably wouldn't have been very nice...they gave me another injection of antibiotics to go with the preaching.
At some point I ate my dinner tray left earlier. if you ever want hospital food to taste like the ambrosia of Olympus, be in medically defined labor for over 14 hours. Cold meatloaf, a roll and an orange never tasted so good...I could have downed the rest of the tray but I was trying not to wake up my roommate's baby boy with sawing open the plastic covered plates and felt it prudent not to overdo things lest I bring on an episode of puking.
I also chugged water that night like a coke fiend in Bolivia. Downing over 3 liters of water meant I also peed like a racehorse, each time I got out of bed more painful than the next. It wasn't localized where the stitches were, though, but at my tailbone. I remembered a popping sensation while pushing, like cracking your back or knuckles. Some googling (if only to figure out the word for tailbone in Italian) and a call to the on duty doc determined that I probably severely bruised or even broke my tailbone while pushing. Other than waiting for it to heal, there's not much you can do for a busted butt bone. As for pain management, Breastfeeding means that you get nothing stronger than aspirin.
Oh joy.
Mon Amour went to the nursery and to see the multitude of peeps in the waiting room while they kept me for observation. I passed out not long after that.
I woke up about two hours later, slightly chilly and with very little feeling in my legs still. And I was still pretty epidural stoned. I started reenacting the scene from Kill Bill where The Bride is laying in the back seat of the Pussy Wagon telling her big toe to move.
Eventually the new shift came to check on me and they finally brought me downstairs to my room where a lot of people were still waiting for my grand entrance.
Man, having to speak English and Italian epidural stoned and post very very long labor was a trip into itself. I'm still not sure if I was slurring my words or not.
Shortly after hauling my high ass from the wheelchair to the bed, I started to feel really cold. Really really cold. I had my mom get the extra wool blanket from the closet but it still didn't help. I started shaking like an epileptic in the throes of a mild seizure. They called I the doc on duty, who reassured us this was entirely normal, due to a massive surge of hormones post labor. It would pass in a bit and it might reoccur later on. Whee.
Everyone finally left and I shivered myself back to (somewhat) normal under my blanket and passed out again after drinking a small tanker's worth of water.
I woke up later drenched in sweat, sheets and nightgown soaked. This too was due to hormones, excaberated by my fever and the drugs they gave me to counter it. I gingerly hauled myself to the bathroom, with my roommate admonishing me to leave the door unlocked just in case. I very carefully and slowly sponged myself off and peed, then made my way back to bed, where I peered at the pics of Peanut snapped by my mom and Mon Amour; I wouldn't get to see her until the morning, assuming my fever had gone by then. With the aide of the leftover epidural in my system, I managed to keep the anxiety at bay.
I also was woken up and admonished for not telling the doc who released me to come back downstairs that I had a fever in labor. It is probably for the best that I still had problems figuring out A) which language I needed to reply in and B) how my tongue worked, because a lucid response on my part probably wouldn't have been very nice...they gave me another injection of antibiotics to go with the preaching.
At some point I ate my dinner tray left earlier. if you ever want hospital food to taste like the ambrosia of Olympus, be in medically defined labor for over 14 hours. Cold meatloaf, a roll and an orange never tasted so good...I could have downed the rest of the tray but I was trying not to wake up my roommate's baby boy with sawing open the plastic covered plates and felt it prudent not to overdo things lest I bring on an episode of puking.
I also chugged water that night like a coke fiend in Bolivia. Downing over 3 liters of water meant I also peed like a racehorse, each time I got out of bed more painful than the next. It wasn't localized where the stitches were, though, but at my tailbone. I remembered a popping sensation while pushing, like cracking your back or knuckles. Some googling (if only to figure out the word for tailbone in Italian) and a call to the on duty doc determined that I probably severely bruised or even broke my tailbone while pushing. Other than waiting for it to heal, there's not much you can do for a busted butt bone. As for pain management, Breastfeeding means that you get nothing stronger than aspirin.
Oh joy.
01 November 2012
Knocked Up No Longer
"We'll just let her continue percolating in there until she's good and ready to come out on her own."
Wow, did that blithe comment ever come back to bite me in the ass. To recap:
23 October, 3am - Wake up with evil backache and need to pee every 30 minutes. Sleep: none.
23 October, 10am - Send Mon Amour off to work; useless for him to sit around and fret when it's not actually time to go to the hospital yet. Lay in bed feeling generally lousy.
23 October, 3pm-ish - I call Mon Amour at work to have him tell his boss that there's a good probability that he won't be back for the evening shift. Mon Amour immediately rushes home all a flutter.
23 October, 5.30pm - Contractions about 5 minutes apart and was that a trickle of amniotic fluid? Off to the clinic!
23 October, 6pm - contractions no longer regular and according to the very nice gay OB, I'm tighter than a twelve year old (vulgar phrasing mine, natch). They send us home. In the car ride home the contractions are back to 5 minutes apart, leaving me to bitch that they should monitor me in the car.
23 October, 10pm - Contractions stronger and more frequent, plus I am spotting pink. We call my anesthiesiologist friend to double check we should head back to the clinic; I will not be responsible for my actions if we get there and they send us home a second time.
Luckily they admit us, but I am only very slightly effaced.
24 October, 3am - Contractions stronger and I hunt down the OB on shift as instructed as the spotting has become heavier and is bright red. She says things are progressing slowly and I'm about 50% effaced. Rest of night spent breathing through my contractions. Sleep: zero.
24th October, morning - Hooked up to the monitor again. I will come to hate these machines by the time I leave. . Monitor shows little even though I am having strong contractions whole hooked up to it. Apparently happens sometimes, where a good reading is difficult due to the belly position. Doc on shift says I am fully effaced and its just a question of waiting.
24 October - Throughout the day the contractions lessen in frequency, but not strength. This is where I start to dread the monitor as I have some bitch tell me to walk the corridors unless I want to give birth "in a month" I manage not to say "Fuck you cunt" somehow. They seem to hook me up to the monitors when I am at a low activity period. In spite of one lovely OB who actually explains that contractions tend to diminish during the day, I continue to feel like a bad student at every monitoring session.
I send Mon Amour and my mother off with strict instructions to eat a decent meal and get some sleep; they both slept on the waiting room couches the night before and are exhausted.
25 October 3.30am - Contractions are back with a vengeance and I ring the on shift OB. She hooks me up to the monitor and I pray to the gods that it makes a decent reading.
It does and even better us the news that I am 3cm dilated. This means I can proceed to the delivery room and more importantly, DRUGS. Which I would do a happy dance about if it weren't for the pain and the fact that I am already exhausted.
I call Mon Amour and tell him to drive carefully back to the hospital.
25 October 4am - Sweet sweet epidural how I love thee. Mon Amour arrives and I know the pain has receded because he looks sort of hot in his disposable scrubs. They'll ne back to check on progress at 6 am, so we catch some much needed shuteye but not before I have a "Did my water just break?" moment. Answer: no, but the epidural is making your kegels useless.
25 October, 6am - still at 3-4 cm dilated. They try to break my water but can't get a good feel on it, prompting speculation that I've broken high in the placenta, leading to a slow trickle of amniotic fluid. She'll have me eat breakfast, walk around and try again.
7.30 am - no sign of breakfast. They unhook me from the monitor so I can walk around a bit. Sitting up breaks my water and I incontinently dribble all over the bathroom while mopping up. Amniotic fluid is apparently sticky as later my flip flops adhere to the bathroom floor.
And the rest of the day passes in a daze of sleep and dilation checks, where progress is being made ever so slowly.
Peanut gets in some last rounds of heartburn, one of which makes me hurl bile into the sink.
I'm allowed small sips of water but I'm dying of thirst. It becomes a game with Mon amour as to how much he lets me drink. I remind him a woman in labor is always right. I would kill for some ice chips.
At one of our walks up and down the corridor, I realize I am feeling slightly stoned and tell Mon amour as such. He reminds me he's seen me way more fucked up. Ha.
At some point they give me oxytocin or whatever to help speed the dialation along. I also have a fever, most likely from labor stress, so they give me something to knock that down and a water/glucose IV for energy and to rehydrate me. My mouth feels like a slightly arid oasis instead of the Gobi desert.
At 3.30pm-ish I am around 9cm dilated but Peanut is still too high up and hasn't started coming down the birth canal. The doctor says they'll give it an hour but a cesarean looks likely.
And that's where I sort of loose it. Ok, not sort of. I'm a blubbering mess. I don't want a fucking cesarean. I've been in labor (medically defined or not) for 2 fucking days and the idea of recovering from abdominal surgery for the next 6 weeks is not appealing in the least.
I'll also cop to not being entirely rational at his point; as Mon amour points out, I've been in full blown labour for 12 hours now epidural or no, and its important that Peanut and I are both healthy. Logically I get that but it doesn't stop the blubbering. Mon amour steps out to speak with the doc who says we'll give it an hour and make a decision then. In the meantime I should stand up to see if that helps position Peanut.
They also give me a shot of Ritalin as the left side of my cervix is thickening or freezing up. At this point I'm starting to feel the contractions a bit more but nothing a bit of breathing can't handle. Mon amour helps me stand up.
And motherfucking OUCH. Every contraction feels concentrated on the left side. Hitting the magic "extra drugs" button does fuck all. I have to lay back down. We wait for my friend to come up and check my epidural as she is on shift, but busy with an emergency. In the meantime they have me push a bit to try and move Peanut along. My legs start to shake uncontrollably from fatigue.
Through it all Mon Amour is superbly calm and coaches me through it. For someone who was super anxious that he would faint in the delivery room, he's become the rock I can lean on, the lighthouse I can focus on. Which sounds super cheesy but really I get to a point where I can only focus on his voice. The fever is back again.
My friend comes up and we determine that the epidural has moved slightly which us why I can feel everything on the left and nothing on the right. I'm given another megadose of epidural and I'm ready to chuck in the towel. Being on the cesarean, I can't do this anymore. They check me one more time.
Well well well, look who has decided to sashay down the birth canal finally.
A couple of preparatory pushes and I can feel her head pushing down (am feeling noooooo pain now after 13+ hours of epidurals plus the last mega dose). They ready the bed and give me something I can pull and hold onto. Mon amour holds my head up while I push. 6 or 7 pushes and she is out, and Mon Amour bursts into tears.
They put her on my chest and here's this tiny little bloody creature looking at me with Mon Amour's blue eyes.
I get to hold her for a bit and then they take her for observation due to my fever.
The rest is sort of a drug/adrenalin blur. I do remember looking at a blood splatter up on the wall and asking if I did that (it was from cutting the cord)
25 October 2012 @ 17.13
3,190 kg
50cm
Dark brown hair & daddy's blue eyes
Hullo Peanut.
You'd better belieeeeeve the story of your birth is gonna be repeated to you ad nasuem :P
24 October 2012
Knocked Up: MOTHERFUCK Part II
So having got home last night anticipating a long sleepless night waiting for the contractions to become regular and 5 minutes apart (which, had they done the monitoring in the car, we'd have been peachy), I had a bath in our half tub which helped the back pain. If we had a full size tub, I might have fallen asleep. Next pregnancy: totally going for the water birth because contractions hurt way less...
We headed back to the hospital around 22h because the contractions were stronger and frequent and I was also spotting some pink. Just to make sure we weren't going to get sent home again, Mon Amour called our friend who is an anestistiologist at the clinic to confirm, yes we should head back.
We get there and in the very very short walk from the car to night entrance, I have 3 mega strong contractions.
Our friend has called ahead, as we are greeted with jocular cries of " VIP" and "raccomandati". We are admitted and I change into pj's and a robe. The lady I share the room with has had a boy via cesarean an hour prior, after a full 24 hours in labor. Mon Amour stays withe and rubs my back and gets all anxious since I'm so tired already but can't sleep with the contractions. They kick him out around 2am since he apparently wasn't supposed to stay in the recovery room with me - only in the delivery room.
And here I still am, more than 17 hours from when we were first admitted with the first stage of labour progressing slooooooowly. I doze between contractions. And I don't get the drugs until I've hit the more (oh yay) painful second stage.
What patron saint do I need to sacrifice a few virgins to in order that my water might break....?!
We headed back to the hospital around 22h because the contractions were stronger and frequent and I was also spotting some pink. Just to make sure we weren't going to get sent home again, Mon Amour called our friend who is an anestistiologist at the clinic to confirm, yes we should head back.
We get there and in the very very short walk from the car to night entrance, I have 3 mega strong contractions.
Our friend has called ahead, as we are greeted with jocular cries of " VIP" and "raccomandati". We are admitted and I change into pj's and a robe. The lady I share the room with has had a boy via cesarean an hour prior, after a full 24 hours in labor. Mon Amour stays withe and rubs my back and gets all anxious since I'm so tired already but can't sleep with the contractions. They kick him out around 2am since he apparently wasn't supposed to stay in the recovery room with me - only in the delivery room.
And here I still am, more than 17 hours from when we were first admitted with the first stage of labour progressing slooooooowly. I doze between contractions. And I don't get the drugs until I've hit the more (oh yay) painful second stage.
What patron saint do I need to sacrifice a few virgins to in order that my water might break....?!
23 October 2012
Knocked Up: MOTHERFUCK
So called home Mon Amour because I was starting to get honest to god contractions. As he was on his way, they started to get frequent, more or less 5 minutes apart. We were going to wait for a bit, but I thought I had a trickle of amniotic fluid so we made our way to the hospital.
In the car the contractions seemed together stronger and more frequentt. Get into the hospital where I was examined by a very nice gay OB - everything was still all closed up. They hooked me up to the fetal monitoring machine then checked my amniotic fluid.
Long and the short of it is they sent us back home because my contractions aren't regular enough.
So am sitting on the couch (on a towel), having contractions and already exhausted from lack of sleep last night.
Peanut, when you decide to stop puttering around, Mommy is going for the drugs.
In the car the contractions seemed together stronger and more frequentt. Get into the hospital where I was examined by a very nice gay OB - everything was still all closed up. They hooked me up to the fetal monitoring machine then checked my amniotic fluid.
Long and the short of it is they sent us back home because my contractions aren't regular enough.
So am sitting on the couch (on a towel), having contractions and already exhausted from lack of sleep last night.
Peanut, when you decide to stop puttering around, Mommy is going for the drugs.
Knocked Up: Lightening my ass
Well this was going to be a post about how thoroughly obnoxious it is to be not even past your due date and everyone is all up in your grill with "She's not here yet?!"
But we'll forgo that bitchery for now as I've been up since 3 am with a wicked backache and a bladder that wants to trickle out whatever liquid is in my body every 30 minutes. All signs point to this being the lightening stage, to which I say:
Whatever dumbfuck jokester describes a bowling ball laying on my bladder and spine as a "Lightening" can kiss my bloated cranky hormonal ass.
Brace for Peanut's eminent debut into this world....
But we'll forgo that bitchery for now as I've been up since 3 am with a wicked backache and a bladder that wants to trickle out whatever liquid is in my body every 30 minutes. All signs point to this being the lightening stage, to which I say:
Whatever dumbfuck jokester describes a bowling ball laying on my bladder and spine as a "Lightening" can kiss my bloated cranky hormonal ass.
Brace for Peanut's eminent debut into this world....
15 October 2012
Knocked Up: Twiddlin' My Thumbs
I'd say sittin' here and staring at my bellybutton, but I haven't been able to see my innie-turned-mini-penis for a while now. We're on our third fetal monitoring, and though it says I'm having contractions, I feel fuck all still.
I'm hoping this bodes well for labour and in the meantime, Peanut seems just comfy and content to stay where she is (usually with her feet all up in my ribcage.)
Am also assiduously playing the "Not thinking about it" game. To wit:
Easier said than done sometimes...
I'm hoping this bodes well for labour and in the meantime, Peanut seems just comfy and content to stay where she is (usually with her feet all up in my ribcage.)
Am also assiduously playing the "Not thinking about it" game. To wit:
- Not thinking about what labour will be like
- Not thinking about possible labour complications
- Not thinking about if Peanut will come out healthy and whole
- Not thinking about what my vag will be like post-partum
- Not thinking about potentially having a cesarean if there are complications
- Not thinking about possibly having post-partum depression
- Not thinking about the sleep deprivation
- Not thinking about how my nipples will be beat up learning how to breast feed
- Not thinking about OH SHIT I'M GONNA BE SOMEONE'S MOM
Easier said than done sometimes...
09 October 2012
Knocked Up: Mommy's Little Agoraphobic
Today's gyno visit revealed that I am having some contractions, but I don't really feel fuck all. I'll chalk that up to "high discomfort & pain tolerance" and hope that bodes well for labour. Upon examining me, the doc says that everything's still locked up tight, and in her opinion it'll be at least 15 more days.
We'll just let her continue percolating in there until she's good and ready to come out on her own.
As I was originally supposed to just drop by and show the doc my various test results, I was caught out when she wanted to do the exam - she had already prescribed me a round of antibiotics for some totally normal asymptomatic UTI stuff that Dr. Consultorio never bothered to follow up on...And true to Anxious Daddy Form, when we had gotten back the test results, Mon Amour was all freaking out googling and quizzing me.
"Do you have any burning or itching sensations?"
"No honey. Now stop Googling my vag."
We'll just let her continue percolating in there until she's good and ready to come out on her own.
As I was originally supposed to just drop by and show the doc my various test results, I was caught out when she wanted to do the exam - she had already prescribed me a round of antibiotics for some totally normal asymptomatic UTI stuff that Dr. Consultorio never bothered to follow up on...And true to Anxious Daddy Form, when we had gotten back the test results, Mon Amour was all freaking out googling and quizzing me.
"Do you have any burning or itching sensations?"
"No honey. Now stop Googling my vag."
04 October 2012
Knocked Up: *sniffle*
Getting a cold in your ninth month sucks major donkey balls. You can't take any over the counter stuff for the most part and just have to wait it out. And every time you cough, pray to god that you don't pee yourself a little.
I miss having completely autonomous bladder control...
I miss having completely autonomous bladder control...
30 September 2012
Knocked Up: Daddy's a Label Whore
Peanut has more clothes than I do currently. One friend has given us the aforementioned plethora of pink and another two friends have more stuff for us as well.
My mom has also been going shopping like mad, to the point where I had to tell her to leave some stuff in my registry for the rest of the family to buy.
And Mon Amour and I went to get the list of stuff that the birth clinic wants us to bring. Imagine my delight at discovering H&M had cute baby stuff that wasn't limited to pink and blue at reasonable prices. It was at this point that I discovered Mon Amour is just a wee bit of a label whore and wanted to get everything from the more pricey Prenatal (PINK EVERYWHERE). His argument was that Prenatal us specifically for babies & kids, therefore more trustworthy.
As he's in the full throes of Daddy Anxiety, I bit my tongue and didn't show him the labels with "Made in China" all over everything. Daddy is also allowed to buy his little princess pink things (for now - ha).
I did find this however:
My mom has also been going shopping like mad, to the point where I had to tell her to leave some stuff in my registry for the rest of the family to buy.
And Mon Amour and I went to get the list of stuff that the birth clinic wants us to bring. Imagine my delight at discovering H&M had cute baby stuff that wasn't limited to pink and blue at reasonable prices. It was at this point that I discovered Mon Amour is just a wee bit of a label whore and wanted to get everything from the more pricey Prenatal (PINK EVERYWHERE). His argument was that Prenatal us specifically for babies & kids, therefore more trustworthy.
As he's in the full throes of Daddy Anxiety, I bit my tongue and didn't show him the labels with "Made in China" all over everything. Daddy is also allowed to buy his little princess pink things (for now - ha).
I did find this however:
Perfect, no?
Knocked up: Mission Impossible
The length of time and the contortions attempted to do an initial removal of the Crotch 'Fro so that a full on Brazilian in a couple weeks time doesn't make labour pains look like a paper cut...
I need a nap now...
I need a nap now...
29 September 2012
Knocked Up: On due dates
"Honey, she's your daughter. She will absolutely be late, just like her momma."Then again, maybe not. We've been told throughout this pregnancy anywhere from the 19th to the 21st of October.
- Will on the subject of my due date
My bet is on the 20th, because it's Juve-Napoli that evening. It'd not only be fitting that Peanut arrives when her mom & dad's teams go head to head, but back when I was born, my dad and the obstetrician were apparently discussing Bradey-Illinois college basketball while Mom was in labour.
27 September 2012
Knocked Up: 9th Month Bookend Deja Vu
Bookend deja vu in the sense that I'm having first trimester medical establishment woes flashbacks. Went to see a private gyno at the SSN-associated clinic where we are planning to give birth. She gave us a long list of tests to get done, which, like the first trimester tests prescribed by Dr. Dippy, required me to get the prescriptions from my GP.
Only problem is, when I went to my GP's office, I discovered she had passed away due to breast cancer.
Well, no let me amend that. I discovered later on from my former flatmates that she had passed away. At the time, the dentist with whom she had shared a studio gave the obviously enormously pregnant lady standing in front of him absolutely no fucking information whatsoever, aside from "Non c'è più. Devi cambiare dottore al ASL."
As she wasn't a spring chicken and had been ill with something unspecified earlier in the year, with other doctors filling in for her at the time, I though maybe she had retired and translated this as "She's not here anymore.You have to change doctors at the ASL." To say I was nonplussed when the dentist slammed the door in my face upon his pronouncement would be an understatement. Dude, you wanna be a bit more helpful to the chick who looks like her amniotic fluid could break on your doorstep, please?
I did feel properly guilty when I discovered the particulars, but can we just admit I have some spectacularly bad juju going with the SSN for some reason? Eesh...
Only problem is, when I went to my GP's office, I discovered she had passed away due to breast cancer.
Well, no let me amend that. I discovered later on from my former flatmates that she had passed away. At the time, the dentist with whom she had shared a studio gave the obviously enormously pregnant lady standing in front of him absolutely no fucking information whatsoever, aside from "Non c'è più. Devi cambiare dottore al ASL."
As she wasn't a spring chicken and had been ill with something unspecified earlier in the year, with other doctors filling in for her at the time, I though maybe she had retired and translated this as "She's not here anymore.You have to change doctors at the ASL." To say I was nonplussed when the dentist slammed the door in my face upon his pronouncement would be an understatement. Dude, you wanna be a bit more helpful to the chick who looks like her amniotic fluid could break on your doorstep, please?
I did feel properly guilty when I discovered the particulars, but can we just admit I have some spectacularly bad juju going with the SSN for some reason? Eesh...
13 September 2012
Knocked Up - Blurbs from the Home Stretch
5-6 weeks to go. I look like I swallowed a watermelon; carrying it allllll out front since there's nowhere else for her to go because Mommy is vertically challenged. By the time she's ready to come out, I'm gonna need a counterweight hanging off my ass so I don't face plant every time I'm vertical.
Sleeping: something I do in random spurts, so I guess mini-training for when I'm a pair of milk-expressing teats and human waste management come October. The heartburn starts (back) up around 2-3 am in spite of the mountain of pillows I surround myself with. When I finally fall back to sleep, it's off and on, not helped by the fucking neighborhood dogs doing their early morning barking routine, nor by the fucking idiot across the street who has no fucking clue how to start his goddamned motorcyle. (No really, Mon Amour has video of this idjit trying to start his bike with the kickstand down.)
Mon Amour bring me breakfast in bed before he leaves for work, and after I eat I've been conking out again for another couple of hours. I wake up when the heartburn starts again, then have random drowsy periofs throughout the day. Not quite as bad as my first trimester, but eh.
Also vaguely frustrating: it took me almost two hours to clean the bathroom this weekend and lordy did I need a nap afterwards. Bleh.
I've started to get the faintest linea nigra, which meh, I was hoping to escape that but at least it's not horrendously dark. What the fuck is the evolutionary reasoning behind that one, I wonder.
I miss being able to to sneeze without it killing my ribs as I furiously kegel and hope to god I don't pee myself.
Peanut is already head down and loves to stick her feet in my ribcage. This also means that when she gets the hiccups, I occasionally feel them on my cervix. Yes, it feels as weird as it sounds.
Two words: Perineal Massage. This is so I can hopefully avoid the dreaded episiotomy. I'm delegating this duty to Mon Amour, because the Belly gets in my way. Naturally, this usually leads to Happy Fun Adult Times...
...which are now primarily Doggy Style. Googling "pregnancy kama sutra" hasn't really shown new tricks. Boo.
Sleeping: something I do in random spurts, so I guess mini-training for when I'm a pair of milk-expressing teats and human waste management come October. The heartburn starts (back) up around 2-3 am in spite of the mountain of pillows I surround myself with. When I finally fall back to sleep, it's off and on, not helped by the fucking neighborhood dogs doing their early morning barking routine, nor by the fucking idiot across the street who has no fucking clue how to start his goddamned motorcyle. (No really, Mon Amour has video of this idjit trying to start his bike with the kickstand down.)
Mon Amour bring me breakfast in bed before he leaves for work, and after I eat I've been conking out again for another couple of hours. I wake up when the heartburn starts again, then have random drowsy periofs throughout the day. Not quite as bad as my first trimester, but eh.
Also vaguely frustrating: it took me almost two hours to clean the bathroom this weekend and lordy did I need a nap afterwards. Bleh.
I've started to get the faintest linea nigra, which meh, I was hoping to escape that but at least it's not horrendously dark. What the fuck is the evolutionary reasoning behind that one, I wonder.
I miss being able to to sneeze without it killing my ribs as I furiously kegel and hope to god I don't pee myself.
Peanut is already head down and loves to stick her feet in my ribcage. This also means that when she gets the hiccups, I occasionally feel them on my cervix. Yes, it feels as weird as it sounds.
Two words: Perineal Massage. This is so I can hopefully avoid the dreaded episiotomy. I'm delegating this duty to Mon Amour, because the Belly gets in my way. Naturally, this usually leads to Happy Fun Adult Times...
...which are now primarily Doggy Style. Googling "pregnancy kama sutra" hasn't really shown new tricks. Boo.
07 September 2012
Gender Color Coding Can Kiss Mah Ass
Fuck pink. No really, I'm gonna start my own line of affordable cheap baby clothes where pink, purple and ruffles are verboten.
This mini-rant brought to you by A) A couple of friends who've given us a bunch of barely/never used baby clothes, 98% of which are pink and B) My mom calling me to see if I wanted anything from a mega baby-stuff sale and again, 98% of the options are some version of pink.
This mini-rant brought to you by A) A couple of friends who've given us a bunch of barely/never used baby clothes, 98% of which are pink and B) My mom calling me to see if I wanted anything from a mega baby-stuff sale and again, 98% of the options are some version of pink.
03 September 2012
Blergh
Am ready to trade the neverending heartburn for the excruciating-yet-finite pain of natural labour....
01 September 2012
Knocked Up - Disco Pussy
"Amore, I can't see my bikini line anymore so it's up to you to tell me when we've hit the point of 70's porno down there..."
Problem is, I am a bit stumped in how to remedy the situation.
I was sugaring previously, but there's no way I can contort around the belly now. I can use my epilator on my legs with some mild difficulty, but it's not for use on my pink bits even sans cute uterine parasite.
Not keen in the idea of going to a salon since I A) am picky about waxing technique and B) have 40-50% more blood running through my veins and that makes waxing hurt more. It's pretty difficult to jump off the waxing table in pain when you need a small crane to even haul yourself out of the car...
So it would seem razors are my only option right now, along with a good hand mirror since shaving by Braille while contorting around the belly sounds like a potential Darwin award waiting to happen.
Maybe I'll just hand a razor and a can of shaving cream to Mon Amour when he walks in the door...
Problem is, I am a bit stumped in how to remedy the situation.
I was sugaring previously, but there's no way I can contort around the belly now. I can use my epilator on my legs with some mild difficulty, but it's not for use on my pink bits even sans cute uterine parasite.
Not keen in the idea of going to a salon since I A) am picky about waxing technique and B) have 40-50% more blood running through my veins and that makes waxing hurt more. It's pretty difficult to jump off the waxing table in pain when you need a small crane to even haul yourself out of the car...
So it would seem razors are my only option right now, along with a good hand mirror since shaving by Braille while contorting around the belly sounds like a potential Darwin award waiting to happen.
Maybe I'll just hand a razor and a can of shaving cream to Mon Amour when he walks in the door...
26 August 2012
Knocked Up - English Lessons
"Amore, I have two months to learn English perfectly."
"Tesoro mio, your English is more than fine and it's not like Peanut will come out talking right away."
"No, when you go into labor you'll be screaming in English and I'm scared I won't understand you..."
"Tesoro mio, your English is more than fine and it's not like Peanut will come out talking right away."
"No, when you go into labor you'll be screaming in English and I'm scared I won't understand you..."
22 August 2012
Best Intentions
Mon Amour posted Duran Duran's cover of The Velvet Underground's Femme Fatale on his FB profile and tagged me.
"Amore did you see that I tagged you?"
"Yeah baby, I did. Have you ever read the lyrics?"
"Nooooo. What do they say?"
"More or less about a girl who plays with guys and breaks their hearts."
"Oh. I tagged you for the title."
My poor baby was so red at this point I took pity on him and cut the teasing short. Besides, if he thinks I'm a femme fatale even when I'm doing my best impression of hot sweaty waddling land whale at 31 weeks preggo, it's pretty gratifying. It almost completely makes up for the reappearance of the puffy cankles and the fact that I woke up to pee at least once an hour last night.
I found meself a good one :)
"Amore did you see that I tagged you?"
"Yeah baby, I did. Have you ever read the lyrics?"
"Nooooo. What do they say?"
"More or less about a girl who plays with guys and breaks their hearts."
"Oh. I tagged you for the title."
My poor baby was so red at this point I took pity on him and cut the teasing short. Besides, if he thinks I'm a femme fatale even when I'm doing my best impression of hot sweaty waddling land whale at 31 weeks preggo, it's pretty gratifying. It almost completely makes up for the reappearance of the puffy cankles and the fact that I woke up to pee at least once an hour last night.
I found meself a good one :)
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