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."
Showing posts with label TMI. Show all posts
Showing posts with label TMI. Show all posts
09 October 2012
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: 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...
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.
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...
11 August 2012
Knocked Up - Third Trimester Tidbits
Subtitle: Heartburn and Cankles and Fatigue Oh My
Yeah, all of the above. The only thing that seems to kill the heartburn is a teaspoon of baking soda in a large glass of water. Which I use as a last resort because the sodium content means that the cankles reappear for the next few days. And I get random bouts of "Gonna sleep right here. Now. Keyboard makes a great pillow." though it's not quite as bad as the first trimester.
On the plus side, I am not nearly as constipated as I was for the first two trimesters. Woot. I still do the "Took a dump and I feel 20 lbs lighter" Happy Dance though. You would too if you just spent 6 months clogged up like a drain pipe on the Draino commercials...
Mon Amour keeps boggling at my ever expanding belly.
"Did you just eat lunch?"
"No, your daughter just keeps growing."
"Wow."
And *snigger* he's put on some sympathy pregnancy weight. And I fully admit that I giggle every time he pulls on a pair of jeans and comments that they are snug.
I like them snug *wink wink*. Besides, he was just this side of Too Skinny before, and I would cop the blame for it.
"He's lost weight. You two need to shag less, you're sucking him dry."
Cue my massive eye roll. Like I would force him to toss me from one side of the bed to the other until 5am...
Still stroller/car seat researching. Though I have been informed by a friend of ours that here it is considered bad luck to buy the stroller before Peanut is born. Apparently Mon Amour has to go buy the stroller I pick out while Peanut and I chill in the maternity ward.
Heh.
Yeah, all of the above. The only thing that seems to kill the heartburn is a teaspoon of baking soda in a large glass of water. Which I use as a last resort because the sodium content means that the cankles reappear for the next few days. And I get random bouts of "Gonna sleep right here. Now. Keyboard makes a great pillow." though it's not quite as bad as the first trimester.
On the plus side, I am not nearly as constipated as I was for the first two trimesters. Woot. I still do the "Took a dump and I feel 20 lbs lighter" Happy Dance though. You would too if you just spent 6 months clogged up like a drain pipe on the Draino commercials...
Mon Amour keeps boggling at my ever expanding belly.
"Did you just eat lunch?"
"No, your daughter just keeps growing."
"Wow."
And *snigger* he's put on some sympathy pregnancy weight. And I fully admit that I giggle every time he pulls on a pair of jeans and comments that they are snug.
I like them snug *wink wink*. Besides, he was just this side of Too Skinny before, and I would cop the blame for it.
"He's lost weight. You two need to shag less, you're sucking him dry."
Cue my massive eye roll. Like I would force him to toss me from one side of the bed to the other until 5am...
Still stroller/car seat researching. Though I have been informed by a friend of ours that here it is considered bad luck to buy the stroller before Peanut is born. Apparently Mon Amour has to go buy the stroller I pick out while Peanut and I chill in the maternity ward.
Heh.
13 July 2012
Knocked Up - Bits n' Blurbs
Still haven't set up my primary computer, as we are waiting for a friend to bring us a desk. The rest of the flat is 95% done, after a full week of madly scrubbing and organizing. Still need some stuff, like under the bed boxes for my shoes which, since they are all stilettos, I can't wear right now. They are still in the packing box, slightly dusty and forlorn as I poke at my disappearing and reappearing ankle bone to see how bad today's swelling is. One day last week was so bad that some spider veins appeared around said lack of ankle bone, and I almost howled in a hormonal fit of woe-is-my-vanity.
I was prepared for my ass getting fat; I was not prepared for the cankles.
Though I feel like a whale, I can still fit into 2 pairs of jeans, though we are obviously on the last days of that and by and by large I haven't bothered as it's too fucking hot for wearing jeans while pregnant. Though they do hide the cankles...gonna have to go shopping soon, for some hippie skirts and maxi dresses. Blurgh.
My belly has finally surpassed my boobs, and it was a startling moment when I looked down and realized that not only could I see my belly poking out from under my boobs, my innie belly button is officially an outie now. You don't want to know what sort of weird positions I had to wriggle into during my latest round of leg and bikini self-depilation. If I slouch sans bra, I can rest my boobs on my belly. And I've now been initiated into the wonderful world of "underboob sweat."
The fatigue also has returned a bit, as twice this week all I have wanted to do was sleep and eat. Peanut has her moments of thundering pogo moshing, much to Mon Amour's boundless astonishment. She's also starting to kick me awake in the morning, which makes the morning dash to pee even more fun and frought with danger since I have to figure out how to heft the belly up and out of bed with my eyes barely open and my bladder on the imminent verge of "Gush."
Mon Amour claims to not remember me without a belly, to which I just snort and say "I do." though I'll cop to snickering out loud to myself as I putter around the house in minimal clothing, a walking cliche of barefoot and pregnant.
And in the first of many more "embarrass your child" moments to come, I'll just lay this out here now: Peanut, my darling, Mommy hasn't had multiple orgasms in months. And it's not because Daddy is neglecting his marital duties.
You don't fully realize that your uterus contracts during orgasm until it's grossly inflated with amniotic fluid and tiny little proto-human. So it's basically *orgasm* then gasp and roll over onto my side until my uterus stops mini-contracting. While it's not painful, it's definitely not the most comfortable feeling ever either. Suffice to say we've gotten to be proficient at simultaneous release...
Which reminds me that as a jokey moving ceremony, I finally introduced Mon Amour to my vibrator, which I haven't used since we first started dating. Homeboy has enough stamina and drive as to make me forget I even had a vibe. The funny thing about this little "Meet My Vibrator" ceremony is that I can't remember where I packed the rechargeable batteries...
I was prepared for my ass getting fat; I was not prepared for the cankles.
Though I feel like a whale, I can still fit into 2 pairs of jeans, though we are obviously on the last days of that and by and by large I haven't bothered as it's too fucking hot for wearing jeans while pregnant. Though they do hide the cankles...gonna have to go shopping soon, for some hippie skirts and maxi dresses. Blurgh.
My belly has finally surpassed my boobs, and it was a startling moment when I looked down and realized that not only could I see my belly poking out from under my boobs, my innie belly button is officially an outie now. You don't want to know what sort of weird positions I had to wriggle into during my latest round of leg and bikini self-depilation. If I slouch sans bra, I can rest my boobs on my belly. And I've now been initiated into the wonderful world of "underboob sweat."
The fatigue also has returned a bit, as twice this week all I have wanted to do was sleep and eat. Peanut has her moments of thundering pogo moshing, much to Mon Amour's boundless astonishment. She's also starting to kick me awake in the morning, which makes the morning dash to pee even more fun and frought with danger since I have to figure out how to heft the belly up and out of bed with my eyes barely open and my bladder on the imminent verge of "Gush."
Mon Amour claims to not remember me without a belly, to which I just snort and say "I do." though I'll cop to snickering out loud to myself as I putter around the house in minimal clothing, a walking cliche of barefoot and pregnant.
And in the first of many more "embarrass your child" moments to come, I'll just lay this out here now: Peanut, my darling, Mommy hasn't had multiple orgasms in months. And it's not because Daddy is neglecting his marital duties.
You don't fully realize that your uterus contracts during orgasm until it's grossly inflated with amniotic fluid and tiny little proto-human. So it's basically *orgasm* then gasp and roll over onto my side until my uterus stops mini-contracting. While it's not painful, it's definitely not the most comfortable feeling ever either. Suffice to say we've gotten to be proficient at simultaneous release...
Which reminds me that as a jokey moving ceremony, I finally introduced Mon Amour to my vibrator, which I haven't used since we first started dating. Homeboy has enough stamina and drive as to make me forget I even had a vibe. The funny thing about this little "Meet My Vibrator" ceremony is that I can't remember where I packed the rechargeable batteries...
18 May 2012
Knocked Up - Body Bits n' Pieces
Peanut is bouncing around right now, which is slightly out of the norm thus far since they seem to be more active at night (like their mother. Ha!) I'm still not used to this sensation, because it's like having a little alien parasite lightly knocking around my insides. I sort of want to rewatch all of the Alien flicks in homage, not to mention in preparation for this summer's Prometheus release, but horror flicks and I are not on the best of terms. I'm the chick screaming her bloody face off in the theater. At everything.
This week my belly has exploded, at least from my point of view. Well, maybe I exaggerate a bit because if I look straight down, my ginormous boobs still block the visual of my belly. Now I'm wondering if they block me seeing my feet...Holy shit, they do. Ahahahahahahahaha. I'm sure that's helped by the fact that 10 year olds have bigger feet than my dinky size 35's but still...
While we are on the subject, I am making full use of these sweater puppies while I can, especially seeing as the the current cleavage situation is out of control. For fuck's sake, the grocery store rent-a-cop followed me around the entire store other day and totally got in my way while I was in the produce section. Stop blocking my access to the zucchini, asshole.
Titty fucking, which is something I couldn't do with my boobs' prior configuration, is realllllllly easy right now, much to Mon Amour's delight. And when they become milk factories? Party tricks ahoy! I am going to hit bulls-eyes from across the room with these things. I can already hang lightweight items off my nipples...
This week my belly has exploded, at least from my point of view. Well, maybe I exaggerate a bit because if I look straight down, my ginormous boobs still block the visual of my belly. Now I'm wondering if they block me seeing my feet...Holy shit, they do. Ahahahahahahahaha. I'm sure that's helped by the fact that 10 year olds have bigger feet than my dinky size 35's but still...
While we are on the subject, I am making full use of these sweater puppies while I can, especially seeing as the the current cleavage situation is out of control. For fuck's sake, the grocery store rent-a-cop followed me around the entire store other day and totally got in my way while I was in the produce section. Stop blocking my access to the zucchini, asshole.
Titty fucking, which is something I couldn't do with my boobs' prior configuration, is realllllllly easy right now, much to Mon Amour's delight. And when they become milk factories? Party tricks ahoy! I am going to hit bulls-eyes from across the room with these things. I can already hang lightweight items off my nipples...
15 May 2012
Knocked Up - Episode 3
Episodes 1 & 2
Having gotten the first trimester sonogram out of the way, Mon Amour asks if Doctor Consultorio mentioned anything about amniocentesis, seeing as I am "of a certain age." No, and it really didn't cross my mind either. So I go in to ask her both about the ovarian cyst they found and the amnio. She reassures me the cyst is no big deal, just something to keep an eye on, and that regarding amniocentesis, it's up to me and my partner to decide if we want to have it done. She gives me the prescription for it in any case so that we can call the regional reservation line. Seeing as I am over 35, it's free.
Head back home and call up the reservation hotline. Remember how I mentioned that there are certain exams that it seems like you should reserve before you even conceive? The operator tells me that I should have reserved the consultation for the amnio to be done at 10 weeks the minute I found out I was knocked up and at this point I will have to call the hospitals directly. Hooo-boy...
And thus starts the amnio odessy. Some hospitals just say "Sorry, no space." Others require calling between certain hours on certain days, like trying to win a prize calling into a radio station. Redial. Redial. Redial. Score! It's ringing! "Sorry, no space."
Fuck.
Having gotten the first trimester sonogram out of the way, Mon Amour asks if Doctor Consultorio mentioned anything about amniocentesis, seeing as I am "of a certain age." No, and it really didn't cross my mind either. So I go in to ask her both about the ovarian cyst they found and the amnio. She reassures me the cyst is no big deal, just something to keep an eye on, and that regarding amniocentesis, it's up to me and my partner to decide if we want to have it done. She gives me the prescription for it in any case so that we can call the regional reservation line. Seeing as I am over 35, it's free.
Head back home and call up the reservation hotline. Remember how I mentioned that there are certain exams that it seems like you should reserve before you even conceive? The operator tells me that I should have reserved the consultation for the amnio to be done at 10 weeks the minute I found out I was knocked up and at this point I will have to call the hospitals directly. Hooo-boy...
And thus starts the amnio odessy. Some hospitals just say "Sorry, no space." Others require calling between certain hours on certain days, like trying to win a prize calling into a radio station. Redial. Redial. Redial. Score! It's ringing! "Sorry, no space."
Fuck.
11 May 2012
Knocked Up - Episode 2
Episode 1 is here.
My flatmates by now know I'm knocked up; I told them I had some news to tell them and they said "You're pregnant." Apparently my ginormous knockers gave it away. Well, at least there's one perk to being knocked up. Let's see, we've covered the food restrictions, the hormonal roller coaster, the fatigue...oh yes. The constipation.
I was a one poo a day girl, and now I'm lucky if it's once every three days. At the beginning I was just feeling it as bloat, but now that the belly has started to make an appearance, I can feel my food just sitting there, sloooooowly being digested as my body wrings every last nutrient out of it for me and my cute little uterine parasite. Sarlaccs digest faster than I do right now.
And thus I'm at the stage where if I've pooed, the belly bulge is barely noticeable. If not, I just look fat. Which is also no fun because we are keeping this secret as long as possible due to various work concerns on both our parts, so I get to go through my closet everytime I get dressed and try to scrounge something roomy if we're not going to be around people who already know. I have fuck all in that department since my clothes are all fairly body conscious. Trying to move the poo along with leafy greens, fruit, and various other digestible sources of fiber make no difference, nor does copious amounts of yogurt (I draw the line at that Activia yick because drinkable yogurt has always made me want to hurl.)
Other fun preggo experiences include brushing my teeth and looking like someone punched me in the mouth. Apparently your gums bleed easier because you have about 50% more blood corsing through your veins. Also thanks to all that extra blood is a rather awkward feeling located between my legs when I walk, what I've come to term "Swollen pussy feeling". It doesn't quite hurt, just sits there feeling heavy and noticeable when I walk. And Googling that particular symptom brought me to varicose veins...of the twat. Oh hellllll no...really? This is what I might potentially have to look forward to later on when I look like a waddling land whale?!
Googling under the influence of pregnancy is a really bad idea, trust.
My flatmates by now know I'm knocked up; I told them I had some news to tell them and they said "You're pregnant." Apparently my ginormous knockers gave it away. Well, at least there's one perk to being knocked up. Let's see, we've covered the food restrictions, the hormonal roller coaster, the fatigue...oh yes. The constipation.
I was a one poo a day girl, and now I'm lucky if it's once every three days. At the beginning I was just feeling it as bloat, but now that the belly has started to make an appearance, I can feel my food just sitting there, sloooooowly being digested as my body wrings every last nutrient out of it for me and my cute little uterine parasite. Sarlaccs digest faster than I do right now.
And thus I'm at the stage where if I've pooed, the belly bulge is barely noticeable. If not, I just look fat. Which is also no fun because we are keeping this secret as long as possible due to various work concerns on both our parts, so I get to go through my closet everytime I get dressed and try to scrounge something roomy if we're not going to be around people who already know. I have fuck all in that department since my clothes are all fairly body conscious. Trying to move the poo along with leafy greens, fruit, and various other digestible sources of fiber make no difference, nor does copious amounts of yogurt (I draw the line at that Activia yick because drinkable yogurt has always made me want to hurl.)
Other fun preggo experiences include brushing my teeth and looking like someone punched me in the mouth. Apparently your gums bleed easier because you have about 50% more blood corsing through your veins. Also thanks to all that extra blood is a rather awkward feeling located between my legs when I walk, what I've come to term "Swollen pussy feeling". It doesn't quite hurt, just sits there feeling heavy and noticeable when I walk. And Googling that particular symptom brought me to varicose veins...of the twat. Oh hellllll no...really? This is what I might potentially have to look forward to later on when I look like a waddling land whale?!
Googling under the influence of pregnancy is a really bad idea, trust.
Knocked Up - Episode 1
Yup. In dolce attesa, as they say here, although right now as I'm writing this, I've found very little dolce and a lot of confusion, frustration, and those tiny little indignities of a pregnant woman that I'm sure will only increase in the following months.
So, as I write this, I am almost 15 weeks gone, due around the third week of October. As my 2 female flatmates and I tend to follow each other, and they were both late for some reason, I initially didn't think anything of my period being about a week late. Mon Amour was the one who actually pointed out "Uh, maybe we should get a stick to pee on, honey?" Stick peed on, hullo positive test. And cue my hysterical hormonal crying jags all day until Mon Amour finished work and came over. Absolutely totally supportive, he calmed me down and said that he would support whatever decision I wanted to make.
We had already decided to move in together a few weeks prior, so though unexpected and not the best timing ever, our relationship was already moving in the "Marriage and Kids" direction. So we talked it over and that was that. Bring on the huge ta-tas, big ol' belly and roller coaster of hormones.
I know that sounds really flip, and maybe when I go back to edit this before I publish it in the near future I'll add in the smoochy cutesy lovey details, or maybe I'll save it for an entry of its own, but right now I am in an extraordinarily flip cranky mood in general and I'm going to hit the broad stokes and highlights for now. And before I forget, according to those nifty online pregnancy calculators, I most likely conceived around this time. Go figure. (Also, remind me to eventually tell y'all the fun reason why I know exactly which day and hour my last period started....)
So we go to a private gyno at a structure suggested by friends of a friend. Dr. Dippy, as I like to call her, shoved the magic sonogram dildo up my twat in front of Mon Amour, points out a couple of pulsating pixels as the heartbeat and proclaimed us 6 weeks preggo. She made sure I was taking prenatal vitamins (and vaguely tisked over the brand, saying she'd give me others when I finished these...ooooookay...), gave me a list of about 35 blood & pee tests plus a cardio exam and EKG to get prescribed by my GP, sort of waved her hands vaguely over dietary concerns and told us to come back in 2 weeks. Not even 30 minutes, €100 thank you very much.
So, as I write this, I am almost 15 weeks gone, due around the third week of October. As my 2 female flatmates and I tend to follow each other, and they were both late for some reason, I initially didn't think anything of my period being about a week late. Mon Amour was the one who actually pointed out "Uh, maybe we should get a stick to pee on, honey?" Stick peed on, hullo positive test. And cue my hysterical hormonal crying jags all day until Mon Amour finished work and came over. Absolutely totally supportive, he calmed me down and said that he would support whatever decision I wanted to make.
We had already decided to move in together a few weeks prior, so though unexpected and not the best timing ever, our relationship was already moving in the "Marriage and Kids" direction. So we talked it over and that was that. Bring on the huge ta-tas, big ol' belly and roller coaster of hormones.
I know that sounds really flip, and maybe when I go back to edit this before I publish it in the near future I'll add in the smoochy cutesy lovey details, or maybe I'll save it for an entry of its own, but right now I am in an extraordinarily flip cranky mood in general and I'm going to hit the broad stokes and highlights for now. And before I forget, according to those nifty online pregnancy calculators, I most likely conceived around this time. Go figure. (Also, remind me to eventually tell y'all the fun reason why I know exactly which day and hour my last period started....)
So we go to a private gyno at a structure suggested by friends of a friend. Dr. Dippy, as I like to call her, shoved the magic sonogram dildo up my twat in front of Mon Amour, points out a couple of pulsating pixels as the heartbeat and proclaimed us 6 weeks preggo. She made sure I was taking prenatal vitamins (and vaguely tisked over the brand, saying she'd give me others when I finished these...ooooookay...), gave me a list of about 35 blood & pee tests plus a cardio exam and EKG to get prescribed by my GP, sort of waved her hands vaguely over dietary concerns and told us to come back in 2 weeks. Not even 30 minutes, €100 thank you very much.
22 April 2012
Of Rocket Pops and Fried Chicken
At diner with Will and Olive last night:
Olive: "When I was 17 I was dating this black guy and I asked my grandmother what I should cook him for dinner."
Me: "Lemme guess: fried chicken and watermelon?"
Will: "Oh lord..."
Olive: "Fried chicken, macaroni and cheese and watermelon. He was so offended. 'Why did you cook this? Are you a total racist?' I had no idea about the connotations of fried chicken and watermelon. I just thought it was good food."
Me: "You poor naive little thing. You should have been all 'Oh my lord it didn't even cross my mind, the watermelon just smelled so good and it's in season...'"
Olive: "I was not worldly enough at 17 to put that off. I bawled my eyes out that night."
Me: "True that."
Will: "Did you tell him your grandmother suggested the menu?"
Olive: "Yeah, and so then he was all 'So your grandmother's a racist.' It was horrible."
Me: "You realize this is going on the blog tomorrow, right?"
-------------------------------
Olive: "So you might come home to them having peed on your Salvador Dali posters..."
Will: "What?! No! Why would they pee on my posters on the wall?"
Me: "I swear you have some weird ideas about penises, Olive. Just like Mon Amour and other guys have weird ideas about vag."
Will: "Like what?"
Me: "Apparently some guys think that we'll shove anything remotely phallic up there, because that's what they would apparently do if they owned a vagina. ***BZZT!*** Wrong. It's not a change purse."
Olive: "When I was 17 I was dating this black guy and I asked my grandmother what I should cook him for dinner."
Me: "Lemme guess: fried chicken and watermelon?"
Will: "Oh lord..."
Olive: "Fried chicken, macaroni and cheese and watermelon. He was so offended. 'Why did you cook this? Are you a total racist?' I had no idea about the connotations of fried chicken and watermelon. I just thought it was good food."
Me: "You poor naive little thing. You should have been all 'Oh my lord it didn't even cross my mind, the watermelon just smelled so good and it's in season...'"
Olive: "I was not worldly enough at 17 to put that off. I bawled my eyes out that night."
Me: "True that."
Will: "Did you tell him your grandmother suggested the menu?"
Olive: "Yeah, and so then he was all 'So your grandmother's a racist.' It was horrible."
Me: "You realize this is going on the blog tomorrow, right?"
-------------------------------
Olive: "So you might come home to them having peed on your Salvador Dali posters..."
Will: "What?! No! Why would they pee on my posters on the wall?"
Me: "I swear you have some weird ideas about penises, Olive. Just like Mon Amour and other guys have weird ideas about vag."
Will: "Like what?"
Me: "Apparently some guys think that we'll shove anything remotely phallic up there, because that's what they would apparently do if they owned a vagina. ***BZZT!*** Wrong. It's not a change purse."
15 April 2012
Mother-tongue
A slightly tipsy Olive & I were hanging at a Trastevere bar last night, post celebratory birthday dinner of a friend. Mon Amour joined us after he got off work.
Olive: Your English has gotten so much better since the two of you have been dating.
Mon Amour: Thanks, but I think it is still not that good.
Olive: Do you not speak English with him?
Me: Occasionally.
Mon Amour: We speak the international language of fichi-fichi *makes the 'Let's fuck' gesture*
Olive: I get it. You speak Penis.
Me: I am fluent.
Olive: Your English has gotten so much better since the two of you have been dating.
Mon Amour: Thanks, but I think it is still not that good.
Olive: Do you not speak English with him?
Me: Occasionally.
Mon Amour: We speak the international language of fichi-fichi *makes the 'Let's fuck' gesture*
Olive: I get it. You speak Penis.
Me: I am fluent.
23 January 2012
Muscial Interlude
Been humming this to myself all weekend. I blame it on (in no particular order)
1 I'm a "little bit to the left" like water is a little bit wet.
2 Am getting a bit Pavlov's dog about that belt buckle. I hear that sound and my pink bits automagically turn into a Brazilian Rain Forest: hot, humid and extremely damp.
- the BF's hot calico 3 day beard scruff
- him stopping a car theft and then emergency babysitting so his friend could take his sick wife to the ER, all in the same night
- a rousting political argument which ended up with him asking
"We've never fought in almost a year and now you're getting mad at me over the crisis?"
"I'm not mad, I'm just really irritated." 1 - him lounging on my bed shirtless while messing around on his iPhone, beard scruffy and wearing his new eyeglasses and that happy trail leading straight to the seatbelt buckle belt that makes a lovely little metallic *snikt* clank when you open it 2
2 Am getting a bit Pavlov's dog about that belt buckle. I hear that sound and my pink bits automagically turn into a Brazilian Rain Forest: hot, humid and extremely damp.
20 August 2011
More Summer Excerpts
Will: Feed me.
Me: I am going to call you Seymour for that one.
Will: Grow a penis and come make love to me?
Me: Nope, sorry. Apart from the no penis thing, my hip bones are already bruised enough
Will: Damn you.
Will: What will I eat?!
Will: I guess I could chew on some tylenol pm and wash it down with vodka.
Will: Is that a well-balanced meal?
Me: For a drama queen, yes :D
Will: Bitch.
My latest auto-gol in Italian
A friend, looking at pics of the Alpine getaway: Aò, ma sempre con 'sto culo in tutte le foto.
Me: Mica è colpa mia. Mi prende sempre da dietro.
Me: *dies when I realise what i just said while everyone else is laughing their asses off*
"Eesh, always with your ass in all of the photos."
"It's not my fault. He takes (pictures of) me always from behind."
Will: I knew it was time to leave when I started playing with Olive's nipples
Me: We were pretty toasty last night. I'd feel awkward about Ma Liason not really drinking, but then I remember that me getting drunk means that he get teh butt seks.
Me: I need to charge my phone and brush my teeth with something other than cock.
Olive: Yes you do and scrub well before I see you tonight: I don't want to snog cock breath
Me: I want a stripper pole.
Olive: Do you want Ta Liason to have a heart attack?
Olive: I think last night we promised him a threesome for his birthday
Me: Or something about watching. This is why Will should not leave us alone and unsupervised.
Me: I am going to call you Seymour for that one.
Will: Grow a penis and come make love to me?
Me: Nope, sorry. Apart from the no penis thing, my hip bones are already bruised enough
Will: Damn you.
Will: What will I eat?!
Will: I guess I could chew on some tylenol pm and wash it down with vodka.
Will: Is that a well-balanced meal?
Me: For a drama queen, yes :D
Will: Bitch.
My latest auto-gol in Italian
A friend, looking at pics of the Alpine getaway: Aò, ma sempre con 'sto culo in tutte le foto.
Me: Mica è colpa mia. Mi prende sempre da dietro.
Me: *dies when I realise what i just said while everyone else is laughing their asses off*
"Eesh, always with your ass in all of the photos."
"It's not my fault. He takes (pictures of) me always from behind."
Will: I knew it was time to leave when I started playing with Olive's nipples
Me: We were pretty toasty last night. I'd feel awkward about Ma Liason not really drinking, but then I remember that me getting drunk means that he get teh butt seks.
Me: I need to charge my phone and brush my teeth with something other than cock.
Olive: Yes you do and scrub well before I see you tonight: I don't want to snog cock breath
Me: I want a stripper pole.
Olive: Do you want Ta Liason to have a heart attack?
Olive: I think last night we promised him a threesome for his birthday
Me: Or something about watching. This is why Will should not leave us alone and unsupervised.
14 August 2011
What I Did on My Summer Vacation
Wherein Olive & I dissect my 4 day Alpine getaway with Ma Liason and a friend of his...
"The food was so good. But oh my god, TMI warning, but I could not take a dump for 3 days. I finally managed some pissant little turd the the night before we left. Ma Liason apparently had the same problem."
"Please tell me you two did not get blocked up because you didn't want to fart in front of each other."
"So the A-word was used during the trip."
"A-word?"
"Amore. As in, 'Fammi una foto con il mio amore.'"
"Oh." *snicker*
"Ja. And the beard burn lasted for another two days and I almost had sex in the changing cubicle of the thermal baths."
"The food was so good. But oh my god, TMI warning, but I could not take a dump for 3 days. I finally managed some pissant little turd the the night before we left. Ma Liason apparently had the same problem."
"Please tell me you two did not get blocked up because you didn't want to fart in front of each other."
"So the A-word was used during the trip."
"A-word?"
"Amore. As in, 'Fammi una foto con il mio amore.'"
"Oh." *snicker*
"Ja. And the beard burn lasted for another two days and I almost had sex in the changing cubicle of the thermal baths."
07 August 2011
Will & Olive-isms
Olive: *squees* "Look at that cute baby. See, it's smiling at me."
Will: "Olive, it's smiling at you because it looks at your enormous rack and thinks 'Dinner.'"
Olive: "I always wear underwear. Except sometimes."
Will (to Olive): You have a yellow stain on the back of your shirt and your boob is popping out.
Will: (smsing us) No you morons that was the wrong stop and now I'm lost.
Olive: Maybe we should put a GPS tracker on him.
Me: Yeah, we can shove it up his happy place.
(at the beach)
Olive: The entire lower half of your face is covered in beard burn.
Me: Ugh, I know. My lips feel huge. Do I have a mark on the side of my neck?
Olive: Yup. Nice hickey.
Me: Bugger. I haven't had a hickey in years.
Olive: I'm surprised you can walk today.
Me: Yeah, I'm lucky I don't have fingerprint bruises on my ass. It's ok, though. Check out his back.
Olive: Holy shit.
Me: Wolverine has nothing on me baby.
Olive: so are you ready to change your relationship status yet?
Me: OMG change my relationship status? THE HIVESSSS THEYS ITCHESSSSS!
Olive: It's obvious he cares for you a lot.
Olive: I'm waiting for the "Ti amo" to slip out
Me: AHHHHHHHHHHHH HIIIIIIIIVVVVVVVVVVVVESSSSSSSSS
Olive: I love this game: Let's Make You Break Out in Hives. So much fun.
Me: Evil bitch.
Me: Who do we have to blow to land you the consultancy?
Olive: Yeah.
Will: They're two females.
Me: I can lick pussy if necessary.
Olive: Blackmail could work too.
Me: I think my cervix needs an ice pack.
Olive: TMI, my dear. T.M.I.
Me: Hey Hooker
Will: Listen, Lafayette - not sure how it happened, but I really want you to get out of my friend's body and give her back her pattern of speech.
Olive: I was the only female with 7 men sitting in a circle around me. It was like the beginning of a bad porn.
Will: I'm very nice to people.
Me: Unless they have cheap ugly shoes.
Will: "Olive, it's smiling at you because it looks at your enormous rack and thinks 'Dinner.'"
Olive: "I always wear underwear. Except sometimes."
Will (to Olive): You have a yellow stain on the back of your shirt and your boob is popping out.
Will: (smsing us) No you morons that was the wrong stop and now I'm lost.
Olive: Maybe we should put a GPS tracker on him.
Me: Yeah, we can shove it up his happy place.
(at the beach)
Olive: The entire lower half of your face is covered in beard burn.
Me: Ugh, I know. My lips feel huge. Do I have a mark on the side of my neck?
Olive: Yup. Nice hickey.
Me: Bugger. I haven't had a hickey in years.
Olive: I'm surprised you can walk today.
Me: Yeah, I'm lucky I don't have fingerprint bruises on my ass. It's ok, though. Check out his back.
Olive: Holy shit.
Me: Wolverine has nothing on me baby.
Olive: so are you ready to change your relationship status yet?
Me: OMG change my relationship status? THE HIVESSSS THEYS ITCHESSSSS!
Olive: It's obvious he cares for you a lot.
Olive: I'm waiting for the "Ti amo" to slip out
Me: AHHHHHHHHHHHH HIIIIIIIIVVVVVVVVVVVVESSSSSSSSS
Olive: I love this game: Let's Make You Break Out in Hives. So much fun.
Me: Evil bitch.
Me: Who do we have to blow to land you the consultancy?
Olive: Yeah.
Will: They're two females.
Me: I can lick pussy if necessary.
Olive: Blackmail could work too.
Me: I think my cervix needs an ice pack.
Olive: TMI, my dear. T.M.I.
Me: Hey Hooker
Will: Listen, Lafayette - not sure how it happened, but I really want you to get out of my friend's body and give her back her pattern of speech.
Olive: I was the only female with 7 men sitting in a circle around me. It was like the beginning of a bad porn.
Will: I'm very nice to people.
Me: Unless they have cheap ugly shoes.
24 June 2011
Things to Reacclimate To
There's some stuff to which I am having to reacclimate with Ma Liason, or even in some cases, simply acclimate. In short:
- Having sex. Quite apart from the whole "muscles I forgot existed" thing, the second time he came over I bled like the proverbial virgin, right onto the white duvet cover as we didn't make it under the covers. I didn't even notice until we got up off the bed after and he pointed it out.
"Ti ho fatto del male?"
< sarcasm >Yeah, not embarrassing at all.< /sarcasm >
"Era un po scomodo proprio al inizio ma sarebbe la colpa di ieri sera; dopo un paio di secondi era tutt'ok. Anzi, altro che semplicemente OK. Perché?"
*He indicates the splotches of blood on my duvet cover*
"Oh. Oh cazzo."
22 April 2011
Easter Quickies
Inappropriate Pigtails: Getting me mistaken for ten years younger. Also the name of my new band.
To my girl friend(who will be getting a nickname soon, I promise! :) Olive
Upon the Ex-BG suddenly appearing on Facebook:
To my girl friend
"Cosa faresti se ti scopo così tutto la notte, fino l'alba."
Fuck, that was hot.
And yet the snarky section of my brain made me think "Probably pass out cold, considering I am currently a gigantic puddle of mindless quivering goo."
Upon the Ex-BG suddenly appearing on Facebook:
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