Comments can kill

By nature I sometimes say things at the wrong time. I laugh at uncomfortable moments and sometimes this behavior ensures that I will laugh even harder. Life is too short to be so serious sometimes...

I feel I have had a good friendship with my boss. He appreciates a good sense of humor and has a good work ethic which involves working hard, but not being too serious. This is not because he isn't serious about his job, but tries to minimize his stress level. I can totally relate to this work philosophy.

It was several months ago during my neurotic state of pregnancy that my boss and I had to go to a meeting. On the way he stopped at a convenient store and asked if I needed anything using his good manners, which I didn't. He gets back into the truck with a Mellow Yellow and a pack of Goody's Powders. Okay, he has a headache, which I didn't pick up on before. 

Goody's, I'm sure works quickly, but I would rather swallow a whole pill than to have the taste of what I would assume battery acid and baking soda to be like.

Someone obviously decided that crushed up Aspirin would absorb into your system at a faster rate given that you have to get past the bitter chalk taste. Heaven forbid you put the powder in the wrong place on your tongue. There is a process to taking the Goody's. After you open the package of wax paper, one must place the powder at the back of the tongue and quickly drink something that will prevent tasting the rancid flavor.

He gets in the truck, rips open the package, places the powder in said appropriate section of the back of the mouth. I looked away and I say with a tone of disappointment, "I can't believe I have to watch you do drugs."

He throws his fist up to his mouth in a universal choking motion and jerks forward. Because I was adverting my eyes, I saw the first part in my periphery and then stared at the rest of the coughing and gasping in horror.

Oh crap. This is not a good. My jackass comment is causing the person who hired me to aspirate on a Goody's powder. 

After a couple of swigs of Mellow Yellow and several choking coughs, his color was almost back to normal.

Once I knew he was okay, I could finally laugh. I had no idea that he was going to begin to laugh and inhale the Goody's powder. I truly felt bad, but still couldn't help laughing during the latter of the choking. 

Constipation is God's way of preparing a woman for labor

There are lots of ways God prepares women for being a mother: sleep deprivation, shortness of temper, fatigue, loss of sanity. I rationalize getting up to pee several times a night is to condition the mother for getting up to change and feed the baby. I rationalize the total bodily discomfort and the inability to sleep in a comfortable position is also preparing the mother for exhaustion. After another side-effect of pregnancy that I experienced, I had a pre-labor lesson. 

It is funny how much one forgets of the previous pregnancy. All the symptoms that I had last time, with the exception of food aversions, are back. Most recently I have been uh stopped up. This too happen in the last months of my previous pregnancy. Everyone experiences a bit of constipation at one time or another, however throw in a large baby in your innards and it intensifies.

For those who know me and think that a poop blog is inappropriate, well everyone poops. If you think that women do not poop or fart or burp you are disillusioned. So here goes my modesty...

The other day I had to go. Miserably stopped up and desperate to go. I was sitting there on the pot and nothing. I think a few rabbit pellets came out. I gave up and went into my bedroom, but the feeling of having to go lingered. I go back to the bathroom and sit. I try to relax. I have been trying for at least a half hour at this point. The thought of pushing only makes me think if I push too hard my water would break and I would begin dangerous premature labor or worse... a hemi (hemorrhoid). I hear that sometimes they never go away even after birth, so I'm petrified. 

Okay, so I recalled going through constipation the last time. Fortunately, I had a process that I had forgotten. A trick to help you through the process. If you are lucky enough to have the water closet that is the small potty room or a confined toilet area, then you are in a good position... quite literally. I'm talkin' throw the feet up on the wall like you got 'em in stirrups. This birthing position for some reason helps. It helped me and now I bestow onto you to use when in need. Oh, definitely breath like they do on tv. If anything, you will think of how ridiculous the whole situation is and the laughter will help with the whole birthing process.

Now... where is that dignity.

Strawberry Shortcake is her name-O

I have decided with Brian the name of our baby. I have also decided and told Brian that I would like to keep the name to ourselves until after the baby is born. This is why...

Dinner with Brian, Boden, my mother-in-law, and me. We have just finished dinner and Boden was sitting in my lap facing me. Boden and I sometimes belly-bump and this particular evening we were enjoying some flesh to flesh boo yeah BELLY BUMP. I promise I don't hurt him with my massive gut. This was the conversation that followed. The name of the baby has been changed to her nick name, Strawberry Shortcake, which was suggested as a name by Eva, a three-year-old.

MIL: Boden be gentile you don't want to hurt sister.

Brian: Yeah, you don't want to hurt Strawberry Shortcake.

MIL snaps her head to Brian with wide eyes: WHAT?! Is that her name? Her first name?

Brian assuredly: Yup, that's her name.

Meanwhile the belly bumping has stopped and I sat watching in disbelief as he has broken the promise to keep the name to our inner family circle and my mother-in-law in questioning our decision. I had to excuse myself to get Boden in the tub and to check if there really was steam coming out of my ears. 

I decided that I would calm myself and then speak to my mother-in-law to at the very least remind her not to divulge the baby's name to other people.

Me: We decided that we weren't really going to tell anyone the baby's name until after she got here.

MIL: Well, is that what you are going to name her? What will you call her? Straw? Berry? Cake?

Me not getting a word in but thinking: (What do you mean what will be call her? Like we would name her something and call her something different? Why is it hard to pronounce all the syllables in her name?)

MIL still pitching the questions: Is that her first name? middle name? Do you have a middle name?

Me still in shock, because it was extremely obvious at this point that she HATED the name Strawberry Shortcake. Stay Bruce stay Bruce. Don't let the Hulk out. Searching for something diplomatic, so the name would not be definitive in her mind.: Well, we have some time. (smile)

MIL: Well, you really want to think about it and make sure. A name is for life. You may want to pick something that she'll like.

Me... turning to walk away. I'm sure she mispoke and meant to say "pick something that I like": That's why I didn't want to tell anyone.

Strawberry Shortcake was not brought up again, however she did mention that there was a little girl at the lake named Zoe and she thought that was cute.

This is not to complain about Brian's slip up or the overt dislike of Strawberry Shortcake by my mother-in-law. I have learned that whatever a family decides to name their child even if it is something crazy like Pilot Inspektor, it is best to not voice an opinion. Everyone has an opinion, but I promise the pregnant lady does not want hear the opinions. 

Even if you knew a Strawberry Shortcake growing up who was a crack whore, you do not have to tell me about it. All it will do is make my chest tighten. I seriously don't care about whether or not other people like the name, however I just don't want to hear the comments in the intensely uncomfortable and high hormonal months leading up to the birth. 

I also owe Ashley an apology. I'm sorry for saying Eva sounds like Evil when you told me your girl name when you were pregnant. I understand that it wasn't nice, but I do like her name very much.

Nesting, venomous temper, and other neurotic behavior

Things I want to have done before the baby gets here:

1. repaint crib and changing table

2. recover chair for nursery

3. repaint dining room table and chairs

4. repaint Boden's old chest, distress it, and move to foyer

5. call electrician to put in a switch for garbage disposal

6. call plumber to install disposal

7. install different closet rod in Boden's closet

8. switch closets from Boden's old room to new room

9. move Grandma Eva's highboy from Ashley's garage to baby's room paint it if I don't like the color

10. hang up all presorted sized baby clothes in closet

11. change out all of the faucets in the house

12. clean everything four or five times

13. clean out fridge 

14.  reorganize bookcase and pack up old books that I have already read, but for some reason won't get rid of because they are coveted like treasures.

15. Get septic tank pumped regardless of being full or not... just in case.

Ambitious for a woman who curses when she has to bend slightly to put on underwear. Really, this is just half the stuff that I want done and want it done now. There is no possible way for me to do half this crap by myself, because of me being extremely large and pregnant. 

I did not nest in my previous pregnancy and I believe it was because I moved in my seventh month and did not know the sex of the baby. There is this motivation to do everything and clean until I drop to my knees and sob. It has happened several times in the past week. I just want everything done and done now and if it doesn't happen I go ape shit.

I am so rattled with anxiety that I have asked my doctor to medicate me. I have become a beast. My husband, I'm pretty sure, is scared of me. He really tries to be kind to me and I have no idea where he is getting his patience... Oh wait it comes from a bottle of wine. Wine that I cannot drink. He has resorted to sleeping in another room and frankly I do not blame him. The other night he tried to turn on a small fan in order to create white noise. It immediately made my blood boil, because we have not had white noise in a year and why should I have to hear and see this ugly little fan in my bedroom collecting dust. No, I do not want THAT in here and we HAVE a ceiling fan. He dismissed himself after trying to sleep next to me who constantly flopping all over the bed attempting to find a comfortable position that would also allow me to breathe. I can't imagine why he would not be able to fall asleep.

My best friend said it best when she half heartedly told my mother, "punching her in the face wouldn't hurt that baby none." Yes, half heartedly she meant it and I laughed, because it is funny. What isn't funny is not being able to control the hormones that make me beastly. God save all of you who may endure my wrath and I am sorry I cannot control myself better. 

Only 9 more weeks.

Female Grooming

Do any of ya'll have this attitude or know someone who does? The part of the person I know will be named Jennifer in order to protect her identity. 

Jennifer: A rolling of the eyes and a big sigh, "tomorrow I have to paint my toe nails, shave my legs, AND my girlie parts."

Me with a look of shock and probably disgust: "What the hell is going on tomorrow? You got a date or something?"

Jennifer: "I have to go to my female doctor."

Me knowing that Jennifer goes to a male OBGYN: "Do you think that painting your toe nails will keep his focus off your other parts or are you trying to impress him? Maybe you should wear a toe ring and an anklet or something."

I am aware that most woman trim up for their girlie appointments and they should clean up. It just kind of like you should be doing this all along, so as to not have to make it a job to go to the dreaded appointment. 

Eat and Drive with Care

My co-worker and BFF, Ashley, and I were on our way back from the trough. The trough would be the Chinese buffet. Ashley was looking for a quick meal and trying to be nice to the pregnant girl. It is a nice gesture, but seriously, I can't pig out nearly enough as I would like without feeling like Violet Beauregarde sans the turning purple. 

We were stopped at the light when a gasp of terror expelled from next to me. I think Ashley even had her hands bunched at her face and was closing her eyes. "Do you see THAT next to us! I can't look."

I leaned forward, which is difficult at seven months pregnant to take a look at the Gawd awful sight next to us that had her so frightened.

There she was. She was a big girl kind of like Fat Bastard's sister or first cousin. She was driving a big truck, which did not help her. There is nothing wrong with a woman driving a big 4x4 truck, but it tends to make a woman slightly less feminine in way that I cannot describe.

Clearly, old girl was just leaving the Sonic drive through. I came to this logical conclusion based on the shiny foil burger wrapper that was splayed out around her head. The burger inside was no single. It had to have been one of those double or perhaps a triple burger based on how her jaw had to unlock like an anaconda swallowing a goat. The unhinging of her jaw clearly caused some pain, because the rest of her face was squinched up. I also believe she had the shark eye protection reflex, because her eyes were closed. It seemed like she shook her head a little on the down bite like how lions gnaw and tear the flesh off of their prey. 

This was only a few seconds of recollection, but I was really worried that she was eating the wrapper in the attack and quite possibly fingers. 

Note to self, small bites when eating while driving, because you never know who may glance over and laugh at you.

Skippin' Weeks

So, my last doctor's appointment went a bit like this... 

 ... 45 minute wait in the waiting area, which was as full as the Social Security office. I swear there were like two empty seats in the whole waiting area. That's a shit ton... er... maybe that is an exaggeration an ass load of patients. 

The wait was no fun, because my baby lives right under my diaphragm. The only comfortable way is to sit with my back arched which causes the top of the chair to cut into the top of my back. Meanwhile, my lower back is unsupported. My legs are swollen, so sitting lady-like in a comfortable position is also a challenge. 

I thought I would strike up a conversation with the more pregnant girl next to me. I happened to be thumbing through Harpers Bazaar and there was a photo of a woman lying on her back sunning herself. "Wouldn't you love to be able to lay like that again?" This could have scared the young woman who apparently laughed politely when my point was the inability to lay on ones back when pregnant. I asked her the typical questions that you ask a pregnant woman: "How far along are you? Is this your first? What are you having?" Only to not have any of the questions reciprocated. Fine, have fun sitting in silence. 

Finally, I got weighed in and my blood pressure taken. Ha! only a three pound gain in a month! No, I'm not dieting. I gained the same amount the last time around only to gain 25 pounds in the last two months and no I did not eat more. As I've explained before, I'm a sweller. I retain large amounts of water much like a camel except my hump is not on my back. The tendons in my feet no longer show and the swelling is only in the beginning stages.

Then the nursing assistant guided me back to the patient room. I immediately pulled out the foot rest on the table and laid down waiting another several minutes. My doctor walks in and the first thing she says is, "No cankles, yet. But there is still time." Cankles is how she diagnosed me the last time I was pregnant. Our conversation went from Cankles to Banana Hammocks. Yeah, that's what we girls talk about to our doctors at our girlie appointments. 

The more concerning thing was I couldn't recall how many weeks pregnant I was, but she measured and dopplered me and said something about being almost 33 weeks. "Really? Where has the time gone?" On my calendar at home, I have my weeks written down. It seems that either she is wrong, which I'm not doubting her. OR, I was wrong. OR, I'm measuring three weeks larger than my original due date, because my child is going to be LARGE.

I like large babies, but the birthing the large baby part makes me a bit nervous. Being cut is not an option... only if it is necessary. I'm not saying I'm a naturalist. God made the people who founded the epidural procedure too. If someone offered me an epidural now, I would get one. I will walk into the hospital and immediately ask for my drugs this time. But I digress, I'm not keen on the C-section for two reasons: first off is our insurance does not cover what is called "routine OB care". Whomever came up with this term should be beaten by a pack of pregnant women. There is nothing routine about being pregnant. WTF do you cover under this type of insurance, really? I will not go on, because I get upset. Our family cannot change the fact that our insurance changed to this sorry ass carrier "Golden Rule"... the rule is they have the gold by sucking out your gold. So, not only does our insurance NOT cover any of my OB visits, it does not cover the hospital fees and anesthesia. The price for a C-section is DOUBLE that of the vaginal delivery. Now, if something is wrong and it is necessary I'll get cut. My other reason for not wanting the C-section is not wanting to have my abdominal wall cut. It just seems like a painful recovery. I have many friends who have had C-sections and recovered just fine and probably better than what I went through with my first birth. I will not get into specifics, but I will say that I still had stitches.

Now, I've got to visit my doctor every two weeks.