Community Support

I tweeted about this earlier and then really just left it alone. And now at 34 weeks pregnant, sufficiently annoyed by pants, shoes and anything that requires bending over I am in full on GFY mode. 

Here's a bit of background: I hate forums. HATE THEM. For several reasons which I will now list and people will either argue with or ignore. Don't care. 

1) PEOPLE SPELL SHIT WRONG. All the time. 
"It seams like..." Seams? like SEWING SEAMS? Those are actual things. 
"Dissappointed" - Wait - were you appointed to a position of some sort then dissed? That must be what you mean! 

This makes me crazy. Most internet browsers will tell you when something is spelled wrong. And for people who find homonyms confusing I invite them to repeat 9th grade. 

2) Everything ends in LOL - especially if it has no punctuation.
"all my bras don't fit I started off as a double G lol"
Are you boobs laughing? Are they laughing out loud because your bras don't fit? FIND ME A COMMA DAMMIT. 

3) People have nothing else to do. 

CAVEAT: Pregnancy forums have plenty of people on bed rest so I get that - you do nothing day in and day out. Talking to people online is a good way to keep yourself sane. NOTED. 

Here are some fun questions:
"Why is it so dead here today?" 
"No one has heard from mrsjennisbabymama"
"WHY DIDN'T YOU READ THE FAQs?" 

OK look. I get that there's a forum etiquette. Totally get that and really most, if not all, of my random pregnancy Google searches link me directly to several forums that I don't participate in often, if at all. Working in the digital industry I know Google works something like this: 
You:  "FIND ME THIS"
Goggle: "OK HERE ARE ALL THE THINGS I HAVE FOUND FOR YOU! The ones at the top say this shit the most. I did it in about -.124379603471 seconds because I am better at the internet." 
You: All hail the great oracle Google. 

This last one bothers me the most. I am very very lucky to be surrounded by friends with toddlers and babies who remember the pregnant days, the first few weeks, etc. Some are on their second pregnancy and most are quick to answer any question/panic I have. And thank God for them as I have made the "ummmm is this normal?!" phone call about poop, pain, hair, skin and husbands. But I know there are people that don't have a community to go to. Maybe they're the first having children of all their friends or their mom isn't present. Frankly, my mom barely remembers anything and what she does remember is a bit obsolete. She'll say that as well. Whatever the reasons people come to forums such as The Bump or What To Expect to vent and ask questions; what they don't come for is belittling or assholery. So when someone posts a question about insurance or breast feeding and is immediately told in the tone of posted already jackass to search the other threads, I get a little heated. And then people who have spent their lives on these forums building signatures and coming up with adorable little lingo (DD: dear daughter or DS: dear son) make "sticky posts" that say shit like NEWBIES: Please read and This What a Non-Repeat Post Looks Like! Only you know, shit's spelled wrong and there's arguments like "we've been friends for EIGHT WHOLE MONTHS and have been talking about this 4EVA" and I get a whole lot of heated. And then maybe, I say something. Or maybe I don't because fighting with people is useless and so frustrating. Plus that's what I use this blog for - venting about stupid people. 

Does this bug anyone else? Are forums as irritating to everyone else or is it just me? 

A Most Disconcerting Event

Before anyone loses it: 

1) I am fine

2) Raptor is fine

In fact, we're all doing peachy. RaptorDad begins a new job today - one that will challenge him AND give him three weeks paternity leave! Woo Hoo for amazing insurance and benefits! 

Friday, on my way to the job I have slowly grown to loathe, a very nice man rear-ended me. Stop. Wait. Please see above.

Everyone calm now? Great. He drives an Acura Sedan and I drive a Honda Pilot. The sedan plead no contest and racked up ~$5K in damages. The Pilot brushed off its shoulders gangsta style and soldiered on. No airbag went off. The seatbelt was on and really he took one look at 8 mos of Raptor growth and most likely shit his pants. 

However, my darling husband came running the moment I texted and urged me to call the doctor. Raptor spent a good part of the morning using my ribs/lungs as a punching bag - evidently unscathed - however I acquiesced. 

I left a message on my way to purgatory; the nurse immediately called back and all but ordered my ass into the doctors office. They ushered me in right away (when does that happen?!) and strapped me to a monitor. Guys this is not how I wanted to spend my Friday. After 25 min of marking Raptor movements and general roundhouses to my kidneys, the doc was all get thee to L&D! Because any sort of "trauma" requires at least FOUR HOURS OF MONITORING. That's right. Hospital gown, hospital bed, nurses, IVs - ALL THE THINGS. 

Then came a cervical exam - those are decidedly not fun. Unfun. Completely devoid of all enjoyment/comfort. And then the medical powers-that-be decided I should have an ultrasound! Joy! Rapture! We get to see the Raptor. And right then and there I knew ... our surprise was about to be ruined. Because even though I told the tech we didn't know the gender and didn't want to know the gender, some small part of my brain just knew she was going to spill it. Look, the Raptor is running out of room and the tech was doing her job checking for any placental ruptures, fluid leaking, anatomy, etc. Never mind the Raptor spent 20 minutes practicing a cross-jab on the heart monitor or that three nurses spent the better part of the afternoon staring at my vag chasing the little shit around trying to get an accurate heartbeat reading, we had to have an ultrasound. So while telling us that the Raptor had hiccups, the fluid and placenta looked fine she moseyed over to the naughty bits and RaptorDad saw. He saw and knew. Thankfully I wasn't paying attention and then she said it, " Baby ____ is doing just fine." I turned slowly and just looked at her, more bewildered than angry and quietly said, "You just told us what we were having." Poor woman felt so bad, apologized profusely and swore she had never done that before. Nothing like being the first! Alright RaptorReaders - do you want to know? Not want to know? I am giving you the choice since apparently ours was taken from us!!! (Oh the melodrama!) 

Things on my bathroom floor...

RaptorDad will need to pick up.

1 Pre-Natal Vitamin

1 Makeup Removal Cotton Pad

Makeup Sponges 

1 Distorted Bobby Pin

1 Full Travel-Size Shower Gel

Length of time on said floor: Unknown 

Chances if me picking these up: 0%

And another thing...

Last night I thought for a moment that we are having an incredibly rhythmic raptor - then I realized it was just the hiccups. Hiccups in my belly. Raptor got super-annoyed so there would be a hiccup and then a giant knee-roll into my organs. Another hiccup? Another roll - this time to my ribs. 

Pregnancy is amazingly fucking creepy. 

Things!

I've been staring at this cursor for a few days now. I explained to Dills recently that I open up this page and have nothing to say. And bless her, she's so good at posting - even the small things - her epic quest for a rug or learning about possum cleaning. See? She's interesting and funny. And now I want to write a whole post about her! 

OK. OK. Back to selfish, big ol' me. I am 30 weeks pregnant guys and I should probably be freaking out. Only I am not even though I have 9 weeks left of being childless. So now I am starting to freak out about not freaking out which really means that I will have a MASSIVE freakout right after the baby comes and I have no idea what to do. 

Good things: 
- Daddy Raptor built the crib from IKEA and the daybed from IKEA so our nursery is coming together! Honestly, that man has endless patience with teeny tiny pieces and no word instructions. He's going to be ACES as a dad. He claims its from years of Legos and building models. Friendly tip single ladies - MARRY A GEEK! They looove to build shit and you get out of dealing it. Unless you love it then marry someone who hates it. Seriously though he would tighten a screw, the plank would fall over and he would just pick it up and do it again. After this happened five times I took my leave. Apparently sitting in the rocker and watching him NOT get frustrated pushed me over the edge. Don't you wish you were married to me? 

- Three Baby Showers. GUYS THREE BABY SHOWERS. I have so many things. SO. MANY. THINGS. And I still need more things! Like a stroller! And a car seat!  And a baby! So the nursery mentioned above is a bit in shambles. Bags everywhere. Adorable baby art to be hung. Teeny socks to be washed. Thank You cards waiting to be written. THINGS! Yes yes yes yes ... Good things. AMAZING THINGS. Like the mustache paci from our cousins Amy, Jen & Carrie - clearly in the boy camp. Or the gorgeous little owl in our nursery colors from my friend Mel who MADE IT. Like with her own two hands. To make no mention of my friend Meesh who handmade a blanket and two bibs - IN ONE DAY.  My people are awesome. 

- People keep telling me I carry this pregnancy well. I have been handing out $5 bills to keep the compliments coming. 

 Bad Things:
- People are lying about me carrying this pregnancy well. I think it has to do with the $5. My over-sized sweatpants are tiiiiiight. 
- Sleeping and the lack therof. 
- Working and the abundance thereof. Shit's been going down at work y'all. It ain't cute. 
- Freaking out over not freaking out. 
- Vag punches that also result in the occasional lung kick. Yeah that happens. 



 

 

How to Explain My Stupidity - Video

Please pardon the horrible quality. Really this person just filmed their TV screen and if I wasn't lazy I would search for a legit clip. But I am lazy and here we are with some poor schmuck's video clip - you still get the gist. 

This is me. Every. Single. Day. Flying abilities and suit of armor not included. 

Yesterday, I asked my husband to turn off the windows. 

Earlier I asked my HR person to give me the total number of labors. 

The day before after purchasing a painting stick thingamajig for the Hubs I asked if he liked that he can change the colors. I meant the lengths of said painting thingamabob. 

Cranberry. 

Things You Shouldn't Say to a Pregnant Woman

Everyone has one of these. But this alllll happened today. 

Stressing about my outfit: 
Me (wearing an orange shirt and black boots): "Do I look like a pumpkin?"
Boss: "Um...a variation of one."

On guessing the sex of the baby:

Finance Woman (after expressing how LARGE she was while pregnant with her daughter):
"Well I would say you're having a girl?"
Me: "Why?" 
FW: "Well your hips are MUCH bigger since you've gotten pregnant."


On Halloween: 

Halloween Planner Person: "Let's do a haunted yellow brick road!"
Me: "Oh that sounds cool."
HPP: "You get to be the witch."

Fuck you Tuesday. FUCK YOU. 

Pain in the Butt

Starting Tuesday I've had these random shooting muscle pains in my butt. Since I possess the sassy-sounding swayback, a nifty little upswing around the tailbone, my low back has always been an asshole. But this random shooting pain feels slightly different. 

TO THE INTERNETS! 

And here is where I learned that I basically have back pain because I exist. 

"Even more pregnant women have posterior pelvic pain, which is felt lower on your body than lumbar pain. You may feel it deep inside the buttocks, on one or both sides or the back of your thighs. It may be triggered by activities such as walking, climbing stairs, getting in and out of a tub or a low chair, rolling over in bed, or twisting and lifting.Positions in which you're bent at the waist – such as sitting in a chair and leaning forward while working at a desk – may make posterior pelvic pain worse." 

- thebabycenter.com

Looks like it's triggered by: 

Walking

Sitting

Getting in and out of your car 

Getting in and out of bed

Working 

Bathing 

I exist and therefore I have deep butt pain. Thank God for you medical brainiacs! 

And the treatment is just as clear and easy to follow: 

Stand more! 

Sit more! 

Walk more! 

Use Hot! 

Use Cold! 

#firstworldpreggoproblems 

Absentia

All apologies for my absence. I began a post that surely would have been hilarious; only when I went o finish it a few weeks later I discovered that I forgot the purpose of said post. It was about the nursery and how the room is so hot. See? Gut-busting funny. 

Here's the rundown on the goings-on in the past few weeks. 

• I went to Mexico. No not hey-you-lost-your-head-Mexico but Holy-crap-I-may-live-here-forever-Mexico. Then I decided maybe major surgery in Mexico isn't the best idea regardless of the dual citizenship benefit. I got a tan, had a couple Dos Equis and never drank tap water. Thus? Never pooped my pants. Awesome. 

• If one more person tells me JUST WAIT when I refer to: not sleeping, feeling large, having a waddle or insert pregnancy malady here, i am going to punch them in the face. Consider yourselves warned. I AM LIVING IN THE MOMENT PEOPLE. 

• I wish I could have someone hold the raptor for a minute. Literally just say "hey can you hold this? I am going for a quick run and I will be right back - 30 min tops." And I would come back because all this shit is a miracle and amazing but I miss running. I also miss walking up stairs without getting winded. 

• The raptor moves like a Capoeira dancer/fighter - all rolls and kicks and random side-to-side movements. Where's the FLUTTER I was promised?! No flutter, just vag punches. 

• Today the doctor told me I wear pregnancy well. I almost kissed his feet and while I suspect he says that to all the patients he performs C-sections on, I will take it as he owes me no compliment of the sort and assured me he doesn't say it to people who don't wear it well. I am believing him.

• If my mother asks me one more question about the shower, I am having her relocate it to McDonalds. GET THE FUCKING MINI-QUICHES. Order nuggets from Chik-fil-A. Get a platter from Publix. I really don't give a shit. Last night she called me to say that she may have gotten the wrong patter of animals for the theme. The theme I didn't choose so much as decide to register for and blurted Giraffe! when asked. Now it's a jungle theme and she got Lion King AND OMG IT DOESN'T MATCH. Guys, I want to see some people, be belly-accosted by Cubans, eat cake and open presents. That's all. It doesn't need a theme. Throw up some streamers in yellow and white and call that shit a day. *sigh* I AM grateful; Stop judging me. 

Let's Discuss

I know. I should post more but other than feeling like a beached whale with digestive problems I really don't have a whole lot going on preggo-wise. Basically, I will now complain. What? I haven't been complaining ENOUGH for your liking?!? Well this is you're LUCKY FUCKIN' DAY. As always these complaints are couched in the fact that they're totally first world problems and not real complaints; I couldn't be happier to be pregnant. 

Dear Paige Denim: I understand that you're considered the best of the best. I love that I found some of your jeans on Zulily at a not-ridiculous price and they are indeed quite comfy. However, may we discuss for a moment the tag at the belly seam? Hey, I get it - you want to be different and put that tag somewhere else. Like maybe I want to show off the size of my jeans and not have to show my butt crack? Or maybe one has SO MANY jeans that they have to check who exactly made these overpriced legs of denim, let's make it easy for to whip out that tag and show it off. And when you're a non-pregnant size 26 (not never ever will be me) that's cute. Oh excuse my teeny waist and rock hard abs, while I look to see who made my jeans. Oh look! It's Paige! See how adorable this insignificant pocket is next to my tag? That's just in case I want to melt my lipstick by smooshing it against my non-existent love handle. 

*Wow. That was a hell of a tangent - apologies y'all* 

My point here is - a tag on a belly seam in MATERNITY jeans is fucking dumb. We're already itchy - we're like ALL GET OUT itchy. Seams in the maternity jeans already toe the line of comfort - too high, too low - so please 'splain to me the idea of adding them to maternity jeans. 

Don't worry; I'll wait. 

Did anyone else splurge on maternity jeans and find them lacking? I mean I am all for my sassy Joe's Jeans non-preggo but dropping $200 on jeans I will just wear for a few months seems silly. Now if someone wants to purchase some for me then please by all means shop away. Maybe it's being of "Advanced Maternal Age" that makes me all cranky about it but as much as I would love to drop a cool $100 on some cardigan The Goop says is all the pregnancy rage I think getting a pedicure and lunch with a friend is a much better use of money. 

Secondly can we just discuss this? 

Oh Zulily. Zulily, Zulily, Zulily. Where do I begin? First I know many a breastfeeding mom and never have they said to me, "You know what I love to do? Put on my makeup, a jazzy necklace, sparkly earrings and a ball gown; find the closest Laundr-O-Mat and whip out my boob to feed my baby." Because CLEARLY that's what this photo is implying. I implore nay BEG those of you who look at this and think "well that's my TUESDAY!" to please call me. I think we need to discuss what the hell you are doing with your day and how I can become part of that club. 



This photo linked to a sale on maternity lingerie which is personally not my thing but I can absolutely see how women out there feel sexier thanks to the big boobs and hormonal fluctuations. I see no issue with maternity lingerie per se however I do think this picture sets women up for a completely unrealistic sense of post-natal life. And now after Googling it I see that  unrealistic expectation via media is clearly par for the course (DUH). Would you all remind me to take a picture of myself in February so we can be a bit more realistic than this utter nonsense? Because you know I will forget. And you know I am not putting on a fucking ball gown especially if they're adding some tags to the middle. 

Things Better Left Unsaid

This week in YOUR BABY IS GOING TO DIE NEWS. No fewer than three people have told me horror stories about someone they know (friend-of-a-friend, neighbor, coworker) losing their unborn child at 5 months, 7 months, 39 weeks. With the really awesome clarification of "No one knows why!" "They don't know what happened." 

Wow. Thanks. 

The best part was every single time said storyteller would say "I shouldn't be telling you this" and then continued to horrify me with stories. 

Friends, countrymen, asshats - please don't tell horror stories to first-time pregos. We are all too aware that shit happens, complications arise and that life can really be a fucking dick sometimes. But hearing it and instinctively going to the "Please please please don't let that happen to me" place in your mind IS NOT GOOD FOR THE BABY. Or the Mom. Or the Husband/Partner that has to talk to his significant other off the ledge of I AM GOING TO KILL OUR BABY.

We're bombarded with don't eat bacon! don't drink wine! don't eat deli meat! don't sleep on your back! And a whole host of other don'ts that are often presented as YOU WILL HAVE A BROKEN BABY IF YOU DO THIS. Look, none of us wants a broken baby or a sick baby or a baby with hooves - unless the father is a centaur. And trust me when I tell you that simple things like rolling over on your stomach in the middle of the night, an errant piece of bleu cheese, the meat sweats all trigger the ohmygod-will-my-baby-grow-up-to-be-miley-cyrus-now reaction. And I think we can all agree - no one wants to feel that way. So thank you for keeping your dead baby stories to yourself.

And pass the bacon... that shit is delicious. 

No Shame

One of the greatest things about being pregnant is not really giving a flying fuck about anything anymore. PB&J? Bring me all the carbs! Two appetizers? Well DON'T MIND IF I DO! Oh sorry, I farted. YES IT WAS ME. But the best part about being a first-time expecto is hearing "oh yeah, girl that's totally normal" from every former-pregnant-now-mom-official woman you know. 

"Girl I got restless leg syndrome."
"My poop changed color and consistency!" 
"I have never made more snot in my life than I do now." 
"I can't look at chicken." 
"The produce section of the grocery store freaks me out."  

I love the camaraderie that comes with shared experience - especially among us girls. Pregnancy seems to be the great equalizer - (except for those freaks who never have anything bad happen to them; they're not real and should be banned from society brandished as freaks.) boob pain, sex dreams, swollen feet, varicose veins, overflowing sinuses, constipation, all-day puking, nausea, extreme fatigue - most of us get some thing or many things. Just today at a local event, I spoke with a friend who's roughly 8 weeks pregnant and we lamented about random sneezing. Her's? A daily double sneeze that shakes walls. Mine? A fearsome triple that wakes the dead. Neither of us have colds or allergies - we just sneeze. That shit's weird. Also weird? The nosebleeds. Like the huge nosebleed I got at my birthday dinner. There I am sitting in a gorgeous restaurant with all my non-pregnant skinny well-groomed friends and after those three sneezes I damn near had a CSI moment at the table. Thankfully, I stocked up on tissues and avoided an all out CLEAN UP AT TABLE 4 moment. 

And here during all this camaraderie is when I begin to notice the haters, the dissenters - the women who point and judge at every single decision made. For instance, we have good friends that scoff at us for not finding out the sex and say shit like: "Hope you're prepared for all the ugly yellow and green shit you're going to get." 

Wow. Thanks guys! First off, there are more than 4 colors in the world. Secondly, who the hell says girls can't wear blue? I love blue. Jewel tone blue, turquoise, Carolina blue (that's a thing here), light blue etc.  I love most shades of pink - dark fuschia, a light coral and deep mauve. Yes those are all pinks. SHUT UP IT'S MY BLOG.  But mostly there's a palette of colors that is just now becoming popular for a gender neutral room - grays, oranges, turquoise(s), reds, beiges, etc. And while I am no Martha Stewart I certainly hope that I can come up with something less cliche than pink and blue. Fuck it, maybe I'll emo the whole thing with white, black and giant splashes of red - reminiscent of my nosebleeds. 

Granted, colors make up a small part of the judgement. Names, diet, exercise (choice of, amount of), and husband participation have become fodder for whispers and dinner table conversation. And while it's hard for me to cry - CAN'T WE JUST ALL GET ALONG? I feel the need to. This is the weirdest most amazing thing our bodies do and yeah sometimes it sucks (HI THREE AM... AGAIN) but for the most part? It's kinda fucking amazing. And there's no way I can tell someone else how to make the weird and the painful tolerable or manageable. If Spaghetti-Os is the only thing that you can eat without throwing up then get to Costco. If a daily 45 min on an elliptical machine keeps you from throwing a gallon of milk at your husband, then by all means pedal away. Should you eat more than just Spaghetti Os? Yep. Should you maybe throw a yoga class in with that elliptical routine? Absolutely as my hips hurt just thinking about it. But I eat Reese's Peanut Butter Puffs every morning because they're fucking delicious and have fewer nutritional elements than my sofa cushions. I am pretty sure I didn't eat a single non-fried thing last Friday. Hmmm maybe the salad the fried Asian shrimp was served on? That counts right?? 

Look, I can't say I don't judge or make comments. It hurts when I hear people complain about being pregnant when I know so many who are draining bank accounts and sanity in order to get the chance. Or when I read that some woman ran a half-marathon at 17 weeks pregnant - in 2:32 no less! (Bitch. Amazing Bitch but Bitch nonetheless) But let's take a second and revel in the fact that men can't do this and doctors can guess how it's done but they still don't have 1/3 of the answers; this shit is crazyamazinginsanelunacy - and the kid isn't even here yet. 

Soapbox closed. 

Stupid Shit

This last week has been allll the stupid.  As in me - I AM ALL STUPID. And the first thing to go? My superior knowledge of the English language. Look, I pride myself on knowing a homonym and recognizing a run-on sentence. Yes, I correct spelling in an IM. And sometimes texts. 

Looking like you speak English on digital paper is just as important as actually speaking English so take your YOLO and shove it. 

Monday:
I said, "We've spinned our wheels on this for 2 weeks." 
Spinned. GUYS I SAID SPINNED. My co-worker looked at me as if I sprouted a horn and just said...wha??? 

Tuesday: 
"You know like the circles? In the trees? When you cut a tree open and it shows the age?" 
Co-worker: "You mean the tree rings?" 

Note: I just had to ask him again because I FORGOT the earlier conversation.

Wednesday: Texting a good friend in San Francisco. 
"Well if you wander over hear let us know!" 

Four Hours Later: 
"Hear MiT?! REALLY?! HERE. If you wander over HERE. GOD" 

Yep. Here.

Thursday: 
Me: "You're totally invaluable."
Co-worker: "You mean...valuable?"
Me: "No...like I can't live without you!"
Co-worker: "So...indispensable?"
Me: "SHUT UP I USED TO KNOW THINGS." 

Friday:  Me: "Oh and what about those things?" points to bowls,tongs and general serving utensils
Coworker: "The disposable catering stuff?"
Me: "No! The things...with the serving...over there." clearly pointing again to bowls, tongs and general serving utensils. 
Coworker: "You mean the bowls?"
Sigh. 

Things I Can No Longer Do! Week 15

I worked out for the first time this past weekend taking a Dance Fusion class that's kinda like Zumba without the trademark and the obligatory Betto payment. Seriously y'all Zumba's a bit of a racket but it's fun so I will allow it. 

After being hit by a mack truck of exhaustion it felt fantastic to shake my pregnant groove thang for 45 minutes and work up a good sweat. It's still a bit of a shock to look at myself in the mirror and think girl lay off the carbs or tie those suckers down before you wind up with two black eyes. The most astounding part of the entire hour though wasn't my expanding waistline or my ginormous boobage oh no ma'am; the most astounding part is how much my ability to do shit has gone to shit. 

Exhibit A: 
Side step with an under knee clap. Yes it's Jazzercise-y - whatever I am moving. 

See that sassy little arrow telling you where to clap? Fuck you sassy arrow because the only thing I get to is clapping my ACTUAL KNEE. That's right because suddenly I can't get under either knee to clap or wave or do shit because apparently my knees have a new boundary o' baby. 






Exhibit B: Touching the floor. Yeah you read that right! Touching the floor with straight knees aka forward fold. 

No I never looked like that you get the idea.
 Shut up. 

Now I rocked some yoga in the past couple years mastering all sorts of weird ass moves and OM-ing my way to Zen for 90 minutes. And as un-competitive you're supposed to be in yoga, I loved looking over and seeing that I was one of the few that could hit a forward fold. 

When the teacher asked us to bend our knees, put our hands on the floor and stand up I thought - yeah this fat girl can totally do that - whaaaaat!!! I stood up and my hands popped up off the floor like springs. Surely, I was simply not paying attention and redid the move. Nope.  It's like getting out an old favorite book and someone changed the ending without your consent. It's Eminem NEVER losing himself in the moment. It's like Beyoncé with no Oncé.  OK so that really doesn't mean anything but you get what I am saying. I just hung there all fallen over, hands on my shins thinking shit I really should have shaved and what the hell just happened here?! Why are my hamstrings broken!? I am growing a baby in my uterus not my hamstrings. 

The lesson? The ENTIRE BODY gets all involved with the uterus shenanigans. Not just the boobs to feed the mini-raptor or lady bits for the nurturing, ALL THE PARTS. (credit: AllieBrosh)
Can't wait to find out what else breaks during the upcoming months as I am sure this will become a series rather than a single post. Anyone want to start placing bets on what goes next? 

But... I'm Doing It Backwards?!

All: I need to know why we don't wear maternity clothes ALL THE TIME. Seriously. Who is answering this question for me because someone needs to immediately. 

Now look, maternity clothes cost more than the arrival of the child which OK is maybe one reason why we don't wear them all the time. However, zulily.com sends me a daily email with at least one or two deals for maternity clothes. A few weeks ago the deal was for Page Maternity jeans which looked great and at about $60 each - a decent price. Remember our current Dante weather aside, I'm going to be pregnant well into fall/winter so I need to keep my shit together for another few months. I missed the memo where someone told me that maternity jeans run OVER $150 when sweatpants and a fucking muumuu would suffice. Sixty bucks was a damn gift and if I had known when the sale was on I would have bought them out and sold them on eBay. College funds bitches! 

Like every other major jean designer Page assumes I am approximately 12 feet tall so I dropped them off at my friendly Asian tailor (no I don't hem my own pants. I cook and do laundry - wife card complete) thinking oh I can wait 3 days before I am going to need these. Right now allllll the formerly-pregnant people are laughing at my naivete. Why? Because the past three days I have been rocking non-mat pants with the super-hot hairband loop and about two inches of gut just hanging out there under my flowy shirt. Yeah yeah... it's not gut it's baby blah blah. Let's be clear - it's baby gut. 

Today, I pulled on a pair of brand new maternity leggings that could double as a bra if I didn't need any support. Double that with my new pair of bright orange TOMS and support tank and I literally don't have SINGLE SNAP OR TIE. I assume this will have to be norm for the next couple years - trying to make myself look presentable without structure. But screw structure right now, right? RIGHT. 

I find it odd that I am eager to grow INTO clothes rather than shrink out of them. That's going to get old soon isn't it? It's the opposite mindset of the last 20+ years of my life; that and the unstoppable urge to eat at every 20 minutes. Or rather give into the urge to eat every 20 minutes. Although the wider I get, I have to remind myself I need to get wider before I get belly-ier. That's a word right? Yep it is today.

Belly-ier. Get on it. 

In lieu

I've been celebrating my "advanced maternal age" and blinding insomnia for the past few days and have been unable to finish a post that does not suck. But during the aftermath of a particularly rough bout of insomnia and an annoying day at work, I was ready to shiv people in the kidney and call it day. And then this little gem from my best friend gave me the best laugh of the day. 

You're welcome. 

The Day I Got Old

For the record, it was today. Now I know - ma'am - that one just doesn't get old in a day but trust me today was that day. 

This morning I woke up at 6:15 with knot in my shoulder and a pulsing headache behind my left eye. Then immediately shoved about 4 handfuls of oyster crackers into my face, peed, drank a half-gallon of water and declared myself awake - AT SIX FIFTEEN ON A SATURDAY. 

On my way to a delightful brunch with Dills, her adorable sons and a giant plate of monkey bread I must have yelled at no fewer than five idiot drivers about their lack of turn signal. All, I don't understand why it's so hard to just let people know that you have an intention to turn. You literally don't have to LIFT A FINGER. It's a flick - a single flick of your finger and you can make my murderous rage disappear. And really, it's all about my murderous rage. 

Also please note: I stopped this post to take a nap. And not a disco nap - a full out sweaty drooling nap that really should be continued in my bed until tomorrow morning. 

Do you see where I am headed? Before that nap I had dinner at 6PM because after a trip to the mall where I bought nothing like a grown-up, I was ravenous. The Hubs turned on Palladia to some outdoor music festival while I folded laundry (have you started yawning yet?). Here's what I said: 

1. I used to think those are so fun; now it just crowds of stinky, hot people with smokers breath.  
2. This music is TERRIBLE. 

I immediately turned on HGTV while the Hubs mocked me for shaking my cane at the young'uns. 

At least it's OK for me to mock those idiots that totally choose the wrong house. 

ETA: I wasn't going to mention the other 5 things that proved I got old but then completely forgot by the time I got to writing this post. Mostly because the fact that I FORGOT THEM IN 2 HOURS just proves my point. NOW GET AWAY FROM MY AZALEAS. 

You know what sucks?

Trying to write about something personally confusing. And that's what I am doing right now. Or at least trying to. But not really because instead I am posting this which is really just a bunch of words on a page. Let's talk about pregnant stuff because that's not personal or confusing right? Right? 

If I tell one more person I pooped today the local new station is going to show up at my door and do a feature. Or the Internet police will come to my door and be all, Ma'am no one cares that you pooped. And they would totally call me ma'am because this is the week of ma'aming me to death. "Can I get you anything else, ma'am?" "How can I help you ma'am?" DON'T YOU MA'AM AT ME. I am young! I am filled with snark! I am not ma'am worthy. Just because I am in bed before 10:30P and can't sleep past 8AM - hmph. Your face is a ma'am. 

Now before I took the tangent train to Ma'amville (and don't think there aren't going to be any more stops there), my rambling was heading towards why the Hubs and I refuse to make this whole making-a-person-thing "Facebook Official" or rather FBO. 
(Yes, someone I know called it FBO. I can't; I won't; I refuse.) And while I am sure those who have asked shrug-off my reasoning as pregnant craziness, but Hubs and I agreed on this one. 

Reason's we are not announcing on the Book of Face: 

1.  Facebook is for amusement and general nosiness; I really just want people to think I am funny, not breeding. 
2. I have 360 "friends" on Facebook. I talk to approximately 1/4 in real friend life. If I talk to you in real friend life you know I am pregnant. You're welcome. If you found my blog, you don't know who I am and you know I am pregnant! You're welcome too. 
3. When I was trying to get pregnant, every pregnancy announcement on Facebook made me want to stick hot pokers in my eyes and immediately released horrible person MiT. I never want to unknowingly have people feel that way and yes I know,  I don't "make" people feel a certain way but still, I've felt that and don't want to make others feel that way indirectly. 
4. It's no one's business what's happening in my uterus. I write because what's happening to me isn't unique to the world but it's unique to me. And because some of this is funny/weird/amazing. Plus I like writing - this gives me something to write about rather than all things on Pinterest that I am never going to do or how blah my life is. This is more fun because I talk about poop at least once a post. 

Ma'am - that's some fucking bullshit. 

My avatar and other religious things

I chose the avatar because it's funny. What isn't funny about Jesus cradling a Velociraptor? God I love the Internet.

Note: I didn't choose it because I think I am Jesus (Ahem Kanye) nor that I am Godly or a Virgin Mother or any of those Catholic idols my mother so adores. It's FUNNY. And I am pretty sure that being a pregnant person and then a mother requires you to have a sense of humor or a bottomless Valium prescription. The former is cheaper and better for my liver. 

Speaking of religion and idolatry, my Dad stepped up on his organized religion soapbox this weekend and assumed/insisted that we're going to raise the little 'raptor with some religious structure right? RIGHT?  OK well to be fair, he did ask about baptizing/christening the biscuit first. To which I responded, "Um, sure. I mean, we can." 

UTTER DISMAY.  

Look, I can't just saunter into a church and be all, "Hey here's my baby dump some water on it and read some Scripture!" I mean, I don't think I can because my Catholic upbringing was pretty much "Are you IN or are you OUT?" And we're so on the OUT side of that bargain. Although perhaps I can pay them off? Like "Here's $500 for your church or whatever dunk my kid in a pool and say a Hail Mary!" Also a product of Catholic upbringing but not completely out of the realm of possibility. 

Things REALLY got heated when the actual raising within some church/religion/Osteen-like cult came up probably because my answer was "Erm, not...really."  

Here's the question: Do I baptize/christen our 'raptor because my parents insist? It doesn't go against any belief of ours per se although the notion of a baby holding on to some sort of "Original Sin" from a fairy tale story about a snake seems a bit ridiculous and unfair. Alas, we hardly mind the baptizing/christening portion of the conversation. If my parents would like to take over that part of the dino's life than I am happy to have them do so. However, the insistence of raising a child in the church - any church - made me squeamish. I love how my parents have a foundation; a community that has brought them good friends and a sense of purposefulness they thoroughly enjoy. And who knows? We may do that one day when our litter is gone and grown. However, my Dad's dismay at not raising us with a solid church foundation felt like an attack - like somehow my brother and I are lacking of something. Don't misunderstand, I know that my father was more dismayed in his perceived shortcomings; not his children's current religious affiliations or lack thereof. 

How do you navigate those waters? Do I look for a church? Do I offer to bring the newest member of our family home (a good 2hr plane ride) so they can perform that ritual cleansing at their church - the same I was confirmed in? Do I begin randomly calling any Christian church and ask what they're going out-of-religion baptism rate is? Would it be inappropriate to ask if they hate gays? Or Velociraptors? 

A Non-Announcement

WOO HOO twelve weeks! Hallelujah! And while my parents are beside themselves and my husband tears up when we walk into the doctor's office, I am feeling… perfectly fine about the whole you're-growing-life thing. 

Don't get me wrong, I am OVERJOYED and not a little nervous. But really? I feel like I am just along for the ride. So my digestive system slowed to a crawl making me look at least 5 months pregnant with bloat and poop. Maybe I pee more often that usual or instantaneously such as when I cough or even think about peeing. All the internets assure me this is normal and blah blah so I refuse to worry about it. 

Here's the thing: I am a WORRIER. No one has even doubted my long genetic history of anxiety-ridden lunatics. My grandfather, for example, walked my mom to school. Cute right? Not when she was 17 and a senior in high school. And of course, due to the advances in modern pharmaceuticals, my family now lives a life lower anxiety. I am not going to say "anxiety-fee" because that would a) be a lie and b) there are no pharmaceuticals to cancel out our genetics. Tangent aside, we're all nuts so I am not one hundred percent sure why I am riding this pregnancy wave like it ain't no big thing. 

What I am loving the most is the reaction from friends and family. With one notable exception, my nearest and dearest have hooted, hollered, cried and OMG'd me to the happiest place on Earth. My lifelong best friend showed up after a manic-filled run to Babies R Us with onesies, burp cloths, socks, pacifiers and a $50 gift card. Knowing we're not finding out the sex, it's the usual palette of whites, greens and yellows. This allows me to forgive her after poking at my right boob at the dinner table asking "Is that padding?!" I squelched the urge to ram my fist in her face after assuring her that was NOT padding and indeed my very swollen and tender breast. My family thought it was hilarious; I may offer to stick them with hot pokers so I can laugh at their pain. Aren't I adorable? 

The Hubs and I agreed keeping this all quiet in the Book of Face world. While I love the self-serving and often mock-worthy social media network, I find it unnecessary to announce the goings-on of my uterus to the "friends" I never see or speak to on a regular basis. They're just there to feed my ego about my latest profile picture and laugh at my witty repartee. Now you totally want to be my friend don't you? I can't say that I won't be posting photos of the biscuit when he/she arrives nor do I think posting photos of your children allows the world access to them but I do think there's an increasing need to live off-line. Wait do you hear it? THAT'S IRONY PEOPLE. But in all seriousness, those reading this already know me or have stumbled across this blog after a Google search term gone wrong. Sorry y'all. 

What's happening right now: 

• I forget everything and am easily distracted.
•  I have an iPad, a Nook and about 4 magazine subscriptions that just pile up. I remembered exactly zero for a flight home - even though I have all the chargers packed neatly in my carry-on. What I did remember was my computer - please note the charger stayed safely plugged in to the power strip in my living room. Solution? Bought a magazine. Gave it to my seat mate on the flight. 
• I stood in Barnes & Noble for roughly 35 minutes trying to remember if I read the eighteenth book in the Stephanie Plum series. I remember every book I have ever read in my life. My first book? Danielle Steele - Kaleidoscope. I was 10. Solution? Bought the $7 hard cover and figured out I started but never finished said book. 
• Normally I take out my iPhone and make a note to remember something. Now I take out my iPhone get distracted by something SHINY - like a text or the email bubble or the time. I fiddle for a while then put my phone away and realize that's not why I took it out but that I needed to remember something. What was that again? No clue because I have wandered off in the shiny haze of my Apple product. Hope it wasn't a birthday! Or a doctor's appointment! Solution? I bought a notebook; didn't have a pen. WELCOME TO MY WORLD.
• Peeing - Constant 
• Digestive system - On Hiatus 
• Dreams - Holy vividness Batman. Look I never want to dream in HD much less Plasma LCD dreams with anxiety and work and random Candy Crush challenges. I never win the Candy Crush ones. Or the ones where the house is on fire. But I did have one where my friend was nominated for an Emmy; I don't know if she won. 
• Night Sweats - The lower half of my body breaks out into spontaneous sweat regardless of room temperature. Hot, right? Swampy is more accurate. Thank the Jesus for Johnson's Baby Powder. 

What? It could be.

Pregnancy number two.  Now what? 
I have to stay pregnant which I was unable to do the first time around. Maybe it was the NoroVirus I got the day after I took the test. Or maybe my genetics spewed out a unicorn horn and the Hubs genetics were all NO MA'AM. Which - honestly Hub genetics - we would have been MILLIONAIRES.

Regardless, I am 9 weeks 6 days pregnant. The ultrasound last week showed a floppy fish that jumped around to say hi and a heartbeat. At least the doctor said "Look! There's a strong heartbeat!" and the Hubs refused to move his hand so I could see it. Let's go with believing the doctor and the flippered jumping bean I saw. 

A few things: 

1) I do not have morning sickness and I welcome everyone to hate me. 
2)  My boobs have grown to torpedo-size and I must wear a bra at every moment. In a related note, showering hurts. 
3) Pooping is now waaaaay in the past. Bloating to six month pregnant size happens at least twice a week hence derailing the "eating for two" plan so many expectos tout. 
4) I will fall asleep at ANY GIVEN MOMENT. Do not leave me alone for longer than 45 seconds with a flat surface nearby. Lucky for you I will be up to pee in roughly 10 min. 
5) Peeing. Every 10 min. So fun at 3:30AM!

All those things? Even if the first in the list did not apply would not, for a moment, make me wish myself unpregnant. The Hubs and I have been trying for about a year and since I have a endometriosis-encrusted ovary, each month was a crap shoot. The first time it happened the dates didn't line up and nothing felt well, real, so unicorn horn or no, it wasn't meant to happen. But this time? It feels real. All floppy and wavy and non-poopin - it feels right. Yeah that makes no sense but I really don't care. 

Answers to Questions People Always Have: 

1. We will not find out the sex. Yes I am type A. Yes I am a planner. But I am planning on having a BABY; if it's an elephant we have larger problems than the color of the nursery or a monogram. 
2. No you will not hear our name options. People LOVE to give an opinion and I don't give a shit. You can wait to insult my kid's name when the Biscuit is born and I am vulnerable and manic. Good luck with that! 

Things I hate right now... 

1. "You should..." best never leave your mouth unless I specifically ask... "What should I do?"
2. I am almost 35 and this is my first baby. This means I am of "advanced maternal age" and  I have to worry about 1.7 billion genetic/chromosomal/old ass mother diseases my baby can develop. Anxiety runs in my family and I kindly request all heart-breaking stories to be filtered through this lens.