Monday, September 29, 2008

Warning. The following post is rated PG-13.

Yes, two posts in one night. Don't think this will become a habit.

I should warn the more easily embarrassed among us to stop reading now. I'm going to talk about something of a delicate nature. Of course watch about 15 minutes of television and it will be shoved in your face three times, but I should still put the disclaimer out there.

It is getting impossible to watch television without needing to break out the "This is Your Body" book.

Just when I start to relax, one of "those" commercials comes on. You know the ones. About ED (okay, erectile dysfunction.........there, I said it. Are you happy?). While I'm grateful that Bob Dole is no longer doing those commercials (a visual image I could have died happy without having, thankyouverymuchsenatordole), why must there be such a prolific number of these commercials?

They are so graphic!!! Particularly the warnings. "If you have an erection lasting more then four hours, seek medical help".

(Now I'm blushing)

First, four hours? Clearly these are people without young children. Plus, who exactly would need the "medical assistance"?

I'm getting off-topic, but let me just say that IF we ever had a need for those pills in this house and IF either of us ended up needing "medical attention", I would be hiding that bottle faster then you can say "Viagra".

Anyway, every time one of these commercials comes on, the house gets hear-a-pin-drop-silent and I wait for the inevitable "mom, what's an erection?". I usually try to ask a loud question right at that moment in the commercial and so far that seems to be working (meaning the question hasn't been asked), but I know my days are numbered.

Why oh why must they constantly air these commercials? We watch a lot of Discovery Channel and TLC and are BOMBARDED with them. They were even on during the Chiefs game yesterday.


My mother used to bemoan feminine hygiene product ads when we were growing up, particularly when my little brother was watching tv. Remember the Summer's Eve commercial where mother and daughter strolled down a sandy beach talking about "freshness" (anyone actually HAVE one of those moments with their mother? Yeah, me either.)? She particularly HATED that one.

I always thought she was overreacting. I mean periods are just a fact of life, right? Besides, what kid REALLY watches commercials (assuming they aren't for some toy they immediately decide they HAVETOHAVERIGHTNOW).

Then my brother got in trouble at school for calling another boy a vaginal yeast infection. Guess he was picking up more then we thought. (For the record, when asked he said he didn't know what that was, only that it "must be really bad because the women on tv are always upset when they have one".)

So I live in constant fear that my son will get into a verbal spar with another child at school, or church, and tell him he's just mad because his erection has lasted more then four hours.

I'll apologize now, should your child be on the receiving end, and can only say that we were just trying to watch Mythbusters and got more then we bargained for.

New week, new symptoms

So here I sit (literally) at 32 weeks (and two days, but who's counting?). I figured I was done experiencing NEW pregnancy symptoms and would just need to ride out the old-but-getting-worse symptoms.

Heartburn? Check
Stretch marks? Check (though technically they are leftovers from my pregnancy with AM)
Acne? Check (someone once assured me that oily skin means it will age slower. I was tempted to press my forehead on her window. That stuff is hard to get off!)
Swollen ankles/feet? C-H-E-C-K
Frequent potty breaks? For the love of porcelain, check!
Hemorrhoids? I'll leave you guessing on that one. I can't always be an open book.

You get the picture.

Yet pregnancy continues to be a bevy of surprises. Like a Fun House, only all the mirrors that make me look oddly tall and thin have been removed.

My newest symptom: shredded upper abdominal muscles.

Oh, I can hear you saying "shredded? She's so prone to exaggeration and drama."

To that I say, "oh yeah?!". (Pithy comebacks are my gift.)

The muscles about an inch below my ribcage are SCREAMIN' mad. To make matters worse, I had my gallbladder removed a couple of years ago and I swear to you the stupid scar is trying to burst open (the incision that they remove the gallbladder through is about an inch below my sternum). I've actually had to sneak a peek to make sure it's not red and swollen, it aches so bad.

I expected the baby to stick his feet in my ribs. I've heard enough preggos talk about that. I've NOT heard anyone complain about abdominal muscles being torn apart.

Whine, whine, whine, complain, complain.

This one really hurts though!

Wednesday, September 24, 2008

Political Ads

No real time to post any lengthy feelings on the subject, but I just have to say how much I loathe political ads.

Does anyone actually make voting decisions based on these childish, insincere and usually misleading ads? I hope not.

I suppose it's a symptom of a greater disease. As long as they can gripe about the particular verbiage of one stupid statement, or ruminate over how many cars someone has, then they can avoid talking about anything of value.

Oh wait, that's pretty much the state of politics in the country as a whole. Everyone is so busy watching for a "gotcha" moment (so they can get on tv and rant about the injustice/prejudice/whatever of the person unfortunate enough to stick their foot in their mouth) that nobody bothers to try and solve the actual problems.

The country's problems are just another platform they use to get in front of the camera.

Monday, September 22, 2008

Whining........and a mystery

Let me preface this post by saying I am blogging while barely conscious. I wish there was a good story. There isn't. Unless you are intrigued by tales of shots in the backside (or just slightly north of there) that render one totally useless.

So if I spell something wrong, use improper English (okay, it took FOUR tries to type "English" correctly) or generally blather, forgive me.

I still can't figure out why some weeks these blessed (and I mean that in a they-are-not-blessed way) shots effect me so acutely while I barely notice them other weeks.

This wouldn't be a problem, except my family likes to eat (I'm including myself in "my family, because the scale at the ob's office stands as proof that I like to eat). They also like clean underwear. And a lunch packed for school. The occasional restocking of the pantry. You know, super-complicated stuff that is commonly considered insurmountable by normal folk.

I think I vaguely remember "normal".

I'll stop whining now.

I have a mystery. Not a good Nancy Drew-like mystery where you wonder who "done it". No, I already know how the mystery ends and the parties responsible. It's the "clues", the steps leading up to the end of the story, that have me baffled.

Can someone please explain to me how it's possible for my sink to be full of dishes when there has been nary a soul home all day? I will admit to a couple of the dishes. But the rest of them?

Oh I know who's responsible, but what I would like to know is exactly HOW MANY dishes does one require in order to survive overnight and through the early morning hours?

Evidently quite a few.

Needless to say that total exhaustion and a full sink of dishes do not a happy/cheerful wife and mother make.

Thursday, September 18, 2008

Pregnancy brain

I remember having pregnancy brain while pregnant with AM. However, I don't remember completely losing my ability to recall words and/or their spelling while pregnant.

Let this post stand as an open apology to anyone that has been forced to try and decipher something I've said or typed. I am sorry.

I will give you two examples.

One - the other day I wanted to ask MotH to get the milk out of the refrigerator. Seems simple enough, right? I ended up asking him to please get the milk out of the "big rectangle that keeps food cold". Would have been easier to say "refrigerator", right? I agree, assuming I could have recalled the word at that moment. I drew a blank.

Two - a couple of days ago, I was having a conversation via the 'net about the apple orchard we usually go to. I'm a little disappointed that we won't make it this year, but mentioned that my real disappointment stemmed from the fact that, and I quote, "I trotally wanted to make apple pumpkin muphens".

Yes, you read that right. M-U-P-H-E-N-S. Muphens. Sure, it's phonetically correct, but even spell check didn't know what to do with that one.

I substitute words that are close enough, but not quite right. Like saying "sit in your chair and eat your homework". See, when that happens it defeats the purpose of trying to get AM to be still and concentrate. He's too busy laughing at me.

I live in constant fear that I'll send out an email at work that makes the recipient think I'm one cuckoo short of a nest.

Who am I kidding. It's probably already happened.

The part that really concerns me? I recall that pregnancy brain didn't really get better after AM was born. So I'm left to wonder if this is a progressive disease? Will I be worse after this baby?

I'm not sure I want the answer to that.

For now, I'm off to eat a sinamun role.

Monday, September 15, 2008

Have. mercy.

Seven pages of homework.

Two and a half hours.

Rewriting something NINE times until he finally used decent penmanship and I could read what he'd written.

I'm not supposed to take a bath, so Calgon can't take me anywhere.

He's lucky he's so cute, err handsome.

Sunday, September 14, 2008

This won't DO!

I think my belly button is going to pop.


Do you KNOW the suffering I will endure? The "turkey timer"-jokes MotH will tell? It's bad enough that he laughs at me when I put olive oil on my stomach (it helps with itchy-belly syndrome) and asks "are you making sure the skin browns evenly before the turkey is done?".

Plus, I don't WANT it to pop.

It's not like I can sleep on my stomach to make it stop. I'd be a human teeter-totter. What can I do?! Duct tape? Bubble gum? MIGHTY PUTTY? WHAT!!!???

A friend found me a product called Popper Stopper. I hope it doesn't come to that.

Saturday, September 13, 2008

On a happier note

I suppose I should have posted this first, but quite honestly I'm not "all there" right now and it just occurred to me to post it.

As of today, I am 30 WEEKS PREGNANT. I so wish I could enjoy this fact, but right now I feel too crummy.

However, this was another of my BIG milestones and let me tell you, it feels awesome to hit it.

God is so good!

Stay away. Far, far away.

Our home is quickly dissolving into a quarantine ward.

So now AM is sick too. I assume he has the same plague I have, but I was blessed with a child that (in the words of his pediatrician) has an extremely high tolerance for pain and discomfort. She bases this on a recent HORRIBLE ear infection he had that wasn't bothering him in the least (I thought the copious amount of thick, green stuff coming from his nose was sinus related.....who knew? He, of course, insisted he felt "fine").

At any rate, I'm thinking they broke that part of his brain when he was in the NICU. However, this particular ability to block out pain evidently extends only to illness. If there is something even slightly funny about his sock, the whole world comes to a halt until it's fixed.

Anyway, the benefit of an older child is that they are supposed to be able to "tell" you when something is wrong. All of the guessing that gives a mom gray hair in the early years gives way to the relief of a child that can clearly state what ails them.

Except when they don't.

He had a runny nose all morning and was sneezing (though he hasn't done that for a while). He's congested. Low-grade fever. When I ask him what doesn't feel good, he says "nothing on my whole body feels bad".

Well golly, that's helpful.

So I have to assume he has whatever I have, but that it took him nearly a week to get it from me (MotH is, thus far, healthy). I certainly hope he doesn't stay sick as long as I do. He does have the benefit of keeping all of his germ fighting cells to himself, rather then having to donate a large part of them to a growing person, so I have my fingers crossed that he'll be well soon.

Or course I'm not sure how I'll know when he's well, since he doesn't feel sick now.

Thursday, September 11, 2008

Still sick

I'm still sick and yes, still feeling sorry for myself.

Now, I'm starting to run a fever, which is REALLY freaking me out. I am one of those people that tends to run high fevers and can go from 99.5 to well over 102/103 very quickly. Of course all I can do is take Tylenol.

I guess that's not ALL I can take. I called my ob's office to tell him that not only am I not feeling better, but I'm feeling worse every day. They called in an antibiotic for me, so hopefully that will set things right in my world again.

The baby seems to be doing just dandy in his now heated pool. I started using my doppler thing again (the very one that sent a freaked-out me to the ob's office a couple of months ago), because now that I can feel him strongly, it's easy for me to know he's "ok" and not freak if I don't find the heartbeat right away. Of course he's also big enough now for me to find it easily. At any rate, his heartrate is just fine and he's moving around a lot, so he appears to be weathering the storm quite well at this point.

Monday, September 08, 2008

Self Pity

Since self pity is about the only kind I get around here, allow me to indulge my sorry self.

I recently read that the progesterone in pregnancy causes feelings of breathlessness. In the third trimester, those feelings are compounded by the fact that the wee one is smooshing it's mama's lungs.

I figure since I'm on extra progesterone, I'm probably more breathless then the next pregnant woman. I'm certain it's not due to the fact that I was sadly out-of-shape before pregnancy. Nope, it's the progesterone.

So what has the power to make a breathless, pregnant woman even MORE miserable. A bad head cold.

I have no idea where I got it, but that person deserves to be tortured.

I thought my throat irritation yesterday was due to the bonfire we had in our fireplace Saturday night to destroy the documents the FBI is looking.........oops, the old financial documents we uncovered in the soon-to-be nursery (more on that in a minute).

With that as my assumption (and you know what they say about assuming), I went to Worlds of Fun yesterday (company picnic/party). We weren't there all that terribly long, but by the time I got home I knew I wasn't dealing with just throat irritation. By the time I missed almost an entire nights sleep (due to the inability to breathe), it was very clear that I was sick.


I just really hope that AM doesn't get it, since he was drinking from the same water bottle I was using :(.

Now I don't mean to be dramatic (who? me?), but can people die from a cold? I seriously cannot breathe. It's not that I'm wheezing or having some sort of asthma issue, it's that I literally cannot suck in enough oxygen. I'm not a mouth breather (no offense to those that are) and being forced to breathe through my mouth is nearly as distressing as the illness itself!

'Nuff bout that.

Saturday we decided to clean out the closet in the nursery. This was necessary since we plan to put baby clothes in there and the closet was home to a variety of things ranging from my crafting supplies to, as we discovered, unpacked boxes of financial documents from when we moved in (that was 10 years ago, in case anyone's keeping track).

That closet was a little like a time capsule. We found pictures that probably haven't seen the light of day since we moved in. Old health insurance statements. I even found my birth certificate and duplicate copy of our marriage license in an old purse (I wondered where those went).

The pictures were a little depressing. I'm sure my other girlfriends can relate: you don't like to be in pictures because of some perceived physical flaw. Then, ten (fifteen) years later, you wish you had a gazillion pictures of yourself because the chances of ever being that thin or, uh, perky again are slim to none.....without serious surgical intervention.

Yeah, I found some of those pictures of myself. MotH too. Did you know he used to have brown hair? And a full head of it??? It was even long on top and flopped over his eyes in an ever-becoming "skater" hairdo.

Is it any wonder he became my stud muffin?

We also found a stash of socks. I have no idea why they were in that closet, but I suspect that's where the gremlins that steal them from my dryer hide them.

Okay. I'm done. My illness drained brain just promptly ran out of things to type. G'bye.

Thursday, September 04, 2008


Today at work, a co-worker told me I looked "really great". The other day, another co-worker said "you just get cuter every day".

Seriously? Have these people had their eyes examined? By a trained expert? Did anyone smell their breath when they returned from lunch?

I just want to ask them "what, exactly, about me is 'cute' or 'great?'".

Would it be the double chin? The one that looks like I'm storing nuts for the winter in it?

Maybe it's the red rash creeping up my chest.

Oh, I know! It's my cankles. I have new dimples. ON MY FEET!! I have fluid retention in areas of my ankles/feet that I wasn't aware had any room for fluid to accumulate. Have you ever seen someone fill a latex glove with water? So that the "body" of the glove is bloated, then the skinny fingers hang off the end. Yep, that's pretty much my feet right now.

Wait! It the bouts of profuse sweating I go through several times a day. The one's that make it impossible for me to wear anything more then one time without washing.

Or it could just be............
My oily skin complete with zits
My "wide load" backside that will soon be fitted with a small, beeping warning signal to indicate when I'm about to back up
My fat upper arms that don't just "wave back" when I wave......they actually DO the wave. You know, like at ballgames.
My extra "fluff" that is already dangerously close to the "normal" weight-gain range, despite the fact that I still have the "heaviest" weeks ahead.

I'm certain there are more, but I need to go on?

Yet, and here's the thing that probably qualifies me for a pro-bono head examination, I love it. I LOVE feeling him move (even if it still weirds me out a little). I LOVE every new symptom.

I LOVE feeling like I'M FINALLY a card-carrying member of a secret women-only club that I got kicked out of just prior to making it through hazing last time.

In the past, I've had to bite my tongue when I've heard a fully pregnant woman complain about the discomforts of pregnancy. I've thought "yep, swollen ankles are MUCH more uncomfortable then sitting by your son's bedside praying he'll live another day".

I swore that I would NEVER. BE. ONE. OF. THOSE. WOMEN. if I was every lucky enough to be pregnant again.

But here's the thing........I LOVE that I have some things to complain about. Seriously. Sometimes I complain just because I can, because it makes me "just another crabby pregnant lady". Don't any of you DARE tell MotH that! Refer to my above complaint about extra "fluffage". I'll take you out. I will.

Of course all of this will change once I've had the baby and I'm dealing with the aftermath. I'm pretty sure I won't love that.