If you don't want to see a 33 year old woman cry on her birthday:

a) Don't give her maternity clothes disguised as a present. C'mon! No one likes maternity clothes and absolutely no one wants to get them as a birthday present. from your mother. who is supposed to know and love you! On top of that I personally, HATE/LOATHE and DESPISE all cropped pants, which is what I was given. Gross.

b) Don't serve her pizza at her own home when she has the opportunity to get out of the house for something that doesn't involve work and hanging out with 150 kids that belong to someone else. Especially when:
i) she doesn't LOVE Pizza Hut pizza (although I'll admit, it was kinda good last night so I might reverse my feelings on Pizza Hut--I <3 their salad bar, that's for sure!)
ii) you're going to leave your 30,000 water glasses unattended which means that I will be cleaning up the water my child has spilled out of your glasses--because when I bend, I can't breathe and I pee myself. Awesome right?

Do I sound like a cry baby? Absolutely. I am a horrible and spoiled person (and I'm totally cool with that). However, in my defense, someone made me that way (my mother, so she shouldn't be surprised when I am upset by ugly clothes that I don't want to wear) AND I'm super hormonal/miserable and really would've enjoyed a dinner away from my goddamn house that was made out of something other than pizza dough.

Anyways, there were two saving graces...my cool bag from John and the fact that I fell asleep at 9:20 so I didn't have to think about anything else that could possibly annoy me or make me cry.

So, it's not a very exciting story, nor is it very original I fear, but here goes.

Thursday morning

I go to work. I'm teaching Macbeth which is my favorite thing to teach. I'm one day overdue but I'm feeling ok with it. I'm tired and I would love to give birth but hey, whatever, this child was clearly being ornery. Throughout the day I think it might be possible that my water is leaking OR I'm peeing myself (just a little). I keep on teaching and consult friends with my findings. They agree with me, I might have a leaking water! YAY!

I go home and I call my doctor's office and fill them in on my "symptoms" (damp undies). They tell me they'll check me but they believe it's just because I'm overdue that I'm anxious for something to get started. Lo and behold after my feet were up in the snowmen ovenmits/stirrups, it was proven that I was indeed leaking amniotic fluid...I was told to go to the hospital and expect labor to start.

I call John on my way home and I get his brother instead, he doesn't believe me but I tell him to let John know because he needs to get stuff ready. Clearly, we weren't in a rush here because nothing was actually happening. Well, let me rephrase that...It was clear to me. When I got home, John was running around like a chicken with his head cut off. We packed up and after I calmed John down, we stopped at Wendy's so that I could chow down as much as possible since they don't let you eat once they admit you into the hospital. I ate for about three people that evening, stuffing my face with enough nuggets to feed a small army.

After getting my fast food fix we checked into the hospital, our mothers arrived right on our heels. And we sat there. Me in the hospital bed, ass hanging out and John, his sister and our mothers all staring at me, waiting for labor to start. It didn't. To get the ball rolling, they broke my water, which was a creepy experience in itself...luckily, only John and I got to witness it. However, my water just kept on gushing for the next few hours while everyone continued to stare at me. Finally, contractions started (with some help from Pitocin). And boy did they. I did a pretty good job from 9-1am, but at 1 they were coming pretty fast and they hurt like hell. I couldn't take it any longer and I asked for an epidural. My mom and John watched the epidural insertion and while John was quiet and helpful, my mom kept saying things like, "Wow! That's a huge contraction!" and "I bet that one is hurting you!" while I was supposed to be remaining absolutely still and hunched over my knees and not reacting to the contractions. Gotta love her.

Anyways, that's where things took a turn for the worse. The epidural made my contractions slow down and decrease in intensity. I was only four centimeters dilated but I had been progressing up until this point, so they made the decision to up my Pitocin levels in the hopes of increasing the intensity of the contractions. This was fine with me because the epidural was pure heaven. Previously, I had been silently cursing everyone in the room because they were making chit chat while I was in pure pain...now, I was numb to the world and didn't care what innane conversations were taking place around me.

I had sent everyone out of the room (except for John) so that I could get some sleep and hopefully dilate fully. John ran out to smoke a cigarette and he was going to lay down with me. The Pitocin, however, was a bad choice. As the levels of Pitocin increased, my blood pressure dropped. John walked back into the room with me flipped over, legs above my head, oxygen mask on my face, ephedrine being injected into my IV and my blood pressure at a "lovely" 55/38. They stabilized me and stopped the Pitocin, but my body wouldn't progress on its own. They tried to slowly up my Pitocin levels, but each time my blood pressure fell. Finally, at 6 am the doctor told me that it was time for a c-section. My blood pressure, the baby's heartbeat, my lack of further dilation, and the fact that my water had been broken for almost 12 hours and had been leaking for much longer were all factors in the decision. I cried when the doctor told me but John consoled me...there really weren't many other options at this point.

The doctors scrubbed up and I was wheeled into the operating room at 6 am. It was the weirdest experience of my life, being awake but numb for such an operation. As it turned out, the baby had never really neared the birth canal and had my water not leaked, he probably wouldn't have come for a week or so on his own. At 6:20 am, my little man was born. John was able to watch and to cut the cord and assist in cleaning little Tommy up. John brought him over for me to see, but I couldn't hold him yet because my arms were still numb from the operation/drugs. I was wheeled back to my room and in 10 minutes time, I had my son in my still numb arms as I nursed him for the first time. I made our mothers wait for a full hour before they were allowed in the room so that I could spend some time alone with my son, nursing and inspecting my child--mostly, I cried because I was in complete awe of him. He was/is perfect.

And that's Tommy's birth story.

Only 10 more days until my official due date and or course, I'm torn...I'm excited for it to be over but I'm not so excited for the whole labor/pushing a child out of my small nether regions.

Chances are though that I will be pregnant for longer than the next 10 days. I don't look like I'm ready to pop (although I feel like a baby rhino), the baby's still sitting super high up--he loves hiding in my rib cage (which feels about as good as you'd expect), I haven't experienced a single contraction and when the doctor gave me a fisting (swear to god that's what it felt like) I was only 1 centimeter dilated... So, stay tuned.

Thomas Jackson should be here soon.

I miss you too...

5 weeks and 6 days left to go! Hopefully my hilarity will return soon after.

Anyways,just wanted you all to know that I'm still alive and that I'm reading your blogs when I have the chance but it's tough trying to get everything ready for this baby, work and still maintain a life. Something had to give and it seems like it was this blog was that something...never fear, I will return when I don't look like a beach ball with legs!

Would you allow a very visibly pregnant woman to walk out with one of these on her belly (it must've transferred from my milk)?? Apparently everyone at my local Giant was OK with it.

Thanks Giant patrons, thanks a lot.

Oh yeah, and fuck you!

Now that there's a smoking ban in bars/restaurants (that make over 20% of their income off of food), I've been finding myself in bars left and right...so that I can hang out with my friends. To be fair, we're mostly eating dinner and we're out of there before the serious drinkers (like I used to be) show up.

I realized that while my husband drains the assortment of beers and the rum and cokes, and my friends are downing Cosmos like there's no tomorrow, I am binging on water. Seriously, I have a problem. I drank about 6 glasses of water in two hours last night. I could've floated home. It's having a serious effect on my quality of life because I had to get up and go to the bathroom--at minimum--9 times last night. I need to get clean.

Yesterday I had the idea that I would surprise my sex starved husband with a little nooky. I showered and prepped my bod and then pounced on him just as he was waking up. Pounced implies I had full control over my body and faculties but I'm fairly sure it was more of a "I fell onto the bed in a heap" kind of moment--I am not a graceful pregnant woman. I feel like an adorable mi nature elephant. I think I look cute, but I'm definitely lumbering. Anyways, we start having sex and it's not half bad. Then my hip pops out the socket for a moment...that wasn't fun or pleasurable and it's never happened before. I wiggle, it goes back and I go back to my business at hand. It pops again and I decide it's time to change positions. I'm guessing the leg popping business is the whole stretching of ligaments and whatnot in preparation for the baby. Whatever it was, it was loud and it was not hot! A few minutes later in this new position, John looks at me alarmed and says, "You're bleeding."
My heart stops.
I run to the bathroom and check myself. I am indeed bleeding--enough to be concerned but not enough that I'm screaming (yet). I don't think I'm breathing any more. In the next minute we debate what to do. We decide. Get to the car, call the doctor on the way to the hospital. We are calm. We get the new insurance card, the doctor's business card and phone easily, as if they were placed out and waiting for us. John grabs my license just in case I need it in the emergency room. He begins driving towards the closest hospital while I calmly place a message with the messaging service.
The doctor calls me back--asks me a series of questions which for some reason I cannot answer alone and must consult John on--how much am I bleeding? Would you say it's like my period? And bless him, he answers all the questions for me and I echo them into the phone. In an almost tired "I've heard all of this before" voice she tells us to go home--we probably just bumped my cervix which is delicate now. If the bleeding continues after an hour, head down to the emergency room. I pride us on the fact that we were both so calm and collect with the whole situation...I'm really just talking because I don't want to think about the next hour.
We go home and we try to relax. I head to the bathroom and check myself. Still bleeding. I put my head on the sink and begin to cry. And the tears don't stop for awhile. John talks me off the toilet that I probably would've sat on for the entire hour. I don't have any cramps, I don't have any pain...we have most likely just bruised my cervix like she said. I nod and wipe my eyes. John pulls Psych up on the Tivo and makes me laugh...he never watches my stupid show we me. He stays with me so that I don't go running back to the bathroom. In my head I'm trying to gauge whether or not there's been any more bleeding, I can't tell but I try to laugh at the stupid, easy jokes on TV. After an hour I go back and check and the bleeding has all but stopped. The crisis was averted, there was no actual crisis and now for the first time since the early days of pregnancy I am full of fear, doubt and worry*.

* I am feeling better now, but when I wrote the post I was feeling very fragile.

** It will also be a rare miracle if we actually have sex over the rest of the pregnancy, we're both feeling a little gun shy.

Last night when John came home from work we were snuggling on the couch and then you know, a back rub turns into a lower back rub and then your pants come off...like always. Boys, they are so slick with their seduction tactics...and wouldn't you know it, it still works on me! Anyways, so there we are in the beginnings of pregnancy sex which if you didn't know is like 99% awkward, trying to find ways in which my belly doesn't hurt or doesn't get in the way--and I don't even want to get into the fact that the baby decides to pound my kidneys at the same time John's pounding er...well... anyways...on with the story. I have the utmost faith that we'll get the handle on it, but since this belly seemed to just magically appear overnight, I've been having issues with balance and every day maneuvering...again, on with the story...

So there we are, John doing his best at trying to make me feel comfortable and not at all like I have a volleyball where my flat stomach once was when all of a sudden he says to me, "Do we need to stop?" I give him the crazy eye, and think to myself, "Are you crazy? There is no stopping at this point!" I think I even dug my heel in his back to emphasize this. In case he didn't catch that clue I said, "No, why?" and then I followed his gaze towards the Band-Aid on my calf (that was resting daintily on his shoulder). It appeared that black ooze was coming out from under it. I panicked for just a second and then realized that it was just a combo of Neosporin and fuzzies from the black pj pants that I had been wearing minutes earlier. I explain this in as few words as possible, "No amputation necessary! As you were soldier! I'll explain later!" And then we were back into the game of pregnancy sex twister...but I thought it was pretty nice of him to offer to stop. I don't think he would've when we were dating, he would've just told me afterwards, "PS, your leg is gangrenous, you might want to get that checked out." It just shows he cares...about whether or not my leg is going to fall off.

.

Last night I dreamed I was at the grocery store but in every aisle it was just Marlboro Menthol Lights and bottles of Bombay Sapphire Gin...and I just kept loading the stuff into my cart like I was on Supermarket Sweep. Hmmm, wonder what my subconscious is craving?

...that I'm excited that the baby is a boy. My mom reminded me over the phone the other day that I was caught grinding my Barbie's head off using my dad's grinder in the garage--leaving a flesh colored stump where her head once was. Yay! I don't have to play dolls. I hate dolls...and um apparently, I like to dismember them.

Yesterday I found out that I was carrying a baby boy, it was a surreal experience because for some reason, I figured it was going to be asexual forever, but now it's real...it's a boy. I heard the technician announce it and cackle that my son loved to bare his genitals--clearly he is his mother's child. Come to think of it, he could definitely be his father's son as well--we all love to bare our genitals around here.

When I pictured myself as a mother, I always pictured playing with a little girl and dressing her up in little cute pink dresses and doing girly stuff (this was always the vague part...I don't really know what we would be doing). For one hot minute I was a little sad that I wasn't having a girl (Don't ever let my son read this ok???). Then I thought about it, my childhood resume includes "best mudpie maker east of the Mississippi", "most casts in a single summer due to climbing trees that shouldn't be climbed" and "most likely to ask her dad for an M-16 rifle (toy) to play war with the boys". Obviously, I wasn't much of a girls girl...and even today, I'd never do a girl justice. I wear black pants to work every. single. day, because I don't feel like being a lady at work. And don't get me started on how I do my hair--it has two styles, down and loose, or up in a ponytail (oooh options). And although I still think that little girls' clothes are wayyyyy cuter than little boys', I'm so excited to get him a little Eagles jersey and hang out with my little man. Only 19 weeks to go.

And remember, this will not be a mommy blog...as soon as I do something fun and more monumental than finding out the sex of my baby, I'll dish the dirt :)

I was just about to leave the grocery store when I had a sudden need for pickles...but not just any pickles, I needed a pickle from the barrel. You know what I'm talking about, barrel pickles are the best pickles out there! On a side note, when I was a very small child, I got a little overzealous about picking out my barrel pickle and I fell in. My dad had to pull me out! But that's neither here nor there because this was by far more embarassing than having my feet dangling out of a pickle barrel.

So, I mosey away from the register where I almost made a clean getaway and went to the very back of the grocery store in search of my pickle barrel. Just as I approached the pickles I felt a sneeze coming on and the first thought in my head was, "Oh God, I haven't peed in a while..." which might be a weird first thought for you, and it would've been a weird first thought for me four months ago but now that I'm pregnant when I last peed is first and foremost in my mind and here's why. I sneezed. Hard. And while I was sneezing I bent over and clenched as hard as I could but it didn't stop anything...I peed myself! I didn't just pee myself a little, I peed enough to make a spot on my newly acquired (and newly needed) maternity jeans!

I made a quick beeline for the closest register and got out of Dodge before someone suggested that I stop in aisle 8 and pick up some Depends. Tell me that I don't lead a glamorous life!

Waking up this morning I smiled at John,and then I got kicked in the eye by the dog who was trying to push me away so that she could snuggle up with John a little more. I yelped more than a little and said, "Jeez! This is why I told Antwaan to leave you outside last night!" and then John's eyebrow raised quizzically.
"Antwaan?"
"Well...last night I had a dream where I was having dinner and drinks with Antwaan Randel El and then we went dancing and then we were dog sitting" I stated very matter of factly. (Now keep in mind that I don't really know much about football and I don't think I would recognize Mr. Randel El if he walked up to me and kicked me in the eye like my dog does on a daily basis).
"I didn't even know you knew who Antwaan Randel El was..."
"Well, I don't really. I guess I just heard his name when watching football with you."
"Really, he makes like 5 throws a year and he's only a semi-good wide receiver... [blah, blah, blah...]."
"Well whatever, somehow I know his name!"
"If you're having sex dreams about big football players you could just tell me..."
"It wasn't a sex dream! We were having dinner and I was all pregnant and I was smoking at the bar. Antwaan yelled at me for smoking and then he took me dancing. Most of the dream was just us dancing up a storm!"
John leaned over laughing, "Really? So it wasn't even sexy dancing?"
"Nope, we were just dancing fools, and I was really, really good...so I knew it was dream!" I laughed.
"That's probably the greatest dream ever, just dancing with an NFL player all night!"
"Yeah and then we went dog sitting and there were like 20 dogs and I thought it was going to be pure chaos but Antwaan and I held our own."
"You have really weird dreams..."
"Yeah, I know."

I want to eat all of the meatballs in the world...
simultaneously, I want to puke constantly--and yet--I never do.

John and I go for our first appointment on Wednesday, we'll let you know what's going on with the Shrimp (if you care). I found out today that he's/she's the size of a green olive and it made me want a jar of them...and about a gallon of gin martinis...extra dirty (my first alcohol craving). Don't worry, I just sucked down the salty water the olives are floating in and let it run down my chin and trail down my (ginormous) breasts with reckless abandon (I'm not bragging...I'm stating a fact, they are large, but not freakish yet...I will keep updating their status because everyone cares about that). I kinda wish I was kidding.

1. My bedtime is now any time that my body is laying on the couch. I fall asleep within seconds.

2. I've always hated avocados, the other day I had the most delicious thing in the whole world and the main ingredient? Ava-fucking-cados...go figure (if I start to like bananas my whole world will shift).

3. All those times when I thought I had a poochy stomach, I didn't have a poochy stomach...in fact, I think I had a supermodel-like stomach, now using hindsight. Right now it's just a bloated stomach...but poochy stomach is just around the bend.

4. That tattoo of the stupid Celtic knot that I got when I was a young impressionable undergrad??? Yeah, even dumber when it's situated on my pelvic bone. Looking forward to see how it transforms about as much as people were looking forward to the Titanic sinking.

5. I could eat Chicken Marsala, every. single. day.

6. Or Ramen Noodles...

7. Or pasta...

8. What does it mean when all I crave is pasta and bloody meat!!! I forgot to mention that I dream of steaks...vivid, vivid steak dreams (oh don't worry...I'm not eating anything rare but I really, really miss it).

9. I don't really miss alcohol that much (so far), especially when I see John wake up with a hangover. (I know, it shocks me too!)

10. On weekends without a hangover? I am PEPPY! and I get out of bed at the ungodly hour of 5 am. I really feel for John because I would hate myself too if I were hungover.

11. I miss my sex drive...I heard the second trimester is better in that department...it better be because this is just not normal. John was shocked when he learned that I haven't used my vibrator in a week...I'm going to have sex tonight, just to feel normal!!! (That's sexy isn't it?)

12. I like to cry at the drop of a hat. For example, John's a douchebag (I mean that with love Hon) and he woke me up the other night because "I was breathing on him" (seriously!) I started to cry because he woke me up...yep, I'm hormonal.

13. My boobs are ginormous and hard. The ginormous part is not as weird as the hard part...they are seriously mini boulders strapped to my chest.

14. My dreams are ridiculously awesome in their weirdness...the most recent ones involved Cylons (I haven't seen Battlestar Galactica since I was 5), a high school building and a friend drunk on a broomstick.

15. I could eat all day and all night...but I'm not...yet. Mostly because I want to look more like Leia than Jabba when this is all said and done (what? I'm married to John...I can use Star Wars analogies if I so choose).

So I bet you're wondering why I'm not posting and ignoring emails and such? Is it because I'm a bitch and I just don't love you guys anymore? Nope! Is it because I'm lazy? Partially! Ok...so what is it?

It's because I'm pregnant and I knew if I tried to write a post that I would include that little fact in there because I can't keep a secret! Uggh, see? I just did exactly what I was talking about. Anyways, now that the cat's out of the bag, I think I can come back and post regularly. Now, I know this is the internets and all, but keep this under your hats because I'm only five and a half weeks pregnant and I shouldn't be telling anyone but look who we're talking about here, I've never even made it close to Christmas with presents that I haven't given out!!

So...
Now you know.
And I feel better.
Please don't tell me any secrets, I won't be able to keep 'em.

PS. I'm not planning on becoming a mommyblogger (not that there's anything wrong with that), just so you know, I plan on writing hilarious stories--and I'm sure that I will have plenty since I'm now the most sober person you know and I can write all the ridiculous things John says WORD for WORD because I'll be able to remember them all! That's both a threat and a promise, Sweetie!

Well my excitement (from yesterday's post) came to an end this morning which is no big deal we haven't been trying long enough to be concerned in any way, shape or form...but damn was I excited and I think I got John a little excited too and that makes me sad because the let down isn't all that fun especially when most of our friends are getting pregnant just by looking at each other! However, there's always next month and that means more sex and who doesn't love that deal? Seriously? In fact, I'm already looking forward to it...

And because I don't want this blog to turn into something where I post when and if I get my period this is the last I'm going to say anything about it all until/if I'm actually pregnant. So sigh a little sigh of relief my faithful readers. And John put on your game face becauses now that means that you and I have to do something truly ridiculous, hilarious and/or scandalous so that I have something fun to write about.

My period is two days late and I'm excited!! Oh the 23 year old me of the past is seriously confused by that statement and would be praying to see only the control line while quietly praying and promising not to have any more one night stands! But the 30 year old me is secretly crossing her fingers and hoping the next time she pees on a stick she sees a plus or two lines or whatever the hell I'm supposed to see. Of course all the while, I know that two days is absolutely nothing in the grand scheme of things...but I don't care. *squeal* I'm late!! Wooo! I know a bunch of people who are probably squinching their faces at the computer screen muttering to themselves, "Oh good lord, another one of those girls..." I'm sorry, I just. cannot. help. it.

I'm whispering silently in my head, "Please don't come, please don't come! For the love of all that's good in the world, please don't come!" I'm constantly running to the bathroom and checking (sorry for that bit of TMI), and so far so good. Seriously, I think I'm neurotic.

That being said, the cheap little stick tests that I purchased online keep telling me that I'm not pregnant...but I'm not ready to believe them just yet.

So John and I were playing Wii the other night and I slipped into the bathroom and decided that I wanted to take a pregnancy test because my boobs have been hurting and well, one of them has gotten ginormous...seriously, it's a little monster!!

I took the digital test and called to John while still sitting on the toilet. "Pregnant" he said slowly, it says pregnant! And then we hugged and I jumped around with my jeans around my ankle. But being the pessimist I am, I took another test the next morning, and this one read, "Not Pregnant". I sighed with disappointment in the first time in my life.

Now I have four more days to wait until I see whether or not I get my period...it looks like a 50/50 chance.

It was fun to have that feeling of excitement, this other feeling of anxiousness and not knowing isn't nearly as much fun.

So, John and I were just sitting back on the couch the other night kicking around baby names (don't worry/or be excited, I'm not pregnant) kind of just warming our feet to idea and because after being around all the pregnant people and all the kids we were faced with tons of baby names...it made us think. Well, baby names has always been a secret pleasant past time for me (a very covert thing that I have enjoyed in the privacy of my own home and rarely owning up to it in the presence of others). I never really thought I would have babies persay, but I've always enjoyed trying to come up with the perfect name combination. I think I got it from my dad. Yes, that's right, big burly biker used to be working on his Harley, and he'd stop and tell me some random name and say, "That name just flows...doesn't it?" Then he'd go back to some minor tune up. I think he liked names so much that it's the reason he had an alias (ha ha, yeah right! That's the reason! Although I find it adorable that his alias first name was Augie.)

Well, the next day at work I had some down time so I hit up a baby name website and quickly copied a list of names. I pasted it into my email and then in three minutes or so, highlighted names that I liked. I probably liked about 16 names in total (I'm picky, what?!?) I quickly sent it to John with the subject like reading, "I did this because it was fun! Make your own list!"

Later I checked my email and there was email from John that clearly stated his incredulousness with me, "You made a list of two hundred names for fun?!?" I scrolled down to see what he was talking about and there my list was...except the 16 names that I had highlighted weren't highlighted and there was just a random list of 200 names! I slapped my head and replied, "Um...no pressure here...I just picked 16 names, using that list!" Obviously, John either thinks I'm a lunatic or that I want to have no less than 200 of his babies. I explained later but I think after this little episode he'll be keeping his sperm under lock and key for a bit.