PrEGGnancy

I don't remember much about being pregnant.  I worked part time. I came home. I laid on the couch. I watched a ton of TV. I looked at facebook. I read pregnancy books. I skimmed every what-to-expect blog. People told me I should blog about funny pregnancy things.  But nothing was funny. I was so miserable. I honestly remember telling Trevor I was worried that I wasn't funny anymore, that I would never be funny again.  Pregnancy had ruined me. 

I think I blacked out for 9+ months except for a few moments that stuck...

I remember finding out I was pregnant.  I had just started a new job at a start-up company with 4 very accomplished and motivated older male colleagues.  And I remember thinking, this is kind of an awkward time and place to be pregnant. I was expecting the doctor to call with me the pregnancy test results.  It was getting close to the end of the day and I remember thinking, doctor's usually give bad news at the end of the day so it must be negative.  Then I realized I got a missed call from this morning.  I listened to the voicemail in the bathroom at work and was both excited but slightly anxious about being pregnant so soon after starting a new job.  I still believe doctor's wait till the end of the day to give you bad results.

I remember when and where I told Trevor.  That same day I found out that I was pregnant I biked "home" from work.  And by "home" I mean up the river.  Because we live up a gigantic hill from where I work, I bike into work with no problem. I pretty much balance on my bike seat and ride the brakes downhill the whole time; wind in my face, scarf around my neck.  But there's no way my out-of-shape wimpy little legs could get me home without having to stop and call an ambulance (I don't know if you remember that spin class fiasco?).  So instead, I tell my co-workers that I bike home and then when I am out of their view, I hop on the beautiful Delaware & Raritan canal bike path and ride the mile or so up to the parking lot at the north end of town and wait on a nice little park bench until my sweet hero of a husband picks me up and takes me home...pure luxury.  There near the park bench on the bike path at the north end of town is where I told him.

I remember when I first felt morning sickness.  It is a nausea unlike anything I have ever felt.  I did not know how to label it at first.  Sort of like the first time I had diarrhea.  I remember being in 5th grade and having to "go to the bathroom."  I went to the bathroom explosively.  I felt better.  I went back to class.  Then I had to "go to the bathroom" again.  And when I asked the teacher if I could go to the bathroom again (5 minutes after returning from the last visit) the teacher thought that I should go to the nurse instead.  I said fine, knowing the nurse had a bathroom.  And I remember SPRINTING to the nurse's office on the other side of the school.  I should have stopped at a bathroom along the way but the teacher told me to go to the nurse's office and law-abiding, Jesus-fearing me did what I was told and did not want to break the rules.  I whipped into the nurse's office bathroom and nearly shit my pants.  Thank goodness the door was open and the toilet unoccupied.  When I came out of the bathroom, the nurse asked me "so when did you start feeling sick?"  And I remember being so confused. I didn't think I was sick. I didn't think I felt sick.  I thought I just really had to go to the bathroom!  Similarly, I didn't recognize morning sickness at first.  I thought I was just anxious or worried but then realized it was physical and at one of the doctor's visits a nurse asked me if I felt morning sickness and I thought hmmm I well maybe that's what this is... and it was... all the time ... all day long... "morning" sickness.  No crackers or ginger ale or vitamin B or diclegis or acupuncture or anything ever made it go away.  Many pregnant women only have morning sickness for part of the first trimester.  Lucky me, mine got WORSE after the first trimester, and never totally went away it just turned into heart burn later, which also made me feel like puking.

I remember the first time I felt the baby kick.  I thought I was about to have a bout of diarrhea.

I remember the first time actually throwing up.  For the entire first trimester I always felt awful and miserable.  The second trimester is what everyone tells you is the "golden age" where you should go on your "babymoon" or some crap like that.  This is supposed to be the phase where you don't feel nauseous and don't yet feel like a beached whale.  So we planned to have our annual Friendsgiving party.  We had a bunch of friends over.  We cooked a gigantic turkey and everyone brought a ton of delicious food.  I decided to venture back out into the world of eating normally and had the tiniest bits of thanksgiving delicacies...and spent the rest of the night heave ho-ing in the upstairs bathroom after telling the remaining slumber party guests that I was going to bed.  I tried to brush my teeth afterwards but the taste and frothiness of the toothpaste made me want to barf again.  I texted Trevor if he could please bring me up lollipops. He did.

I remember the first time almost passing out.  I was at work.  And Trevor came to pick me up.  It was just me and my boss in the office.  The boss's office was upstairs so we went up so Trevor could say hi and bye.  We get upstairs and Trevor and my boss start talking and I realize very quickly something is wrong.  My ears start ringing.  The back of my neck starts sweating.  I am getting hot and cold. I start shifting around while standing up thinking I need to somehow make my circulation better.  Then I start seeing spots and getting tunnel vision and realize that any hope of getting out of there without publicly admitting there is a problem has diminished.  I interrupt whatever the hell they are talking about to let them know I am about to pass out.  I sit down, Trevor gets me a Vitamin water.  We sit around a bit awkwardly until I feel better.  So awkward. The only thing less awkward than passing out, is almost passing out and having to tell people about it.  I almost wished I had just gone ahead and passed out...

I remember the first time I actually passed out.  At one of my prenatal visits I asked the doctor if it is normal to feel like your heart is fluttering.  Because it kept happening.  My heart seems to be skipping beats.  It was freaking me out a little bit.  The nurse sent me for an EKG at my primary care doctors.  At the primary care doctor, they tell me I need to lay down flat on my back to get the EKG.  I tell them that I am in my third trimester and for this entire pregnancy I have been feeling like I am going to pass out and it especially happens when I lie flat on my back.  They tell me the only way they can do an EKG is flat on your back.  It will only take 30 seconds. Do I think I could lay down flat for 30 seconds?  I say I don't know I guess we can try! They say ok, please just let us know the second you feel faint.  I remember lying on my back and feeling faint immediately, but telling myself, let's count to 10, and by 5 I remember thinking, ok let's speak up.  But then darkness.... I came to with a very frightened EKG technician and a dumbfounded doctor saying  things  like "hmm  I don't know why that happened?"  I need a new doctor.    After I left the office, I got in the car and had a bit of a panic moment.  Does passing out put your fetus in danger?"  I did a quick google search and the results were inconclusive (like ALL medical google searches) so I promptly called the OB doctor.  She asked me if I had felt the baby kick since I passed out.  I said no, but I often go for periods of time without feeling the baby kick.  She said to eat a granola bar and see if the baby kicks.  I did.  She didn't.  The nurse said to go to the ER.  At the ER I explain to them that I passed out, and they tell me they need to do an EKG to check my heart.  I tell them no way, that the EKG is what made me pass out in the first place!  They tell me I can get the EKG done while sitting up... this is great information I wish I had an hour ago! CAN THE "EKG PEOPLE" TELL ALL THE DOCTORS IN THE WORLD THAT YOU CAN HAVE AND EKG DONE SITTING UP? PLEASE AND THANK YOU.

I remember having to call Trevor from the ER. Trevor, the soon-to-be first-time-dad whom I had convinced that it would be ok for him to go to a conference in Las Vegas so close to the due date and that he wouldn't miss any action, didn't pick up as his flight was still in the air somewhere over Kansas.  I remember thinking I absolutely should not leave him a voicemail saying "Hi Trevor, I am in the ER..."  So I kept calling him until his flight landed and he finally picked up.  I thought so long and hard about how to tell him what was going on, that I absolutely don't remember the strategy I actually went with... but I think it was something along the lines of staring with a casual introduction (eg, "hey how was your flight, did you meet up with Eric?") and then followed with a little... "by the way"... and of course start with "everything is fine" and then let the truth out: "but I passed out and am in the ER making sure the baby is still alive and BONUS... SHE IS!!!  See you in a few days!  Mwah!"

I remember not being able to lift my legs into bed one night.  It was the day my fishing buddy and I got our fishing licenses and went fishing while I was uber pregnant. By the end of the day whatever magic combination of walking and standing threw my pelvic bones out of whack and I could not lift my legs up.  I was at the bed side.  If I sat down on my butt and laid down on my side, I couldn't swing my legs up.  So I tried laying down face first and still couldn't get my legs up.  I had to call Trevor in to help pick my legs up into bed.  There's nothing more to that story.... If I was blogging while pregnant it would just be a whole bunch of really miserable, unfunny stories like this.

I remember the first time feeling better.  It was a weekend.  I had not stepped foot in the kitchen for like 8 months.  The smell of the fridge, the sink, the garbage, the toaster, the frying pans... ALL of it ALWAYS made me want to vomit.  I do not remember how or what I ate the entire pregnancy. But I do remember the day I finally felt better.  I decided to make breakfast.  Even Trevor  was excited when he realized I was feeling better "OoOo someone's out of bed and feels like cooking!"   I had the avocado toast almost ready.  I was mixing up the eggs.  Coffee was in the kettle. I was feeling good. No, I was feeling great!! Then I started feeling bad.  So Trevor finished up the eggs and I sat on the couch.  Our brand new couch.  Which was in front of our brand new light grey and white rug.  As Trevor finished up making breakfast I start to smell the delicious, no I mean disgusting fumes wafting my way. I start trying to suppress my urge to vomit.  I used to be pretty good at this in college!  Just sit still and breathe and tell myself: I am not going to vomit, I am not going to vomit.  It worked until it didn't.  Ok now I know there is no way out of this situation without vomiting.  Trevor is still in the other room.  I start strategizing. 

To my right is the front door.  I could throw up off the balcony.  But the front door kind of gets jammed when you open it, plus the screen door is there and the door knob for the screen door is opposite from the side of the front door knob.  I could easily get jumbled up and end up puking through the screen.  The bathroom is too far away, I would never make it.   That leaves the kitchen.  There are two options in the kitchen: the sink or the garbage can.  I have been avoiding the kitchen like the plague.  I have no idea what condition the sink is in, but based on the 15+ years I have lived with Trevor I am going to put my money on there' a bunch of shit in the sink.  Plus we don't have a garbage disposal. That would be a disgusting mess to clean up if I puke in the sink.  It would only make me puke more.    I sit and try to continue to breathe away my vomit.  I don't think I am going to make it.  If I move I am going to puke instantly. 

I try to telepathically tell Trevor to bring me the garbage can.  I close my eyes and envision Trevor bringing me the garbage can.  I pray to all the gods and yogis and guardian angels of all the religions in the universe, someone please tell Trevor to look at me and bring me a bowl or garbage can.    And then it happens.  Trevor looks at me!  He looks concerned!  He realizes there's something wrong!  He is going to save this situation... save our brand new couch, save our beautiful floral rug! Then he says "Hmm do you want the ipad or something?" Trigger... My hands fly to my mouth instantly as the puke is spraying through my fingers and in one swift motion I am off my ass faster than I have moved in months. I round the corner into the kitchen and the garbage can is full and even worse, the drawstrings are half-way tied up.  Trevor is fast on my tail, encouraging me "In the sink, sink, sink, sink!!!" But the sink is full of dirty dishes and no garbage disposal, so as I try to pry the drawstrings of the garbage bag open to cleanly puke in the bag, the second my hands move away from my mouth the puke goes all over the counter, all over the cabinets, all over the inside and outside of the garbage bag, all over the garbage can, all over the floor, and all over Trevor's shoes.  Trevor rubs my back and gives me hug and tells me to go clean myself up.  He'll take care of the kitchen.

And I never made eggs while pregnant again.

The end.

Sometimes you just need a drink...

If there is ever a time when a woman deserves your sympathy, it is after the birth of their child.  Sure congratulations are in order...

Congratulations, 41 weeks of a miserable pregnancy are over!!

Congratulations, you did not DIE in childbirth!!

Congratulations, now that you are totally bloody and beaten up, here's a squishy little alien that needs your attention 24/7, good luck keeping them alive!!

Ladies have a lot of physical healing to do at a time when they are totally thrown off of an emotional cliff into the exhausting world of motherhood... plus insane hormones...  We deserve congratulations, yes, but we also deserve sympathy, hugs, food, rest, space, and hot showers.

However, after the birth of our child, most of our relations were calling to see 1) how is the baby? and 2) how is poor Trevor?  He totally stole my thunder...

About a month before the big day both Trevor and I came down with the same head cold.  It lasted a few days. Mine got better.  His got better, but then turned into a sinus infection, then a crazy itchy rash, then blisters on his eye lids, then as the days were winding down closer and close to the due date he started having really weird symptoms like his hands and wrists were really hurting him.  He thought maybe he played the piano "too hard" or reassured me that it was probably from swinging an ax chopping fire wood.  I politely reminded him that he is 34 years old and that piano playing has never crippled him in the past and that he was chopping wood like a week ago...

The doctors tell me I am going to be induced.  So now I know the due date.  The night before, I am cleaning up the house and packing the bags and then we settle in to watch one last TV show at home as a party of 2. Trevor gets up to go to the bathroom.  He is limping.  I ask him "why are you limping?!"  He says he must have walked too much...

If I hadn't been so worried about myself and the near-death experience I was about to endure I would have been terribly worried about him! I started to google his symptoms that night, but scary things like AIDS, hepatitis,  and autoimmune disease and crazy tick illnesses were coming up. And I couldn't sleep as it is... I put the phone down, barely slept a wink, then we drove my gigantic belly to the hospital to give this baby the boot.

During labor and delivery, I had to help Trevor open doors.  I had to help Trevor unscrew the bottle caps from my water bottle so he could get me water.  He was getting ice for himself to ice his hands and joints.  The baby was born. We had a wonderful few days in the hospital, and Trevor's symptoms would get better, then worse. 

We got home as a family of 3.  The first night home, the baby DID NOT SLEEP A WINK.... She was up and upset ALL NIGHT LONG.   She wasn't born a breastfeeder and she was actually pretty dehydrated before we left the hospital so in order to feed her I had to squeeze milk out of my boob into a spoon, suck the milk up into a syringe, and stick the syringe into her mouth with my finger, and train her how to suck by rewarding her with a drop of milk from the syringe when she would properly suck on my finger.  It would take about an hour to feed her, she'd finally fall asleep on me, I would be terrified to move her and wake her up for the next 30-45 minutes so I'd let her stay on my lap until I felt dangerously tired, then I'd lay her in her bassinet and we would both sleep for maybe another 20-30 minutes before she'd wake up again and we would have to repeat the process ALL NIGHT  LONG.  This on top of having I don't-know-what-kind-of-war-wound that requires gigantic adult diapers and a terrifying fear of what the next bowel movement might do...

But oh my goodness, how is poor Trevor?!

Well poor Trevor didn't sleep the first night at all either, and it wasn't me and the baby keeping him up.  On top of me trying to take care of the baby, and not spilling breast milk everywhere, and dealing with literally the period from hell, Trevor is lying in bed next to me writhing in pain, unable to bend his legs, asking for ice and if I can prop his legs up with pillows and blankets...all night long...

Luckily my mom stayed overnight.  I texted her if she could come down when she wakes up.  I hand over the baby and close my eyes for maybe an hour before my alarm goes off.  We have an 8:30 am pediatrician appointment to see if the baby's jaundice is better. I am so tired, I feel blind, I can't see straight, I feel nauseous.  I can't drive. Trevor can't get out of bed.  My mom takes me and the baby to the doctor's office. I call Trevor's parents if they can come take care of their baby.

At the pediatrician appointment they tell us we need to get the baby's blood work done but because its a Sunday, the lab is closed so we will have to take this prescription to the local hospital to get the test done.  We drive the half hour there then wait a half hour to speak to someone, then it literally takes an hour and a half to get us set up in the system.  The check-in lady is giving me a hard time that the baby is not on our insurance plan.  SHE WAS LITERALLY BORN YESTERDAY!!!  Meanwhile, the baby shit herself and, as this is my first outing as a mother, I properly forgot to bring the diaper bag. 4 hours after leaving home we start heading back home. I check my phone and there is a text from Trevor saying "just don't want you to be alarmed if you come home and there is an ambulance in the driveway." 

He needed to get to the hospital but he couldn't get out of bed and so they had to call 911.

He goes to the hospital.  He gets medicine and gets better.  I get to bed, momentarily.  I get better.  The baby gets older.

Fast forward a year.  We have all finally recovered from the post-traumatic stress of pregnancy, labor, delivery, early infancy, and whatever the hell Trevor was dealing with.  The baby is now a toddler and just gleefully celebrated her first birthday about a week ago.  Everyone is focused on adorable Phoebe, and congratulating Mom and Dad on a job well done.  Yet, once again, a certain someone steals the spotlight...

The baby absolutely loves being outside and as a result we are all covered in bug bites.  Trevor tells me he has one bug bite that particularly hurts, and I offer my sincere condolences.  He often has bug bites that really hurt.  I'm sorry you got bit by a bad bug again, but I have to attend to this diaper full of crap and this maniac toddler that insists on eating rocks, chewing on wires, standing on the windowsill during diaper changes, and sticking her hands in outlets.  The next morning I am getting ready for work and as I am WWF wrestling a toddler with crocodile strength to try to get sunblock on her face, I catch a glimpse of my strong, handsome 6 foot 3 inched, bearded husband CRAWLING on his hands and knees to get to the bathroom.  WHY ARE YOU CRAWLING TO THE BATHROOM?!  He says it really hurts and that he is going to go to the doctor.  I now realize this is a problem.

I walk out the house and we forgot to close the garage the night before and some animal dragged garbage and poopy diapers all over the driveway.  I quickly throw it all in one general direction but don't have time to clean it up.  I spent all morning looking for the crutches from last year and now I am late to work.  I get to work and I am the first one there.  It seemed strange as I was running late.  I open my email and there was a work email that went out the night before saying that everyone could work from home.. Damn.

Since I'm there already I stay.  By the time I get home Trevor is  home from the doctors and is on antibiotics for an infected bug bite, but now has a fever.  Obviously the drugs are not working.  I call the doctor while he's sleeping and they say give it more time. They drew a circle around the infection and by the next day the infection was obviously spreading, the fever was persisting.  I was struggling to take care of Phoebe alone, to take care of Trevor, and to keep Phoebe away from Trevor who obviously needs more drugs and less toddler poking at his wound and saying "oww!"

We decide he will go to the hospital, but he doesn't want to go just yet.  I tell him to start getting used to the idea.  If he doesn't want to go now he can take an uber after the baby is asleep.  I pour myself a glass of wine.  I need it!   But it is getting close to the baby's bed time.  So I set it down in the loft to save it for later.  I try to get the baby to go to sleep but she's a smart cookie and can likely sense something exciting is going on and refuses to go down. After about an hour of rocking and reading and bottles and rolling around and singing and rocking and more books and more songs and bouncing, I give up.  Trevor is laying on the ground in the loft outside the baby's room.  I leave the baby with him, while I go pack him a fanny pack with his insurance card, wallet, phone, charger, water bottler, a couple snacks.  Then I hear Trevor yell, "NO, PHOEBE, NO!!!" at the same time as some liquid gurgling....

And the little tiny monster who has never before in her life drank from a cup manages to seamlessly lift a very full wine glass to her lips and attempt to drink it! Most of it ended up on her pajamas after Trevor yelled at her. 

After getting the husband with the disgusting leg infection into the car with the wine-soaked baby, I couldn't help thinking, Trevor is going to die or lose his leg, the baby is drunk, I am going to lose custody of my only child and end up in jail...widowed...the baby will be orphaned...

We drop Trevor at the curb of the ER. The baby falls asleep on the way home.




I can proudly tell you that we survived the first year.  We are all alive with all of our limbs intact.  We are only age-appropriately drunk. And we are all free of prison... for now!

Judge and be Judged

I was looking for some fun wall decals to spice up the toddler room when I came across this product:

This made me think...

“What kind of mother gets paid to allow her son to be pictured taking a dump on a toilet?"

"How much money did she get paid for this?”

"What is her life like?"

"How much money would I be willing to accept for this?"

"What kind of marketing professional decides, 'Hey, in order to sell some CAT STICKERS, let’s get a cute young boy taking a dump on a toilet with a sweet smile and some messy hair. We will put the cat sticker right next him. This is just our ticket!'?!"


And also...

"Is he wearing black pants and blank underpants?"

"Don't you think they should have chosen white underpants?"

"Or were they trying to avoid picturing young boys' underpants, cause that might be too inappropriate?"


But more importantly,

"What is this kid going to be like when he grows up?" 

"How is he going to explain this to his teenage friends?" 

"Will they think this is cool?"

"Will this ruin his life?"

"Has it already?"


"Does he get unlimited cat stickers?"



Well if you must know... I bought them.

And, she loves them...






And.....

They are also right next to the toilet....

It's the only white wall in the house!

It wouldn't look as good on the knotty pine wood paneling!!

I would have bought them without the damn toilet pictures!!!!

Save your judgement for the mother of the cat-sticker-toilet-pooper boy's mother!