diary of a mad pregnant woman

Thursdays have become special days to me over the past several months because they mark the beginning of a new week of pregnancy. I anticipate them like a child anticipates their birthday, and usually by the preceding Monday or Tuesday, I'd already be telling people I was that week plus a half ("I'm 30 and a half weeks") or "almost" the next week. I'm surprised I haven't already gone completely whole hog about it and tell people things like "Yes, I'm 30 weeks, 5 days, and 4-1/2 hours along!" I probably would, except that requires more math skillz than my hormone-riddled brain can muster right now.

Speaking of those hormones, I've noticed that for as dull as my short-term memory has become, as clumsy as my limbs have operated, as much as my attention span has made permanent vacation lately... ooh, look, a flower! Pretty. Hmmmm. Wonder if it's going to rain again. Maybe I should wear a different pair of shoes. Shoes are fun to shop for. Let's go shopping.

(large reminder kick from baby)

Oh, oh, sorry! Anyway... for as much as I've been foggy-headed, distracted, and clumsy, some of my finer sensitivities have become more, well, sensitive. And when I say sensitive, I mean that sometimes I get convinced that people exist just to make me feel bad.

For example:

--A lack of RSVPs to an event of mine has me totally convinced that NO ONE LOVES ME and EVERYONE THINKS I AM A HORRIBLE, OFFENSIVE, GREEDY PERSON. Never mind that I am the World Champion of Lazy RSVP'ing and always forget to do so myself, no matter how much I am looking forward to said event.

--My husband usually leaves his rather clean dishes to "soak" in the sink, rather than putting them in the dishwasher. Lately, this has meant I AM TO BECOME SOLE DRUDGERY MAID FOR ALL WHO LIVE IN THIS HOUSE. Never mind that my own dirty dishes lay in a unclean heap just beside the sink.

--My cat refuses to come snuggle with me during a thunderstorm, and I am immediately convinced I AM A FELINE REPELLANT and SHE HATES ME. Never mind that she always, always hides somewhere dark and isolated during thunderstorms, because she is a scaredy-cat like that.

--A former patient of mine - with whom I spent inordinate amounts of time over several weeks to make sure he felt comfortable, pain-free, and accommodated for all his needs - sends our nursing staff a huge bouquet of flowers, several bags of Hershey's candy, and a lovely thank-you card for all the kindnesses he received during his extended stay with us. He does not mention my name in the card. HE IS A ROTTEN JERK WHO IS UNGRATEFUL AND FORGETFUL AND SELFISH. Never mind that I eat several handfuls of the candy, and that the thank you's are just as much for me as anyone else. (Or that it's actually my job to be nice to my patients.)

--Traffic on the highway is worse than usual for 7:45 in the morning heading away from the city, and several cars cut in front of me to try and make the gap between present location and destination that much shorter. This, of course, means that ALL DRIVERS ARE INCONSIDERATE, RUDE MORONS and it's going to become so bad so fast that soon, EVERY DAY I WILL BE IN AN ACCIDENT. EVERY DAY. EVERY SINGLE DAY. Never mind about my own driving skills, or the fact that these drivers have been like this for eons, or that it's just the nature of Orlando traffic.

Can you imagine how, well, uneven this has made the quality of each day for me? One minute, I'm celebrating the Supreme Miracle of Life growing within me. The next, I'm cursing everything and anything, crying into my soup and wishing I'd never been born onto this hate-filled rock orb called Earth. It's rather exhausting.

And if you mention anything that even remotely agrees with me about all of this, I will suddenly burst into tears on you and know in my heart that YOU THINK AND ARE CONFIRMING I AM HYPERSENSITIVE, THAT I DO NOT DESERVE TO LIVE, AND MUST BE BANISHED TO A DARK ROOM SOMEWHERE AWAY FROM HUMANITY BECAUSE YOU THINK I AM SCUM.

(Seriously, I may have just eliminated all chances for anyone ever leaving any comments ever again on this blog.)

my head is in a fog

But oh, people, I am a happy woman because the elements that made up today decided to be in harmony with me. The sun did not shine too brightly. In fact, it rained for quite some time, although there was no accompanying crashing thunder. The neighborhood was quiet. There was no evil Lawn Care Minion wielding a weed whacker within a 2-block radius, causing me to harbor evil fantasies about what I might do with said weed whacker to the guy using it. Even Crouching Tiger, Hidden Fetus decided that it was time to keep the tae kwon do to a minimum and just squirm around inside of Mommy instead of kick and jostle around.

And so, after two extremely difficult nights of working - difficult mostly because I just couldn't get any sleep in the days before them - I got the very best gift ever: 9 hours of pure, unadulterated SLEEP. Only woke up once in the middle of it because my bladder felt like bursting from filling up so much during all that sweet, sweet dreaming time. No interruptions, not even from inside my own body. In fact, Little One was so good and still and polite within my uterus that I had a moment of panic just minutes ago after the alarms sounded, and I poked and jiggled my entire abdomen in a most unattractive way to hopefully wake the kid up, to which he (thankfully) responded with some familiar sharp kicks to my ribs and diaphragm, did some huge somersault inside of me, and probably hit his own snooze alarm. Man, he's gonna LOVE me as a teenager.

In addition to all this blissful sleep I got... do you ever find yourself feeling absolutely trapped in a situation you feel you cannot escape, and the sort of despair it brings about, how everything associated with it makes the bile rise in your throat? And then suddenly, though it's not right in front of you (yet), there's someone holding this beautiful open door that you just found out you can walk through relatively soon and get out of the mess you're in? And how it very ironically makes your current situation SO MUCH EASIER to deal with... and that if it had always been this easy to deal with, you might not have wanted to get out of it so much in the first place?

I'm being deliberately vague here, I know. The ball is rolling, but I'm not quite sure of the direction, and until I am, I guess I'm speaking in gross generalities here - forgive me. But I am excited, Jason is excited, and I'm hoping I can actually use some specific, detailed words to describe the excitement soon. To quote Martha: it's a good thing. And I'm looking forward to sharing it with you soon.

(No, I'm not referring to this pregnancy, either, though I am really looking forward to that ending in about 9 weeks so I can meet this cute little acrobat in my belly...)

just wondering

Dear Person Who Was Driving a Blue Van With "Children First" Specialty License Plates:

Did you really think you were putting your "children first" when you sped through a completely-red red light and cut off a woman and her child in her Honda, only to get one car ahead and end up waiting 5 minutes at the next red light 300 yards away? Did you put "children first" when, after Honda Lady honked her horn at you, you flashed her the middle finger rather defiantly for a good 15 seconds in full view of your kids, hers, and anyone else who happened to see the entire sordid event?

Didja?

Hugs and kisses,
Anne

organically speaking

I went with my friend Maruxa to a meet a friend-of-a-friend who sells a bunch of varieties of cloth diapers out of her house. It was a nice time: we had a chance to see and feel different types and brands, ask questions, see the diapers in action on her 3 month old (who pooped and peed several times for us so that we could see exactly what the diapering entailed), and just relax for an hour or so. Some things I noticed about Leigh, the cloth diaper seller lady:

She is not super-organic.

She drives a regular car, not a hybrid, and her husband pulled up in a mammoth SUV just as we were leaving.

She is as busy and as stressed and as multi-tasking as any mother I know (working or stay-at-home) and yet somehow managed to cloth diaper all 4 of her children.

Cloth diapering? I know, I know. It's so very green and earthy and hippie of me, isn't it? Makes you think I'm going to denounce deodorant, bike everywhere, and buy only locally-grown organic produce. I promise you I am not. Particularly the part about deodorant.

Just by twittering it this morning, I received several rather, um, interesting replies within about an hour or so of mentioning my cloth diaper perusing, the most notable calling me "idealistic" and "naive".

Sigh. To be honest, it hurts a little. I didn't see that coming. THAT would be the naive part.

I shouldn't be surprised, really. I think I would have had the same reaction only a few months ago myself. Cloth diapering, before recently, made me think of confusing folding patterns, huge safety pins, and handling poop with my bare hands on a regular basis. It also screamed old-fashioned, expensive and highly inconvenient. However, I am happy to report that from what I saw and experienced - first-hand, I might add - this morning, none of that is true. Cloth diapering has come a loooong way from when I was a baby. What I saw was easy, convenient, and in some cases less work than an Elmo-printed plastic diaper. Behold the ease (and these are the "hardest" of them):


I don't know this guy - this wasn't from this morning, but it was a great video I found online of using cloth diapers.

And even easier:

BumGenius

I haven't totally made up my mind one way or the other. I've done a LOT of research into it - there are pros and cons to both sides - and I'm not sure that we ever have to make a firm, absolute stand one way or the other. Lots of parents do both, and in the end, we're going to do what works best for us. Frankly, I've been both highly encouraged and highly discouraged within the space of three hours, and I'm still processing all of that, too. A good friend e-mailed me during this time, too, and mentioned that she no longer cloth diapers: she loved them, but couldn't stand the misconceptions everyone had and the lack of support she got (in particular from sitters and childcare places). I don't know that I'm ready to fight that uphill battle yet. Being a new parent is going to be hard enough without having to defend my diapering choices to everyone.

Please hear me on this: I do not think that disposables are the Plastic of Satan, nor do I think anyone is less of a parent for using them. I don't believe for a moment that I'm going to get through the pre-potty-trained phase of any of my kids without ever using a disposable, even if I do decide to cloth diaper. I know, to some degree, the reality of parenting when both mom and dad have to work, and no, I don't expect everyone to be okay with using only cloth, even if I personally think it's easier and a better choice. You have to be flexible. And maybe I'll hate cloth diapering, which is why if we do it, I'm not going to spend a bazillion dollars at the outset, but just a few to see if I like it.

But I just can't figure it all out in one afternoon. I've been given a lot for my brain to chew on - and people, it chews slowly these days. So I'm off for yet another nap to prepare for another three nights of working, and maybe to lick my wounds a little bit.

If you've cloth diapered, I would love, love, love to hear from you. Particularly if you did it from the start and how you managed to do it while everyone thought you were completely insane for even trying it in the first place.

getting ready for some James Taylor music...

Yesterday, Jason and I ventured over to the local women & infants hospital to get a one-day crash course in Lamaze. Yup. Everything you ever wanted to know - and a few things you probably never wanted to actually see - in less than 8 hours of class time, including a lunch break to Moe's. I wasn't sure what to expect going in, but it turned out alright in the end. My favorite part was seeing all the expressions on the men's faces - or rather, the (singular) expression: total and complete fear. You would think it would be the first-time-moms-to-be with that expression, wouldn't ya? We're doing the bulk of the work, right? No, every woman in that class just looked relieved to have found the right classroom in the maze of the hospital floorplan, find a seat, and rest their legs. The men, on the other hand, kept glancing surreptitiously around the room, giving each other these looks that clearly stated, it's not too late to ditch this and do 18 holes, dude. You in?

In Jason's defense, he was the one male who looked completely at ease. After all the horror stories I bring home from my shifts on a trauma floor, I think I pretty well convinced him that labor and delivery was mere child's play in comparison (oh, we shall see, I know - stop laughing...).

The class was taught by a male RN, which is no big deal these days, except that he was a labor & delivery nurse for something like 15 years, and the only male L&D nurse ever hired at the hospital (and people, it's a LARGE hospital). And he was this ex-military guy with a long salt-and-pepper ponytail who jingled his change constantly in his pockets while he lectured - and did I mention he lectured for 8 hours? - and instead of concentrating on listening to pain relief options and possible birthing positions, I was mostly thinking of the 286 ways I would go completely berserk if the RN spending their next 12 hour shift with me was this Change Jingler while I was trying to relax and breathe.

As with every class like this one, we ended up watching some rather lame, 20-year-old videos of expectant parents, live births, and even a few C-sections. Speaking of those C-section videos, have you ever heard the sound of blood simultaneously draining out of the faces of 30 people? It was quite loud, I tell you, and just slightly amusing to me. From my perspective, the videos were quite un-gory... but then again, I see freshly burned skin and exposed bones on a daily basis, so what do I know?

Aside from some momentary face-smacking reality of just how messy and bloody birth can really be, most of the lame videos featuring Dorothy Hamill Hair were actually quite positive and reassuring: normal, happy birth outcomes are the norm and the majority of experiences. You've probably seen something similar, even if you've never attended a birthing class: calming folksy guitar music in the background, the video montage of tearful moms snuggling in bed with their newborns while Dad kisses Mom's head in relief, maybe a syrupy song lyric or two about the sanctity and wonder of Motherhood.

And wouldn't you know, the class I expected to be somewhat boring and information-only? It got me pretty excited about this whole birthing process. Everything. The pushing, the begging for an epidural, the wild grimacing, the folk music montage - all of it. Truthfully, I haven't had much of an opportunity lately to think much about that part - between getting settled in to our new home and the stresses of my job, I've been more inclined to just head for a long nap than to wonder at the marvel of the growing belly. My mom, who is chin-deep in the same grueling nursing program I did a few years ago, hasn't really had the time or resources to be all excited and ooh-ahh with me over this first pregnancy even though she lives in our same house; I have no sisters, and most of the rest of my family is scattered about the country. With all of those factors combined, along with the blessing of a physically-easy pregnancy so far, I could easily forget that I was even pregnant, much less well into trimester #3, were it not for the constant kicks and undulations going on in my uterus. Going to Lamaze class was like a huge red sign: Yes, you are SOON TO GIVE BIRTH. And it's going to be MIND-BLOWING. I'd kind of forgotten all of that, somehow.

In a few weeks, I get to wear a pretty tarp dress, eat yummy cake and ice cream, play games, and be all giggly and excited with some of my closest friends and family about this next step of being a woman. I'm looking forward to it. And just a few weeks after that, I get the chance to be the woman with the bad hair and the forehead-kissing spouse, holding my newborn son. And though I might be screaming my bloody head off, clutching the nurse's uniform and asking WHERE ARE THE DRUGS, WOMAN, I hope I can savor every last minute of it. Or at least the newborn part, anyway.

Speaking of that undulating belly? Check it out:



30 weeks, in our backyard (yay! We have a backyard!).

oof.

Long, long day of Lamaze. Good class. Lots of stories from it. But I'm completely wiped, and though I am writing this so I can still fulfill my NaBloPoMo promise, this post is completely inadequate. I don't like writing that I can't write squat right now, but it's the total, honest-to-blog truth.

To make up for it, tomorrow I will give you the full class scoop in a nice long post, plus a photo of The Belly.

Until tomorrow, my dear friends, I am signing off before I fall asl... zzzzzz...

Ew. Ew. Ew.

Incredible Somersaulting Baby in Utero and I woke up pretty hungry last night around 2am. Not terribly convenient, especially since we were desperately short on anything easily edible in the kitchen, but I happened to find one remaining Blue Box in our cupboards, so all was okay. Plus, there's something really serene and peaceful about being up at such an hour: I don't feel the obligation to do something useful, as most of those activities involve noise-making (like washing the dishes, vacuuming, etc.), and since the TV lineup at 2am is, uh, less than stellar, I usually end up sitting in the quiet, tapping away on my computer. Quiet can be very soothing. So can tapping. I know I don't have too much longer to enjoy such uninterrupted solitude, so I try to enjoy it now while I can.

So I'm making my mac n' cheese snack - and, I'm so not kidding you, the baby starts kicking wildly the minute I open the box and start cooking, as if in hungry recognition of all the mac n' cheese meals that sustained him and I during the early months of my pregnancy - and I go to get a strainer for the pasta once it's cooked. And THAT is when that calm, serene peacefulness I was trying to enjoy was put to an end.

Roach turds. In my cupboard.

Okay, so I didn't know they were roach turds when I first saw them. I've never had to deal with roach turds before, so how would I know? But I see these little pellets, and I get suspicious, and the next thing I know, I'm actually Googling "roach turds" and "roach poo" while my macaroni finishes cooking. The Internet sadly confirms it: yes, these are ROACH TURDS.

Can I tell you how very sick I felt at that moment? Still hungry, but sick too? Ugh.

I decide to look up some more options online to deal with the roach turdness while I eat my macaroni. (I do have a stomach of steel, yo.) I go to grab the strainer, and out falls - yep, you guessed it - a ROACH. A very alive one, and not small at all. He (she?) jumps to another nearby bowl in the cupboard, frozen still, looking at me while I'm just staring at it like some bizarre human vs. bug standoff. I slowly back away, hearing old Western movie standoff music in my head, and go to the laundry room to get the bug spray we keep there.

When I open the door to go to the laundry room - because in this house, you must step outside briefly and then back inside again to reach the laundry room, don't ask - I'm greeted with another late night surprise: a roach FALLS ON MY HEAD.

At this point, it is all I can do to keep from screaming. Is someone filming this? Am I really just part of some low-budget horror flick? This is insanity. Gross, disgusting insanity. Nature is totally messing with the freaked out preggo lady.

I managed to get myself together enough to get Kamikaze Roach out of my hair and squashed under my flip-flop, get the bug spray, come back and completely soak Dirty Harry Roach (and all surrounding kitchenware) with bug spray, and break out some spray bleach to clean up the few little roach turds left. By this time, my snack, the Blue Box I was looking forward to eating, was total mush in the pot. I was still kinda hungry, too, so I actually finished making it with completely soggy noodles and ate it.

It wasn't very good, though. In addition to the sogginess, I kept looking around with every single bite, sure that there was some Head Honcho Roach, ten feet long with long scary tentacles and holding some sort of vendetta against humankind, waiting to spring upon me while I sat in my living room at an hour when Humans should clearly be asleep and the Bug World reigns supreme. It didn't help that I continued my Roach Googling, only to find out more than I ever wanted to know about the pestilence and disgusting grossness that roaches spread around your house, like diseases and putting you and your family at risk for food poisoning and stuff. There's nothing quite like reading about food poisoning from roaches when you're eating the World's Most Processed Food Ever after having had a huge multi-bug face-off.

I think I could be permanently cured of any urge to eat after going to bed. I don't want to see what's waiting for me in any other cupboard.

Now, I'm sure you are all equally disgusted, and I've probably alerted some sort of Internet sensor that will send DCF out to my house just for posting this, but people, I have Jason calling around RIGHT NOW to get some industrial-strength pest control out here. When it was the occasional, random roach, I would worry about how much it would all cost to call pest control and be sort of procrastinaty about it all. At this point, though, I would sell some vital organs just to get the bugs away. Anything, dear God, anything. Just get the bugs out of my house forever and ever, world without end, Amen.

And the only turds I ever want to find again are ones from my son when we let him run around without a diaper. Even then, maybe not those. A Turd Free Zone.

love/hate, home edition

Well, I at least need to TRY and make this about home, seeing as home is the month's theme. Here we go.

love: we have our own washer and dryer now - no more quarters! Plus, they're really quiet when they run and all my clothes come out so much cleaner than those cramped machines at the old apartment complex.

hate: I don't like admitting where we bought this wonderful new washer and dryer set. It's only slightly embarrassing. I'm not naming any names, but let's just say that if you didn't buy your appliances from this particular store, you paid too much. Sigh...



love: listening to the rain showers and thunderstorms while I rest for the next shift at work each afternoon - the feeling of coziness of being inside is indescribable.

hate: did I mention that roaches don't like the rain? And that they tend to take shelter when it does rain? And that shelter happens to be our house? Spoils that cozy mood a bit.


love: we are just a few houses down from an old college friend of mine - who has three young kids and is an experienced mommy to consult - as well as countless other friends-practically-family within a five-minute radius in any direction from our house. Yay for community!

hate: not having had one moment to spare to actually go and visit with these friends. Stupid work schedules!


love: Holy freakin' belly, Batman! 30 weeks today! My abdomen is truly taking on a life of its own, growing and swelling and even undulating all by itself. I feel so womanly when I look down on it... and lately, it's hard to miss.

hate: (I'll be back to fill this part in... right after I finish peeing. AGAIN.)


love: finding my childhood best friend after losing contact for over 20 years. Hi, Maureen! Good friends are always like coming home. I'm really looking forward to get to know her again.

hate: uh, she's in DC. That's, like, a bazillion miles away.


love: off to the swanky Mall at Millenia for some cutting and styling of my hair tomorrow! It's starting to look very moppish...

hate: any idea's for a Father's Day gift for a new father-to-be? I'm stumped.

a night nurse's mostly altruistic prayer before heading off to work

Dear Father,

Let me give my patients the best nursing care possible tonight. Bless my hands and provide healing, comfort, and reassurance through them. Bring peace to each patient, and let them know in their hearts that they are exactly where they are supposed to be, that they are being cared for, that they are safe and have no reason to worry. Make your presence known to them in real and tangible ways, even if they are confused or comatose. Bring peace and comfort to their families, their friends, and let my actions reveal that no matter what, the Great Physician is taking care of them and their loved one.

But Lord, if all else fails, grant me access to enough drugs to let them sleep through the night.

Amen.

perfect baby things for new parents

One random update: I just passed my 200th post on this here blog. I can't believe I had that much to say.

Anyway, back to why I'm posting now: I'm passing the buck because I just read one of my favorite bloggers, Maggie at Mighty Girl, and as the mother of one of the world's cutest toddler boys ever, she just wrote a wonderful list of some very useful stuff for new parents. I've linked to this list as a guide for myself when we start stocking up more for things for our upcoming son. I've also linked to help out my friends who've asked me what I would like for a shower gift and have received nothing but blank stares, drool, and incomprehensible mutters because I have NO idea what to tell them. It's also a link for those of you who know someone who's about to be (or already is) a brand-new parent, because it seems like everyone is pregnant these days, and new parents need all the help they can get!

Perfect Baby Things for New Parents