Wednesday, December 21, 2016

I Had A Baby. And Still Haven't Written About It

Since February of this year, I've had a plethora of opportunities to write about my pregnancy. A lot of things have happened since then. I'm not sure why but I've had an utter lack of desire to write...about much of anything. I finally sat down last week and wrote about what my recovery has been like. Then found a site that would actually pay me to publish it. I signed some paperwork so I can't publish what I wrote on my blog but I can share the link. You know, in case you feel like reading about my vagina. 

Six Things I Wish Someone Would Have Told Me About Postpartum Recovery.

OH! And there are pictures!  I like pictures.

Monday, August 22, 2016

Degradation is just another word for I Love You.

At what age are your babies old enough to know the truth about the cruel harshness of the real world?  How young is too young?  And how old is too late?  There are certain things I don't want him to learn from his friends at the park.  He already trusts me so unconditionally, I wouldn't be able to stand it if that bond were broken by any feelings of betrayal.

Which is why I decided that this was the year I told him.  My best little bud, the love of my life, turned 3 in July and I realized he and his Sister deserve to finally know the truth.


After the initial and understandable shock wore off, I think they took it quite well.


These sweet puppies have brought me, E1 (Stella's Dad)  and E2 so much love and happiness it's unreal.  Little Mr. Milo makes me laugh on a daily basis and snuggles me extra good when I'm sitting in the dark crying for no other reason than the fact that it's Tuesday.  Pregnancy hormones are fun!

The other night after work, Milo and I were on our daily hike when I was overcome with an incredibly bizarre feeling.  It took me a moment to process what, exactly, it was I was feeling.  And then it hit me.  I felt happy.  There I was, sweating along a trail in the woods with my favorite little fuzzy love in the world, 6 months pregnant and on the verge of waddling, with a boyfriend at home who is in love with me and adores Milo and is positively ecstatic that he's going to be a Father and it hit me.  I am so incredibly lucky. Then my heart did this weird swelly thing, my throat constricted, my face became flushed and I smiled.

Immediately followed by a deluge of salty tears.  Naturally.

Milo immediately stopped his hunt for squirrels and trotted over to make sure I was alright.  I ruffled his fur and kissed his soggy nose and told him how much I loved him, even though he's adopted and not my real baby and not even human for that matter.

He took it all in stride, as he does with everything in his fuzzy little life.  Including the humiliation of birthday dress-up.





 Don't feel too badly for him.  He and Stella were both bribed with new toys as a reward for the indignity of it all.  They recovered within seconds.  A brand new Jolly Ball has that effect.


Happy 3rd birthday to Milo and Stella.  The twins of the litter and my personal source of entertainment and amusement. Adopting little Milo, despite some of the most important people in my life strongly advising me otherwise, was one of the top three best decisions I've ever made.  I should really learn to trust myself more.

Happy Birthday little Stella spitfire.  I'm so glad E1 decided to adopt you so you can keep Mr. Milo in line.

Happy Birthday to my bestest little bud and the fuzzy love of my life. Thank you for bringing so much happiness and laughter into my sometimes dead and decaying soul.  I absolutely adore you.


 


























Thursday, August 11, 2016

Pirates, Placenta and Painting. Oh MY!

I have great news!  My placenta has finally moved enough for a vaginal birth.  Isn't that exciting?

This is what my life has become.  Excitement over my placenta.  If 29 year old me could see 39 year old me right now, she'd be rolling her eyes so hard she'd give herself a brain aneurysm and then immediately get on birth control.

Then 39 year old me would say to 29 year old me, "But wait, LOOK!  Look at how adorable our parasitic little fetus is!  He stretches and kicks and swims around like he's the next Michael Phelps!".

At which point, 29 year old me would threaten to push 39 year old me down a flight of stairs if I didn't shut up about the damn baby already.

But guys.  Look!  Just LOOK at how adorable my teeny is.  He is currently 2lbs, the size of an eggplant, and I've never been more in love with someone who resembles a legume more than a human.  I get to meet him in 13 weeks, and 6 days.  Because he's totally going to follow the schedule.  Babies always do.

video


I've been reading a lot of information about babies lately and it's come to my attention, they require a lot of stuff.  Probably a lot of unnecessary stuff but still, you need a place to stash said stuff.

So when my Sister decided to get rid of an old dresser, I plucked it up in a misguided attempt at being crafty.  The direct result of too many hours spent on Pinterest.   I was going to refinish a dresser!!

  Much like a coke fiend desperately snatching up a bag of powdered sugar, I was simply so stoked to do this project for babykins, I didn't pause long enough to really take a look at I was getting.

Which turned out to be layers of hatred stapled together with regret and misery.

Doesn't look too bad.  At first. 

How hard could it possibly be?  And honestly, it probably wouldn't have been that difficult, if I hadn't attempted to do this in the middle of the summer.  Outside.  In triple digit weather.  While five months pregnant.  Idiot.


I poured orange goop on it to loosen up the layers of paint.
I scraped the layers of paint off.



I used mineral spirits to scrape more paint off.  At least, I think that's what I'm doing here.  I can't even remember anymore this damn project took so effing long.


I used power tools and sand paper to get MORE paint off.  Why were there so many layers of paint??


I scoured the googlywebs for a silhouette of a ship that didn't look overly complicated and had Erik print it off for me which I then taped together, cut out, and placed it on the freshly painted dresser of doom to be traced. 




It looks black in the picture but I chose a dark blue against the white for the ship, which I then sanded the hell out of to "distress it".  Which is actually code for covering up my crap paint job.

After adding a clear coat of polycrylic, I screwed on the cute hardware I found at Hobby Lobby.


Pretty sure these pulls are found on any self-respecting pirate ship.


Obviously I HAD to have these little sea urchins on there as well.  Obviously.


BEHOLD THE FINAL MASTERPIECE!!!  Move over Martha, there's a new broad in Federal Prison Camp!


I'm not super duper happy with it and if I hadn't been so utterly sick of looking at the stupid thing on the back porch for the last two months, I would have sanded it even more and done one more coat of the polycrylic but alas, apathy and heat stroke has won the day yet again.

Six month mark and growing!


I had a heart to heart with the teeny and he said he understood, I tried my best, and he accepts my sacrifice.   I feel it's imperative he get used to low expectations from the start.






Friday, June 24, 2016

19 Weeks and Pregnanting All Wrong

I gave in today.  As I sit here, my pants are being held together with a rubber band.  Oh, I can still zip them up if I really want to.  But breathing has overridden my vanity.  I've just begun week 19 of my mutation, transformation, production expansion.  I have to say, it hasn't been at all what I expected.  In fact, it's been pretty damn easy so far.  I want to punch myself in the face for even typing that sentence out.  And I'm pretty sure I've just cosmically jinxed myself.  And yet, there it is.

In fact, I hadn't realized how worried I was about not having many symptoms, until my last checkup when I started bawling while lying on the exam table listening to his little heartbeat and having my Doc reassure me that all was well.  I simply hadn't felt pregnant.  And it worried me.  Everything I'd been reading was telling me how difficult and wretched everything was supposed to be.  Especially for a woman like me, who is "advanced age-high risk".

Here's what I have experienced:
  • I've had heartburn a couple of times.
  • My boobs KILLED during the first trimester and I winced every night as I'd attempt to remove my bra without making booby contact.
  • I have to pee every 17 minutes.  Sometimes sooner. 
I've already gained 10lbs.  So that's super supes.  I'm 5'6 and pre-prego was a hardy 135lbs.  Doc isn't concerned so neither am I.  Yet.

Haven't gotten around to taking the 19 week pic yet. I'm at the awkward stage where I don't quite look pregnant but rather like I just ate the entire dessert section of a Vegas buffet.  Twice.

Um.  Yeah.  So far, that's kind of it.  I have a theory though.  I'm thinking that all those years and years of having miserably painful periods where I was curled into a fetal ball of agony is making this feel like a snap.  That, combined with the fact that I no longer wake up with the familiar caress of my years long companion, the hangover, I'm feeling pretty damn good.  Who knew?

I have had one major, annoying, inconvenience.  I cry.  Like, for the most asinine reasons.  Let's use some more bullet points!
  • I recently went to St. George for the weekend and I cried because I missed my dog. 
  • I read a news article where a 12 year old girl accidentally ran a marathon.  Which clearly calls for tears.
  • Getting dressed the other morning, I realized I was down to one last bra that actually fit.  I plopped down in front of my closet and bawled.  And then cried again on my way to work because crying had made me late. 
  • Someone on FB posted an obituary for a woman in Cincinnati I'd never known or even heard of.  I burst into tears because she was dead. 
  • Gordon Ramsey hugged someone on Kitchen Nightmares.  I ugly cried. 
I have an ultrasound appointment on Monday.  I have to drink 32oz. of fluid an hour before my appointment.  I'll probably pee myself.  And then cry.



Tuesday, May 31, 2016

Love At First Sight

Ive met someone new.  And I'm in love.  I've never believed in love at first sight.  Always thought those people who did believe were delusional or just loved the idea of love at first sight. You can't really love someone without actually getting to know them first.  Loving someone has as much to do with personality as it does their physical existence.  Love at first sight isn't a real thing.

I was wrong.



I'm really REALLY  in love and I'm desperate that this person have the chance to reciprocate my love.  There are so many ways for this to go wrong.  And it has gone wrong, for many women I know.  It left them heartbroken and despondent and I'm finally in a position to really understand the anguish they must have felt.  I hope with everything I am that I'll never have to find out first hand but it's proving difficult for me, a pessimist and cynic, not to dwell on the negative possibilities.

Here's the thing.  I'm 39.  A few years ago I'd given up on ever experiencing this kind of love in this lifetime.  My life just didn't turn out the way I had imagined when I was younger and that was okay.  I'd come to terms with it and was pretty content with my life.

But then.  I saw him.  He doesn't know who I am yet but he's changed everything for me.


And I am in love.