My post on reaching the third trimester sparked a whole new kind of anxiety in me.
It didn't help that the very same day, I read no less than 2 blog posts about women being pressured into c-sections and then somebody posted a similar situation on a message board.
Side note: If you looooved your c-section, then good for you. But don't go shooting the "You should be happy you have a healthy baby, you selfish cow" argument to women who regret or grieve their birth experience. Seriously...women are bitches sometimes.
So, here came the anxiety.
I'm going to have one of THIRTY (that's right- 30) doctors attending to me when baby decides to come. So that means Dr. Doctor isn't going to know me from Adam. I'll be a number. They won't know my birth plan. They might not care about my birth plan. This is not somebody I will have a relationship with and will trust to be in my corner.
What if they try to pressure me into a c-section?
What if they try to hook me up to continuous monitoring and I can't walk around?
What if they throw some scare-tactics my way to get me to have a c-section so they can make their dinner reservations?
I get that hospitals have timelines and babies have their own timelines and sometimes the 2 don't meet.
So, I've been studying, researching, calling my kick-ass midwife aunt for advice.
A friend suggested a doula- GENIUS!
And I'm considering a home birth. That's right, folks, a home birth.
We have our 28 week appointment today and I'm going to grill the doctor like it's the back room of a police station today.
Because my birth experience? It matters. Call me a selfish cow, but it's the last one I'm going to have. And I want it to be a good one.
Thursday, January 26, 2012
Sunday, January 22, 2012
Just Say No...To Opening Your Mouth
I have an intolerance problem. It's mainly directed at really stupid people.
I get that people stupid people are out there. Stupid people breed stupid people. Stupidity perpetuated. Genetics at work. I get it.
And then it gets perpetuated into my news and on my social networks sites and I'm swirling a pen in my eyeball and...
Oh yeah, where was I?
Don't be stupid.
And don't be stupid about things that require you to be smart. Like politics. Just because you can regurgitate an opinion like my cat's hairball, doesn't mean it's worth anymore than that phglemy glob. Good for you for having an opinion. But don't go open your mouth about it until you've done a little research.
And watching only ONE news network that provides ONE perspective doesn't count.
And if u rite like ur texting ur homie, I will start swirling that pen again.
So here's the take away:
1. Don't be stupid.
2. If you're stupid. Recognize and keep your mouth shut. Especially if you're in my vicinity.
Even Abey Baby agrees:
Better to remain silent and be thought a fool than to speak out and remove all doubt.- Abraham Lincoln
Is it 2013 yet?
I get that people stupid people are out there. Stupid people breed stupid people. Stupidity perpetuated. Genetics at work. I get it.
And then it gets perpetuated into my news and on my social networks sites and I'm swirling a pen in my eyeball and...
Oh yeah, where was I?
Don't be stupid.
And don't be stupid about things that require you to be smart. Like politics. Just because you can regurgitate an opinion like my cat's hairball, doesn't mean it's worth anymore than that phglemy glob. Good for you for having an opinion. But don't go open your mouth about it until you've done a little research.
And watching only ONE news network that provides ONE perspective doesn't count.
And if u rite like ur texting ur homie, I will start swirling that pen again.
So here's the take away:
1. Don't be stupid.
2. If you're stupid. Recognize and keep your mouth shut. Especially if you're in my vicinity.
Even Abey Baby agrees:
Better to remain silent and be thought a fool than to speak out and remove all doubt.- Abraham Lincoln
Is it 2013 yet?
Friday, January 20, 2012
Making Friendly With the 3rd Trimester
Yesterday I hit 27 weeks. The official, unofficial mark of the 3rd trimester, depending on which website or doctor you're getting your info from.
This time last pregnancy, I was one week in to bed rest. Next week will mark the "anniversary" week where I was hospitalized. And I have to say I'm more than a little haunted by memories of our last pregnancy and the twins' birth.
I haven't talked about it too much. I didn't want to sound ungrateful. We're all healthy. The twins are healthy and modern medicine is responsible for us all being alive and well. ::: shout out to modern medicine:::
That said, things started sucking pretty bad when I went on bed rest and our birth experience? Well, it SUUUUUUCKED. I'm a "natural gal." I didn't want a c-section. I wanted low intervention. I got...the opposite.
Pre-term labor turned into HELLP Syndrome the morning the babies were born. Because of the swelling like Violet ("You're turning violet, Violet!") from the HELLP, my usually good veins needed 3 nurses and endless pokes before they got an IV in me. I was told the babies had to come NOW, natural wasn't an option because I might bleed out, and "No, you can't take a shower, you vain princess. You might have a seizure," before getting rolled into the operating room, laid out, and pumped so full of drugs that I puked on the table.
I don't remember much. I remember whining "I don't like it" over and over throughout the procedure. I remember hearing the twins cry. I remember 2 nurses swinging them by my face before whisking them off to the NICU because, "This one's not breathing so well."
I vaguely remember being in the recovery room and one of the nurses apologizing that she gave me too much medicine and it was making me (brace yourself) poo like a monster all over the bed. I remember being cleaned by nurses, a few friends stopping by, being on oxygen, almost fainting in the shower, and Brendan bringing me pictures of the twins on his phone.
I didn't see the babies for 28 hours after they were born.
The next few weeks I had to build up enough stamina to walk down a hallway. I didn't always have the energy to stay in the NICU long enough to hold both of them. Pictures show me swollen, pale, sick-looking. A week after they were born, my mom arrived and was horrified that I looked so ill.
So, here we are. Two healthy 2 year-olds, one healthy singleton pregnancy, and two trimesters later- aiming for a glorious medication-free VBAC. And while memories of my experience make me a little paranoid, I'm hell-bent on making friends with the 3rd trimester this time around.
VBAC or bust!
Wish me luck.
Oh yeah, and these guys:
= Totally worth pooing all over a bed and multiple nurses.
This time last pregnancy, I was one week in to bed rest. Next week will mark the "anniversary" week where I was hospitalized. And I have to say I'm more than a little haunted by memories of our last pregnancy and the twins' birth.
I haven't talked about it too much. I didn't want to sound ungrateful. We're all healthy. The twins are healthy and modern medicine is responsible for us all being alive and well. ::: shout out to modern medicine:::
That said, things started sucking pretty bad when I went on bed rest and our birth experience? Well, it SUUUUUUCKED. I'm a "natural gal." I didn't want a c-section. I wanted low intervention. I got...the opposite.
Pre-term labor turned into HELLP Syndrome the morning the babies were born. Because of the swelling like Violet ("You're turning violet, Violet!") from the HELLP, my usually good veins needed 3 nurses and endless pokes before they got an IV in me. I was told the babies had to come NOW, natural wasn't an option because I might bleed out, and "No, you can't take a shower, you vain princess. You might have a seizure," before getting rolled into the operating room, laid out, and pumped so full of drugs that I puked on the table.
I don't remember much. I remember whining "I don't like it" over and over throughout the procedure. I remember hearing the twins cry. I remember 2 nurses swinging them by my face before whisking them off to the NICU because, "This one's not breathing so well."
I vaguely remember being in the recovery room and one of the nurses apologizing that she gave me too much medicine and it was making me (brace yourself) poo like a monster all over the bed. I remember being cleaned by nurses, a few friends stopping by, being on oxygen, almost fainting in the shower, and Brendan bringing me pictures of the twins on his phone.
I didn't see the babies for 28 hours after they were born.
The next few weeks I had to build up enough stamina to walk down a hallway. I didn't always have the energy to stay in the NICU long enough to hold both of them. Pictures show me swollen, pale, sick-looking. A week after they were born, my mom arrived and was horrified that I looked so ill.
So, here we are. Two healthy 2 year-olds, one healthy singleton pregnancy, and two trimesters later- aiming for a glorious medication-free VBAC. And while memories of my experience make me a little paranoid, I'm hell-bent on making friends with the 3rd trimester this time around.
VBAC or bust!
 |
| I thought you might miss my face. You're welcome. |
Wish me luck.
Oh yeah, and these guys:
= Totally worth pooing all over a bed and multiple nurses.
Thursday, January 12, 2012
The Passive-Aggressive Rant
The irony of this post: Here is a rant about people ranting. I am the Queen of Hypocrisy. You're welcome.
Sometimes I really hate facebook. I'm amazed at how many people I am "friends" with, dated even, who have the worst possible social skills. These are grown folk. People in their 30s who post status updates that could be sound bites from a high school cafeteria.
Here's a little taste:
So what do I do?
1. Unfriend
2. Post responses like this one I left- "This is a ridiculous and melodramatic thing to say. I hope you've been drinking."
3. Get a bag of popcorn and soak up a little Crazy.
What would you do?
Sometimes I really hate facebook. I'm amazed at how many people I am "friends" with, dated even, who have the worst possible social skills. These are grown folk. People in their 30s who post status updates that could be sound bites from a high school cafeteria.
Here's a little taste:
My dilemma- While I'm dismayed and repulsed by the passive-aggressive rant, the schadenfreude in me loves watching a train wreck happen. Even when it happens over and over again. Cause clearly, to post foolishness like this on facebook is indicative of more than just a Bad Day. It points to a pretty clear character and maturity deficit these people have going on.
So what do I do?
1. Unfriend
2. Post responses like this one I left- "This is a ridiculous and melodramatic thing to say. I hope you've been drinking."
3. Get a bag of popcorn and soak up a little Crazy.
What would you do?
Wednesday, January 11, 2012
My Giant Elephant Ass
The other day I was walking past a window and I caught a glimpse of it.
My arse.
It was huge.
YOUGE I tell you.
Gone are my hopes and dreams that I would sashay my way through this pregnancy cute and sassy. This, combined with the picture Brendan took of my Man Face/No Neck the other day, solidifies it.
I am not a glowing cutie patooty pregnant gal. I am the Elephant Woman and I will steal your food. So, watch out.
ps- Any pointers on "slowing my roll" when it comes to the gestational weight gain is much appreciated. I'm not looking for a diet or looking to lose weight, I would just like to feel In Control when it comes to food again. Not to mention, I have NO IDEA what is "normal" weight gain for carrying 1 baby. Although, I think I left Normal Town about 2 months ago when the holidays arrived in all their food-covered glory.
My arse.
It was huge.
YOUGE I tell you.
Gone are my hopes and dreams that I would sashay my way through this pregnancy cute and sassy. This, combined with the picture Brendan took of my Man Face/No Neck the other day, solidifies it.
I am not a glowing cutie patooty pregnant gal. I am the Elephant Woman and I will steal your food. So, watch out.
ps- Any pointers on "slowing my roll" when it comes to the gestational weight gain is much appreciated. I'm not looking for a diet or looking to lose weight, I would just like to feel In Control when it comes to food again. Not to mention, I have NO IDEA what is "normal" weight gain for carrying 1 baby. Although, I think I left Normal Town about 2 months ago when the holidays arrived in all their food-covered glory.
Sunday, January 8, 2012
If It's Broken, I Probably Own It
I have a magic touch these days. It's like the Golden Finger only instead of gold, it's made of some kind of Voo Doo curse circa Anne Rice.
Quick run-down of the things I've turned to shit in the last 30 days by being in their general vicinity:
The nefarious laptop
The furnace
And within the last 8 days?
The roof
The washing machine
At this pace, I'm going to be standing on the street corner, whoring it out for an insert broken appliance here. I could do it. I learned a lot from Julia Roberts. Like don't take less than $100.
I'm such an awesome role model.
Quick run-down of the things I've turned to shit in the last 30 days by being in their general vicinity:
The nefarious laptop
The furnace
And within the last 8 days?
The roof
The washing machine
At this pace, I'm going to be standing on the street corner, whoring it out for an insert broken appliance here. I could do it. I learned a lot from Julia Roberts. Like don't take less than $100.
I'm such an awesome role model.
Friday, January 6, 2012
Dear Baby
Dear Baby,
I'm glad you're healthy and bouncing around like you've been doing some kind of Schedule 2, illegal substance. I'm sure you're enjoying the square footage that a couple of 2 year-old hoodlums stretched out for you in this King-Sized uterus.
And I would like to make a few small requests.
1. There is this thing called night time. Most of us use this time for sleep. You're using this time to be all Night at the Roxbury up in here. Please pull up a sofa and remote control and have yourself a nice relaxing time between the hours of 9pm and 7am.
2. Please don't jab your little limbs into any area that is South of the Border. It's just not nice. Manners, Baby, manners.
3. If you could please stop wanting food. Especially food covered in cheese or sugar. All.The.Time. Mama's getting rotund. And it's making it harder to work it like Pretty Woman or fend off the dreaded Man Face/Two-Face-No-Neck situation.
Love, Mama
I'm glad you're healthy and bouncing around like you've been doing some kind of Schedule 2, illegal substance. I'm sure you're enjoying the square footage that a couple of 2 year-old hoodlums stretched out for you in this King-Sized uterus.
And I would like to make a few small requests.
1. There is this thing called night time. Most of us use this time for sleep. You're using this time to be all Night at the Roxbury up in here. Please pull up a sofa and remote control and have yourself a nice relaxing time between the hours of 9pm and 7am.
2. Please don't jab your little limbs into any area that is South of the Border. It's just not nice. Manners, Baby, manners.
3. If you could please stop wanting food. Especially food covered in cheese or sugar. All.The.Time. Mama's getting rotund. And it's making it harder to work it like Pretty Woman or fend off the dreaded Man Face/Two-Face-No-Neck situation.
Love, Mama
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