Forgive my absence.
I adore most of you. Excuse me. ALL of you.
I am just in...agony.
It hurts to sit in a chair. It hurts to stand. It hurts to walk. It hurts to step over baby-gates, but those are NOT fucking coming down. It hurts to lay on either side. It doesn't hurt to lay on my back, but when I do that I cannot breathe.
My pelvis feels like it's splitting apart. Pretty much all the time.
I'd rather be in labor.
***
(Annoying problem. Whenever I hit enter twice to start a new line, the cursor just goes right back to the beginning of the line that I just typed. WTF blogger?!)
***
I've been having a little bit of anxiety (surprised? :p) reconciling the fact that my precious Cute is going to be a big sister. I feel like I'm cheating her out of some of my time, and the thought of hurting her is really hard for me to handle. I know that my feelings are considered 'normal' but it's still hard. Ya know? Ya know.
***
(Something else that I have to get off my chest. The Wiggle in the red shirt...Murray? He's pretty much the most frightening looking human being that I've evereverevvvver seen. He needs to go. Somewhere.)
***
So here I am. Struggling, day to day. (I'm not in complete agony every day, but I sure as hell ain't up for much more than the grocery store when I'm at my best, so yeah.)
The Bottomless Pit's mother has to drive past my street every day on her way home from work.
Has she ever asked if I need food? A coffee? A minute to take a shower? No.
And we're not BFF's. I've been good without The Pit Family Chaos. I wouldn't say a word to complain about not having to deal with her, like, ever.
Buuutttt....
All of a sudden, now that the reality of a newborn is sinking in, things in my world are becoming interesting to her again.
I totally resent her right now because she's telling The Pit that she plans to help with the baby. That she plans to babysit. That she plans to take The Cute to make things easier.
No, no and...NO.
(Maybe she should PLAN on wording things differently. 'Could I be of any help?'. 'Would you LIKE me to?'.)
Will she visit the baby? Of course. And she will know her bounds and not stay for 8 hours at a time refusing to give him up, as she did with The Cute. She will not diagnose him with any illnesses, hold him and not give him back and demand that I call the Pediatrician immediately when nothing is wrong. She will not get in my head and have me hold my 5 day old baby down while unnecessary blood is drawn from a tiny foot to prove that the 'jaundice' that she said is there actually isn't, as a new mommy feels vulnerable and violated and still fumes about that scene over 2 years later.
I bring this up a lot. I know. It's because it still hurts, it never got resolved, she never even acknowledged doing anything wrong when things got out of hand, and I'm scared to death of things getting this dramatic again. Especially when I have no backup. I don't want to feel like I'm taking on the world when I'm freshly stitched up and hormonal. I just want to hold my baby. The newborn stuff goes by way too fast.
Happiest time of my life.
I am entitled to it. I want it. With no drama, no guilt trips. Without The Bottomless Pit getting in my head and telling me that I'm wrong because things aren't exactly as he envisioned them before we even met. Please.
I will not be shipping my first baby off to a house that belongs on Hoarders when her whole world has just been shifted. Avoidance is not the best way to help her adjust. I do not anticipate going out for quite a while, there will be no need for a babysitter.
***
Second baby showers? They're tacky.
My family wanted to throw me one anyway. I declined.
Not because I'm above being tacky (I'm wearing a Juicy velour tracksuit RIGHT NOW), hell, I don't give a damn if I'm less than mannerly when it concerns my relatives...You think I learned to burp the ABC's in private?
I declined it because I just do not have the stamina to deal with The Pit's mother hijacking my baby shower again. I just. Can't. Deal.
So my family asked, 'What do you need?'.
Honestly? Not much of anything. Clothes, I guess. Towels. Swaddles. Diapers. Maybe a new bouncy seat. You get the idea.
The Bottomless Pit complains so much about how spoiled I am. Unless it's when my family is saving him money. That? That's fine.
So they bought...everything. And then some. And The Pit's family? They haven't even as much as asked.
And it's not that gifts make my family more entitled to time with the baby, because I don't want them harassing me about him either. It's that...that 'helped'.
So his family doesn't want to buy anything, doesn't want to drop off dinner, doesn't want to help ME with anything.
But they want to...
HELP.
***
I just wish that they could be told exactly how things stand instead having this all floating around in this uncertain kind of way. Makes me nervous, yo. The Bottomless Pit wants to handle things as they come up. And if I took the initiative to approach his mother she would just yes me to death, anyway. If I ask The Pit to do the talking we will just fight because his parents 'can't do anything right' (finally, we agree! ;D) and I...
I...
I don't even know.
Valium.
***
I get it. You want to snuggle a new baby. You're going to snuggle a new baby. I'd never turn you fools away. All I ask is that you keep your drama to a minimum, don't invite yourselves over for dinner and expect me to cook it my 2nd night out of the hospital, don't shit-stir, don't baby hog, stay the fuck away when I'm in labor. THAT is how you can help.
***
HELP.
***
Baby-relative drama? Commiserate.
4/14/11
2/15/11
Pregzilla Visits the Eye Doctor
(Don't even waste your time reading this. It's not about anything.)
***
I have been unfaithful to bedrest.
I am a bedrest fail.
***
Saturday? I went shopping.
Sunday? I went shopping.
And today? I wandered around my eye doctor's office for over an hour, consumed by the endless choices of eyeglasses.
I picked 2 pairs. Let's see if I ever wear them. My pelvis is screaming that I damn well better.
***
What else did I do today? Showered The Cute with Valentine's Day gifts, received a lovely pair of Swarovski crystal heart earrings, bought some makeup at Walgreens, fought (once again) with United Healthcare's mail-order Rx department (they lost my prescription. Fun, huh?) and THEN I had the BEST argument with on-call Dr Barratt at South County Hospital ('I don't prescribe that so I can't tell you what happens if you miss a dose while pregnant. But I think you'll be fine until tomorrow. But I don't prescribe that. But I think you should be fine.'). I also cooked dinner and did dishes for the first time in a while.
***
My prescription for contacts has increased, which seems to happen with a frightening frequency. Am I GOING BLIND?
***
I squeezed my big ass into a pair of leggings and pulled on a fitted tank top.
Over that?
An open button down plaid shirt.
It won't button.
I hadn't hand-washed my delicates in a while and the only clean bra that I had on hand, of course, was that whore-bra from Victoria's Secret. The one that promises to add 3 sizes.
Be warned. It does.
So not only is it currently too small, since my pre-preg size was a mere 32 D, but it makes my boobs (which are currently bigger than my head at 34 E) look even bigger than my pregnant belly. Which is remarkable, I guess.
Whore.
Preg-whore.
***
I got cat-called in the parking lot by two country boys who were exiting the grocery store with bags of Doritos.
Girls who waddle do not wish for cat calls.
I was all 'I will MACE you ladies, SO fucking hard. Get out of here with your Jimmy Johnson hats, you don't know shit about racing.' And I was really close to saying 'Give me your fucking Doritos' but I kept my cool.
Didn't want to come across as unlady-like.
And then the boy working at Dunkin Donuts gave me my coffee and donut for free.
Girls who waddle do wish for donuts.
I was all 'Thank youuuuu' *insert eyelash batting here*.
***
So the eye doctor is all 'Don't look at the light, look straight ahead' and suddenly everything was really funny. This little man, hunched over in front of basketball-bellied me, with a spelunking helmet and a magnifying glass...
*Insert moment of hysteria here*.
I had to be given a moment to compose myself.
And then he got super annoyed when I read the 'E' as a '3'.
'There are no threes.'
'But you asked me what I saw.'
'Everything up there is a letter.'
'Fine, I still SEE a three.'
And then he got even more annoyed when I saw a minus sign in front of the 'A'.
Because there was no minus sign.
My theory is that the spelunking helmet temporarily blinded me and blurred my vision.
And then I started losing interest in the appointment all together.
I don't KNOW if 1 or 2 is better, I don't know if I can make that decision now that I forgot what 1 looks like and HEY that's a picture of the eyeball guy from Monsters Inc. on your counter! Fan of Monsters Inc? Or is it just because he's an eyeball with legs?
*Hysteria starts over*
***
I went in with 1 contact. Left with 2 new ones.
I can seeeeee.
And my pores are looking rough.
Thanks, people, for letting me walk around with visible nose pores AND clogged chin pores. Thanks.
2 pairs of glasses will be arriving in a week or so, to make the midnight feedings and my upcoming hospital stay a little bit easier.
***
Conclusion:
I don't know that my rack will ever recover from this pregnancy.
Only being able to see out of one eye is quite-headache inducing. And if you rip your very last contact it will most likely happen on a Saturday night so that you are destined to spent at least 36 hours as a Cyclops.*
I have astigmatism but did not order the contacts for that, because they're more expensive and my vision is almost flawless now.
I need to stick to the bedrest thing because OMG I'm hurting today.
It pisses me off when people say 'Happy Valentine's!'. Happy Valentine's what?
***
I warned you.
;D
***
*This is most likely the result of me yelling at the hobo in front of Walgreens in Fort Lauderdale who told me that he was magical. I wouldn't give him a dollar.Well DAMN if that didn't come back to bite me in the ass, dude wasn't lying.
***
I have been unfaithful to bedrest.
I am a bedrest fail.
***
Saturday? I went shopping.
Sunday? I went shopping.
And today? I wandered around my eye doctor's office for over an hour, consumed by the endless choices of eyeglasses.
I picked 2 pairs. Let's see if I ever wear them. My pelvis is screaming that I damn well better.
***
What else did I do today? Showered The Cute with Valentine's Day gifts, received a lovely pair of Swarovski crystal heart earrings, bought some makeup at Walgreens, fought (once again) with United Healthcare's mail-order Rx department (they lost my prescription. Fun, huh?) and THEN I had the BEST argument with on-call Dr Barratt at South County Hospital ('I don't prescribe that so I can't tell you what happens if you miss a dose while pregnant. But I think you'll be fine until tomorrow. But I don't prescribe that. But I think you should be fine.'). I also cooked dinner and did dishes for the first time in a while.
***
My prescription for contacts has increased, which seems to happen with a frightening frequency. Am I GOING BLIND?
***
I squeezed my big ass into a pair of leggings and pulled on a fitted tank top.
Over that?
An open button down plaid shirt.
It won't button.
I hadn't hand-washed my delicates in a while and the only clean bra that I had on hand, of course, was that whore-bra from Victoria's Secret. The one that promises to add 3 sizes.
Be warned. It does.
So not only is it currently too small, since my pre-preg size was a mere 32 D, but it makes my boobs (which are currently bigger than my head at 34 E) look even bigger than my pregnant belly. Which is remarkable, I guess.
Whore.
Preg-whore.
***
I got cat-called in the parking lot by two country boys who were exiting the grocery store with bags of Doritos.
Girls who waddle do not wish for cat calls.
I was all 'I will MACE you ladies, SO fucking hard. Get out of here with your Jimmy Johnson hats, you don't know shit about racing.' And I was really close to saying 'Give me your fucking Doritos' but I kept my cool.
Didn't want to come across as unlady-like.
And then the boy working at Dunkin Donuts gave me my coffee and donut for free.
Girls who waddle do wish for donuts.
I was all 'Thank youuuuu' *insert eyelash batting here*.
***
So the eye doctor is all 'Don't look at the light, look straight ahead' and suddenly everything was really funny. This little man, hunched over in front of basketball-bellied me, with a spelunking helmet and a magnifying glass...
*Insert moment of hysteria here*.
I had to be given a moment to compose myself.
And then he got super annoyed when I read the 'E' as a '3'.
'There are no threes.'
'But you asked me what I saw.'
'Everything up there is a letter.'
'Fine, I still SEE a three.'
And then he got even more annoyed when I saw a minus sign in front of the 'A'.
Because there was no minus sign.
My theory is that the spelunking helmet temporarily blinded me and blurred my vision.
And then I started losing interest in the appointment all together.
I don't KNOW if 1 or 2 is better, I don't know if I can make that decision now that I forgot what 1 looks like and HEY that's a picture of the eyeball guy from Monsters Inc. on your counter! Fan of Monsters Inc? Or is it just because he's an eyeball with legs?
*Hysteria starts over*
***
I went in with 1 contact. Left with 2 new ones.
I can seeeeee.
And my pores are looking rough.
Thanks, people, for letting me walk around with visible nose pores AND clogged chin pores. Thanks.
2 pairs of glasses will be arriving in a week or so, to make the midnight feedings and my upcoming hospital stay a little bit easier.
***
Conclusion:
I don't know that my rack will ever recover from this pregnancy.
Only being able to see out of one eye is quite-headache inducing. And if you rip your very last contact it will most likely happen on a Saturday night so that you are destined to spent at least 36 hours as a Cyclops.*
I have astigmatism but did not order the contacts for that, because they're more expensive and my vision is almost flawless now.
I need to stick to the bedrest thing because OMG I'm hurting today.
It pisses me off when people say 'Happy Valentine's!'. Happy Valentine's what?
***
I warned you.
;D
***
*This is most likely the result of me yelling at the hobo in front of Walgreens in Fort Lauderdale who told me that he was magical. I wouldn't give him a dollar.Well DAMN if that didn't come back to bite me in the ass, dude wasn't lying.
1/31/11
Speak ENGLISH!!!
I am sitting and I'm typing and I'm hurting.
I've been hurting for a few weeks.
I tend to brush things off. 'Eh. It's not that bad. It'll go away soon.'
But this pain...got worse.
***
I am young and I'm healthy and I'm pregnant.
I am glowy and I am excited and I should feel fine.
I am a shining example of a healthy pregnancy.
But...
OW.
WTF.
OW.
***
Last pregnancy some strange terms got thrown at me by my Dr.
Uterine fibroid tumors.
Choroid plexus cysts.
Cervical dysplasia without testing positive for HPV.
And now...
Pubic symphysis?
Sympha-what?
***
Forgive me Dr. But I don't know WHAT the fuck you're saying to me.
***
The uterine fibroid tumors meant that my uterus has 2 ugly growths, BIG ones, non-cancerous, that eat estrogen...which just so happens to be flowing during pregnancy like box wine at a white-trash surprise 50th party.
The fibroids could do nothing. They could result in a hysterectomy down the road. They could keep my labor from progressing and require me to have a c-section, ruining the only part of my body that I would ever refer to as 'amazing'.
No more abs for you. Not without work, at least.
The fibroids, in rare cases, could cause fetal deformities if certain parts were attempting to develop with one of those...things...in the way.
The fibroids are still happily nom-ing my estrogen and my previous labor was fine, but the sadistic nurses in L&D loaded me up with Pitocin and will again. Just. In. Case.
(Dr's orders. I know. I still don't like day shift. ;p)
***
Choroid plexus cysts meant that there was a long silence from the ultrasound tech at the much awaited 'big ultrasound'.
I found out that The Cute was a girl.
The tech kept going over and over and over the same area. She left the room and returned with someone else.
Neither said anything to us or to eachother.
The Pit and I were too wrapped up in 'It's a GIRL!?' to notice. No clue anything was going on.
Then those horrible words were mentioned at my next appointment. Core-what plexa-huh?
Cysts? At the base of her brain?
Those words along with 'soft marker' and 'trisomy 18'.
Trisomy 18 means a lifespan of a few weeks.
So what he was telling me was that my baby was going to die within a month or so of being born...
Or...
the baby could be just fine.
Hearing that he was just spelling out a worst case scenario, and that everything was 'probably normal' was anything but comforting.
I found this out the week after making my registry. I remember the crushing feeling...the feeling of how I had just started to get really excited about the surprise pregnancy...and then those words.
Was it my fault? Had I not wanted the baby enough? Please...ME, anything, just not my baby.
Everything that I read on the internet, everything that I obsessed about over the internet, was bad. Alarmingly so.
I didn't even tell The Pit. Why break both of our hearts if there was a possibility that it was nothing?
And...it turned out to be nothing.
Thank You GOD.
Words can never hurt me? Words almost destroyed me.
And if you are someone who got here by searching for information about Choroid Plexus Cysts? My little girl had them on her ultrasound and she is happy, healthy, precocious and almost 2.
***
Cervical dysplasia meant many things, most notably not being numbed while my OB/GYN reached up inside me with a pair of scissors and snipped away at my insides while I was 24 weeks pregnant with The Cute.
Oh. So THAT's what a 'colposcopy' is.
It meant 'Hmm. Interesting'.
It meant that I don't have HPV but I still have some rapidly changing pre-cancerous cells on my cervix. That may or may not go back to normal on their own.
Oh.
Ok.
Glad you cleared THAT one up for me.
?
***
And now...
Pubic symphysis?
That means...
The Cute was a chubbalish fetus who damaged my pelvis and I'm just now realizing it.
I can't roll over in bed without stabbing pain along my pubic bone and down my left thigh.
I can't lift up my left leg to step over a baby gate or pull on my sweatpants or leggings.
I want to cry when I'm getting out of a car.
I have trouble gaining back the ability to walk after sitting down or laying down for more than an hour or so. I hobble to the bathroom in the middle of the night. I hobble to my Cute when she cries. And it hurts.
Stairs are agony .
The pain isn't constant. I'm fine when I'm sitting or laying down in most positions.
I am stubborn. I thought it was normal. I have a high pain tolerance. I rarely complain when it comes to the physical.
But after finishing up The Bottomless Pit's to-do list over the weekend I felt that someone was cutting me up from the inside out.
***
Bad uterus.
Bum cervix.
Effed pelvis.
Just throw me in a damned nursing home, why dontcha?
***
But...back to what I was going to tell you.
I was translating for you.
I was just about to explain...
Those words.
What were they again?
Pyooobbaa-simfffff...ahh...
Pubic symphysis.
And what it means to me.
Pubic symphysis...
Means...
Freedom.
It means 'I can't lift that. I'm on bedrest.'
It means 'Cook your own dinner.'
It means that I'm going to be going a little crazy for a while but that's ok because what else is new.
It means I can sit on the floor and play with The Cute but I really shouldn't be picking her up.
I lack the self control to refrain from picking her up, but I have been warned.
It means that I have a WRITTEN ORDER to not move any ovens away from any walls, or bring power tools down to the basement, or continuously walk from room to room putting things where they belong.
You better believe I'm gonna be cracking the whip.
From the couch.
♥
***
Treatment for pubic symphysis includes physical therapy during pregnancy to try to help/fix the problem before delivery, especially since it will only get worse as I get bigger. It also includes an ugly maternity belt/brace/harness thing that looks stupid but really makes a difference. Most importantly it includes bedrest. And/Or crutches...also known as 'beating sticks'.
***
I could take Tylenol if I needed to, but being on SSRIs during pregnancy, I do not want to take anything else that could potentially exacerbate any side effects on the liver or other internal organs. Not gonna push my luck.
***
Holla if you've dealt with any of these foreign words. Tell me about it.
I've been hurting for a few weeks.
I tend to brush things off. 'Eh. It's not that bad. It'll go away soon.'
But this pain...got worse.
***
I am young and I'm healthy and I'm pregnant.
I am glowy and I am excited and I should feel fine.
I am a shining example of a healthy pregnancy.
But...
OW.
WTF.
OW.
***
Last pregnancy some strange terms got thrown at me by my Dr.
Uterine fibroid tumors.
Choroid plexus cysts.
Cervical dysplasia without testing positive for HPV.
And now...
Pubic symphysis?
Sympha-what?
***
Forgive me Dr. But I don't know WHAT the fuck you're saying to me.
***
The uterine fibroid tumors meant that my uterus has 2 ugly growths, BIG ones, non-cancerous, that eat estrogen...which just so happens to be flowing during pregnancy like box wine at a white-trash surprise 50th party.
The fibroids could do nothing. They could result in a hysterectomy down the road. They could keep my labor from progressing and require me to have a c-section, ruining the only part of my body that I would ever refer to as 'amazing'.
No more abs for you. Not without work, at least.
The fibroids, in rare cases, could cause fetal deformities if certain parts were attempting to develop with one of those...things...in the way.
The fibroids are still happily nom-ing my estrogen and my previous labor was fine, but the sadistic nurses in L&D loaded me up with Pitocin and will again. Just. In. Case.
(Dr's orders. I know. I still don't like day shift. ;p)
***
Choroid plexus cysts meant that there was a long silence from the ultrasound tech at the much awaited 'big ultrasound'.
I found out that The Cute was a girl.
The tech kept going over and over and over the same area. She left the room and returned with someone else.
Neither said anything to us or to eachother.
The Pit and I were too wrapped up in 'It's a GIRL!?' to notice. No clue anything was going on.
Then those horrible words were mentioned at my next appointment. Core-what plexa-huh?
Cysts? At the base of her brain?
Those words along with 'soft marker' and 'trisomy 18'.
Trisomy 18 means a lifespan of a few weeks.
So what he was telling me was that my baby was going to die within a month or so of being born...
Or...
the baby could be just fine.
Hearing that he was just spelling out a worst case scenario, and that everything was 'probably normal' was anything but comforting.
I found this out the week after making my registry. I remember the crushing feeling...the feeling of how I had just started to get really excited about the surprise pregnancy...and then those words.
Was it my fault? Had I not wanted the baby enough? Please...ME, anything, just not my baby.
Everything that I read on the internet, everything that I obsessed about over the internet, was bad. Alarmingly so.
I didn't even tell The Pit. Why break both of our hearts if there was a possibility that it was nothing?
And...it turned out to be nothing.
Thank You GOD.
Words can never hurt me? Words almost destroyed me.
And if you are someone who got here by searching for information about Choroid Plexus Cysts? My little girl had them on her ultrasound and she is happy, healthy, precocious and almost 2.
***
Cervical dysplasia meant many things, most notably not being numbed while my OB/GYN reached up inside me with a pair of scissors and snipped away at my insides while I was 24 weeks pregnant with The Cute.
Oh. So THAT's what a 'colposcopy' is.
It meant 'Hmm. Interesting'.
It meant that I don't have HPV but I still have some rapidly changing pre-cancerous cells on my cervix. That may or may not go back to normal on their own.
Oh.
Ok.
Glad you cleared THAT one up for me.
?
***
And now...
Pubic symphysis?
That means...
The Cute was a chubbalish fetus who damaged my pelvis and I'm just now realizing it.
I can't roll over in bed without stabbing pain along my pubic bone and down my left thigh.
I can't lift up my left leg to step over a baby gate or pull on my sweatpants or leggings.
I want to cry when I'm getting out of a car.
I have trouble gaining back the ability to walk after sitting down or laying down for more than an hour or so. I hobble to the bathroom in the middle of the night. I hobble to my Cute when she cries. And it hurts.
Stairs are agony .
The pain isn't constant. I'm fine when I'm sitting or laying down in most positions.
I am stubborn. I thought it was normal. I have a high pain tolerance. I rarely complain when it comes to the physical.
But after finishing up The Bottomless Pit's to-do list over the weekend I felt that someone was cutting me up from the inside out.
***
Bad uterus.
Bum cervix.
Effed pelvis.
Just throw me in a damned nursing home, why dontcha?
***
But...back to what I was going to tell you.
I was translating for you.
I was just about to explain...
Those words.
What were they again?
Pyooobbaa-simfffff...ahh...
Pubic symphysis.
And what it means to me.
Pubic symphysis...
Means...
Freedom.
It means 'I can't lift that. I'm on bedrest.'
It means 'Cook your own dinner.'
It means that I'm going to be going a little crazy for a while but that's ok because what else is new.
It means I can sit on the floor and play with The Cute but I really shouldn't be picking her up.
I lack the self control to refrain from picking her up, but I have been warned.
It means that I have a WRITTEN ORDER to not move any ovens away from any walls, or bring power tools down to the basement, or continuously walk from room to room putting things where they belong.
You better believe I'm gonna be cracking the whip.
From the couch.
♥
***
Treatment for pubic symphysis includes physical therapy during pregnancy to try to help/fix the problem before delivery, especially since it will only get worse as I get bigger. It also includes an ugly maternity belt/brace/harness thing that looks stupid but really makes a difference. Most importantly it includes bedrest. And/Or crutches...also known as 'beating sticks'.
***
I could take Tylenol if I needed to, but being on SSRIs during pregnancy, I do not want to take anything else that could potentially exacerbate any side effects on the liver or other internal organs. Not gonna push my luck.
***
Holla if you've dealt with any of these foreign words. Tell me about it.
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