New Obsessions

Cross-posted from DC Metro Moms.  Original post date April 10, 2008.

I used to obsess about handbags and cute sandals. Really. Just weeks ago. Accessories and nail polishes were like air to me. These days all my creative juices seem sapped by a guppy-sized being inhabiting my lower regions. My desires for cute butt jeans and wedge heels have transferred to working myself into a lather over just the idea of a Pizza Hut pan pizza only for me.


When I sit down to work all I can think of is how brownies repulse me and the idea of a nachos bell grande seems like pure bliss. My house never feels clean and I want to change my sheets daily. I yearn to plant acres of flowers and all ideas of baking, my old hobby, have been put aside.

I am not pregnant. It seems in fact, that I have had a lobotomy. People say this about mothers all the time. "Oh she had that baby and now she never goes anywhere without it. She is all about the baby all the time and can talk nothing but bottles and binkys." In some cases this is true. I have met these women. I have friends who have gone over to this side and I've yet to see them in something other than what can only be called "Mom Jeans." For me this first trimester has been one of intense mind and body numbing sickness and exhaustion. T.D. has clocked more TV time than a Nielsen family. I am never alone. The guppy is always with me reminding me that the tuna sandwich I wanted to maim someone for at lunch time is now a less than stellar idea. Chocolate cake and cookies makes me gag. My mind works in only one way. Sick today? Not sick today. Sick this moment? Oh wait- sick RIGHT NOW!

I obsess over food, drooling over pumpernickel brain and take as much care slathering on melted butter as I once did with writing up reviews or articles about living green. My need to ingest massive amounts of Newsweek and NPR has tapered. It's like I'm slightly dead or frozen inside.

Where have I gone? How does a guppy already hold so much sway? They say parenting changes you but really it is not until moments like this that we see how much.

I want my old brain back and my personal pan pizza.

The Deep End

We had incredible storms here yesterday and it seems to have broken this oppressive heat wave the DC Metro area has been baking in.  My emotions in the past few weeks have been brewing up like this storm and yesterday, of all days, was the day it all just came thundering in, full of tornadoes, crying storms and tales of hysteria. 

For the last few weeks I've been consistently telling each OB or midwife and nurse that I see that while I might seem healthy in the vitals department I was clearly not doing well emotionally.  It was beginning to scare me too. I have had post-partum depression twice now and I didn't like that I was feeling that way already and I hadn't even birthed this kid yet.  I felt like a walking "Danger Zone!" sign complete with blinking lights.  Yet, no one was listening. 

On Monday after a restful visit to the Big Apple. Yes, really, it was restful.  I had my 38 week check-up.  A.K.A. the day that I was supposed to get my induction date.  The doctor who saw me said, "I don't check.  We're not going that route."  I think white flames began to shoot from my head.  Little neurons backfired as I absorbed this information. I wasn't even going to be told if I was making progress?  I just walked all over New York for goodness sakes hoping that something would happen!  I got a bit teary and pissy and went home.  Screw them. I'm going to walk this kid out of me.  Heat wave be damned!  So I tried.  I walked until I was exhausted, pushing both girls in the double stroller. I walked all over the place for days. I cleaned and tackled major projects. When I couldn't sleep in the middle of the night (every night) I paced the house.  Contractions were often but nothing was happening.  Patience was running thin and I was feeling so overtired that the idea of anyone even talking to me or me having to talk to them sent me over the edge.  That nasty dark feeling was creeping in.  By Thursday morning when my appointment with the specialist who checks my placenta dawned I was a sobbing mess.  I cried during the whole appointment those ugly, swollen-faced tears.  I had to stick myself in a bathroom stall afterwards to try and get some control. Despite the nurse and Sonogram tech telling the doctor I was clearly not doing well, I was patted on the head and told to get some sleep and stay out of the heat.

Um... yeah.  SLEEP WOULD BE FANTASTIC IF IT WOULD HAPPEN!!!  So would eating if it didn't make me gag or feel like puking afterwards.  I haven't gained weight in almost a month. That never happened with the other two pregnancies.  Why does no one hear me when I tell them that? 

From the bathroom stall I texted a friend feeling mortified I had lost all control.  I sobbed to her in my car about how bad of a mother I feel I have become and here I am supposed to be welcoming another child into the world.  I had officially cracked.  When I got home later that morning I immediately called my midwife's office.  The receptionist could hear my pain and hysteria.  She held me on the line and asked if she could just sit there on the phone with me for a while even after she booked my appointment.  That just made me cry harder.  Obviously my hormones are so amped up right now and combined with all the sleeplessness I've gone a bit off the deep end.  Thankfully, my friend had the girls and told me she would keep them until I had my midwife appointment later that afternoon.

It was a relief to arrive at that appointment and see a friendly, familiar nurse who I have always loved.  Seeing a new midwife who had no knowledge of my past pregnancies helped too.  I cried again, feeling ridiculous.  When we began to go down the road of "Let's get you some sleep aids, have a high protein breakfast and make sure you are resting..." All feeling left my voice.  I said in a flattened tone, "No.  No. No, I will not go on anti-depressants that won't start working until a few weeks from now. I will not take an anti-anxiety medication for when I feel anxious because it won't help.  I need to know if I am making progress. I need to be checked.  I need to know that this baby is coming and I am not left hanging out there. I need my induction date and for someone to hear me and that is all. IT.IS.IN. MY. CHART." 

High protein breakfast?  YOU WANT ME TO DRINK A SMOOTHIE? WTF? I'm hypo-glycemic that's my life, lady.  I'm high protein all the time.  "Cash in my chips?  Ask my spouse to stop working so he can deal with the kids?!" WHO ARE THESE PEOPLE?! 

So she checked me.  I'm almost there.  Today, the hospital called.  Induction is scheduled for next week.  That fading placenta only has a few more days to keep chugging along.  Last night I took an ambien to help me sleep and it worked.  I feel a bit more sane today but I think I need a few days of silence and rest before this all amps up again next week.  And possibly a high protein breakfast.  Heh. 

We Need an Eviction Notice

I am 38 weeks and counting with the Fifth Element and you know what?  I'm sick of counting. I need an eviction notice on this kid.  I have already cried about four times this morning from pain or some sort of suffering.  H is sick of it. I'm sick of it. I'm sure the girls are sick of it. This baby needs to get a move on.  I might start taking nurses and midwives hostage at my appointment today if I find out I haven't dilated anymore.  "Induce me or you are all getting Strep B tested!"

We're all very ready for this baby to arrive.  I arrived home from Blogher (I'll be getting to that obligatory post-Blogher update shortly.) yesterday and upon entering the DC Metro area I began to have contractions. Maybe it was the jostling train ride, the luggage I unloaded from the car (I didn't feel like waiting for H to come home to do it.) or the fighting the girls were incessantly doing but for a few hours it really felt like "go time".  I started packing my bag and writing down the times.  Then, nothing.

Today I'm an emotional mess.  As H said in a text to me recently, "Go dilation!" 

Pregnancy: They Name is Insecurity

Cross-posted and archived from DC Metro Moms.  Original post date July 9, 2008.

Typically, I am fairly secure in my marriage and overall relationship with my spouse. He does a wonderful job of taking care of me, telling me how he feels, attending to my needs and showing affection. I'm the one that often lacks in that department. I never doubt how he feels about me or his family. But I had to face facts the other day when I realized that the ugly green monster of jealousy and its sister insecurity had reared their ugly heads.


Why you might ask? It's simple and something I shamefacedly admit. When I become pregnant I become insecure. All those changes with my body, the break-outs, weird bodily functions, mood swings and right, how can I forget, not only do I gag and puke frequently I also tend to pee myself if I sneeze too hard lately. Last count had me wetting myself no less than three times in the last five months. Yeah, that's wicked hot. What guy wouldn't lust after that? Then we come to the second matter. The impending bachelor party my husband is throwing this weekend.

This bachelor party is for his younger brother and despite the fact that my husband has been to a lot of these events in the ten years we've been together for some reason as soon as I am knocked up all my normal feelings of ambivalence go out the window. I become jealous. Jealous of his freedom and ability to stay up past 10 p.m., to drink and not be grossed out by every smell and possibly shake his groove thing without losing balance like I would.

I loathe this about myself but I feel powerless to stop it. I reason with myself, I share my feelings with my him trying to make light of it when deep down all I can think about is the tanned breasts that will be in his face this weekend that look nothing like my post-baby ones. Surely my pregnancy chub rub is not something that is often featured on the pole in most strip joints. While my husband knows that at this time I am particularly sensitive I don't think he knows the extent. That I'm too tired half the time to care what I look like and to go through all the beauty regimes I normally do. It currently takes me a week to give myself a manicure and only if I have to have one. That the idea of actually blow drying and styling my hair these days is akin to putting on pantyhose in 120 degree heat and wearing stilettos all day while standing outside. My usual product junkie self takes a back seat as a I use all my energy to simply bake a baby. My mind reels with images of all the attractive women he comes across and the confidence they exude and I lack right now. Because deep down that is the key, confidence is what makes a woman terrifically attractive and at this point in my life I lack it almost every capacity.




Comments






Sheryl from Natural Pregnancy said...


Is it any consolation that your baby will think you are totally hot? :)


Reply July 09, 2008 at 11:54 AM Barbara Waller said...


I am so relived to her that I am not alone in having similar feelings. Thank You

Not at My Best

It was the best of times. It was the warts of times. Warts, worst, whatever.  I feel like an angry, old hag covered in warts right about now anyway.  Vacation bliss is a distant memory.  It's been a week of Braxton Hicks, little sleep, too much baby prep and testing of the parents. 

H can't sleep with me because I'm a "loud breather" right now and I toss and turn so much these days while simultaneously moaning that I keep him up half the night.  After he leaves our precious munchkins feel the need to wake me up with requests such as, "My skin is dry. I need lotion.  Lotion all over my entire body."  It's 1 a.m.  I momentarily thought of shoving the lotion into the room via basket and telling TD, "It's puts the lotion on the skin..." 

See? I'm just not myself.  I just want to be done with the organizing of baby crap (I could do it in a day if I had the energy and army) and have this kid already.  I'm done.  I'm so over this pregnancy I need a new word for over. 

And We're Back!

Vacation and all its bliss is over.  A good time was had by all. We can't wait to go back and do it all again next year.

Bet you never thought you would see that here.  Alright, move along.  Don't tap the glass, she doesn't like it.

The Black Dahlia Brightens My Day

I woke up feeling a sense of panic this morning. Surely, it had to be almost 8 a.m.  That seems to be the only time I have dreams bordering on the hysterical yet macabre.  Having just broken free from the depths of my latest escapade within my brain-It regarded The Black Dahlia case being cracked wide open as I had just received a package that was not a product review but in fact a dead bird and part of a severed torso.  I had the key to solving this decades old mystery in a plastic wrapped USPS box.  Goody! Oh, and did I mention that when I called the cops to tell them what I had just received in the mail they sent over some of their finest. Also seen last season on the now defunct television show, 'The Unusuals'? 

I digress. It was just 6 a.m. and the girls were both up. 

I ran through a mental list of "to do's" for the day and realized I forgot a review yesterday and that I still had a list a mile long of items that needed to be done.  I sighed and looked for a better outlook to my day beyond a cup of coffee.  I tried to still the drumbeat in my mind that has begun these last few weeks that incessantly chants, "One day done, one day closer..." and the bitter thoughts that I don't want to be told to "hang in there" anymore. 

Then I had a thought (I sound so very Carrie Bradshaw today) - if I can solve the case of The Black Dahlia, then I can overcome whatever cranky feelings I have this morning and not let it pervade my day.  It's ridiculous logic at its best but it worked.  The sun is shining, we are all healthy, we have a good roof over our heads and lots of support.  The inside my head space that just wants to sleep until labor will just have to get over itself today. 

At Seven Months I Lose It

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.  Actually, maybe it was just the worst of times.  The last few weeks have been a roller coaster ride of busy with a capital 'B' at our abode and in the last few days I began to crack.  Scary, large, saucer-eyes would appear in my skull as my jaw and fists would simultaneously clench.  My body was tired. It hurt and I felt like I had nothing left in me about an hour after waking.  By Wednesday afternoon I found myself sobbing randomly and it just continued.

People tell me the third kid breaks you, but I just can't wait for the relief that will come at the end of this pregnancy.  What?  Don't look at me like I don't know what I am talking about, I know it will be a challenge having a third child.  However, at least I won't be carrying that giant orb of weight that makes me nauseous, achy and full of pains that make it almost impossible to go up stairs by 10 a.m. and/or pick up either of the other two kids. Housework is a thing of the past.  I need that sort of strength back to power through and it's hard not having it.  I'll be physically capable of doing things once this kid is born and I can have a drink at the end of the day to make it all a bit softer around the edges. 

Yesterday was a day that broke me and I can safely say that if I hadn't been seven months pregnant it would not have been nearly so bad.  I would have had the energy physically to deal with all of this in a much better mind set.

Up at 6:30, neither TD or I are ready to start the day but The Comedian is all systems go as she beats down her door with fists of fury. 

A series of yells and rants, spilled milk and bowls lobbed at my head are what constitutes breakfast.  I forget to make coffee.

A diaper leaks.

I hear the now familiar bang of the toilet upstairs as I realize The Comedian has begun her new game of swishing her hands in the toilet water and wiping her face.  I lumber upstairs to clean up her and the wet mess.

Before my doctor's appointment I enlist TD into moving her nightstand and bookcase with all its books and toys out of her room before the bunk beds are delivered later in the day.  It's not a precise maneuver but it works and by the time the sitter arrives I am ready for my appointment. 

Wait, must scrub snot off TD's walls before new furniture is installed.  Anyone have a putty knife?  Kids are gross.

Realize there is the after effects of the snake bite medication smeared on the carpet in her room as well.  The dog has assed all over the house since coming home and I'm about to lose my mind from cleaning up yet another mess.

At doctor appointment I'm told, "Hey! Guess what! Your thyroid is low.  Time to do another test!"  Kick ass.  My iron is low too.  Did you know that basically all your levels are low but "Cheers!" your glucose is fine.  The midwife tells me that I need to spend an hour in the morning on my left side resting and another hour in the afternoon doing the same thing.  I almost go into hysterics laughing at how ridiculous she sounds as I tell her about the ages of the other two kids and school no longer being in session.  She tells me I may need to "lock my 18 month-old out of the room" to rest this way.  I note that surely she is half-joking and that she doesn't have kids. 

Weep in car from exhaustion and hope to God that H made it on his morning flight home.  Shake fist in air like Scarlett O'Hara making a dirt field oath.

Home again, I relieve the sitter and am grateful the kids have just finished lunch.  I begin to make my own when the furniture arrives.  This occurs at the same instance that I hear the toilet slamming again from the downstairs bathroom. The Comedian is at it again.  This time toilet paper is draped around the room.  Sigh.  Must. Buy. Toilet. Clamps.

While the furniture guys question me about set-up and other pertinent things the following things happen in under thirty minutes. 
     -The Comedian finds a marker.  She writes on walls, floors and windows.  TD yells, "MOM! The Comedian has your water!!!"  I run back downstairs to find the kid drinking orange water.  Funny, I didn't have Tang to drink....WAIT.  She's dipped an orange marker in the cup and is now drinking/pouring it down her shirt front, the table, chair and floor.  Yippie!
     -TD yells to me, "MOM! The Comedian has a piece of pizza!"  Great, the kid got my lunch.  But on closer inspection I see that is not the case.  As I bypass the kid on the stairs, removing the mashed pizza from her fists as she trails it up the staircase in a smearing mess I realize my plate is still on the counter. Huh.  However, the trash can in the kitchen has been emptied and that is where the pizza comes from. But, of course.
     -TD yells,  "MOM! The Comedian has a brownie!!!"  WHAT THE FUCK? I mean seriously?  I am still cleaning up the staircase, moving out of the furniture guys way and trying to keep The Comedian busy with toys. SHE WAS JUST HERE!  A BROWNIE?  I silently walk to the kitchen to find an open bag of brownies on the counter.  There is a child's step stool directly underneath.  I call to TD and ask how in the world this has occurred since the brownies were on a high shelf.  She's helped herself and didn't clean up.  Brownie bits litter the floor and I see that The Comedian is feeding Lex a nice portion of brownie.  I inwardly think, "If that fucking dog dies from chocolate poisoning after surviving a snake bite last week and costing us a grand in medical bills I will be so pissed!"  I grab at brownie bits on the floor and throw the dog back outside where she was until just moments ago.  Who let her in?  I can only imagine. 

The furniture guys leave.  I survey the room and move all dangerous objects, screw bits and plastic bag aka  inhalants from the floors.  As I am sliding a box spring out of the hallway into another room I once again hear, "MOM! The Comedian is up the ladder!"  Of course she is.  I walk into TD's room to find this precious 18 mos. old climbing the bunk bed ladder that has been placed against a door.  Not the beds. 

I am done. I am so done.  It's only 2 p.m.  I collapse in a chair and weep.  TD hugs me and it makes me cry harder.  I want my old self back.  I want energy and freedom to move the way I need to and not feel like I'm as slow as molasses in January or that each time I lift The Comedian my insides will pop out.  This better be the worst day we have until this new kid arrives.  I wish for a glass of wine and dry my eyes.  It's almost nap time. 
I feel like the worst mother in the world.

Embarrassing Moments in Pregnancy

It's not embarrassing enough to pee in a tiny cup each time I go to the doctor or to even pee in a jug for 24-hours straight.  I just lurve lugging around a jug of my own urine.  And keeping it in my fridge.  Tasty.

No, pregnancy has many embarrassing moments.

Take yesterday when my bra just about combusted.  At least that is what it felt like as it flew open with great force. Luckily, no one else seemed to notice and I was able to get the "girls", which these days are more like full-grown women, under control.

Or how about all those lovely times I've peed myself when I'm not even aiming for a cup or jug.  I cough, sneeze or laugh too hard and there you have it.  It's to the point that when I do sneeze around H, he glances over nervously and does a pee check.  I love my life!  The worst had to be the time I threw up from pregnancy-induced nausea and I vomited easily into the toilet but also managed to completely piss myself in the process. In front of my kids.  I am a kick ass role model and potty trainer.

A few weeks ago my brain simply refused to figure out how to back out of a parking space.  I just could not figure out which way to best turn the wheel.  I got out of the car more than once to gauge angles. I adjusted mirrors and did some deep breathing. I even asked for "COMPLETE SILENCE! NOW! MOMMY IS THIIINNNKKKINNNGG!" in the car.  Then, I gave up and asked for help from TD's play date's grandfather who quickly and effortlessly backed the car out of the parking space.  Sigh.  I felt even more like my hair color in that moment than I had in quite some time. 

Did I mention that if I'm wearing any sort of scoop or v-neck ensemble I'll have a cornucopia of crumbs in my bra at the end of the day? It's all true.

I'm sure as I enter the third trimester there will be plenty more to come too.  Maybe we can have a picnic in my bra.  Wait, that just sounds wrong.

The Odyssey

The other night I had a dream. A fabulous dream. When I woke up, I felt happy and refreshed. What was this dream about?

Running.

It was all I did the entire duration of my dream and it wasn't from something scary. Instead, it was just one long run after another as I took in local scenery and running in places, I have never been. It felt so freeing. Sometimes, I was running while pregnant and other times I was back to my old self. No matter what I felt exhilarated. I cannot tell you how much I miss being out there. I look longing at other runners. When the weather is that perfect combination of sunny and just a bit cool outside I long for it even more. I am deeply jealous of H's freedom when he runs. Just like drinking it is another thing I cannot do right now.

I tried to keep running. It was my intention all along to keep it up throughout this pregnancy but despite my efforts, it did not work out. Each time I did it or any other exercise, I was sick for the rest of the day. I became run down (no pun intended) and it was pointless for me to keep trying when I had the kids, work and more to contend with on a daily basis. My running shoes, the Shredheads, dreams of races for this spring and summer all had to be packed away. It breaks my heart.

Then, last week while I was on a business trip, I happened to talk to a man who runs marathons. I asked him about a race that I have always wanted to be a part of but was just too scared to try. Having him explain it to me, he has run it twice, made it seem like a real possibility. Ever since that conversation, it is like a chant in my head.

Odyssey! ODYSSEY! AAah-DAH-SEEEE!!!!

I want it so bad I can picture it in my mind. I imagine myself on darkened roads with others running around me. I think of the training and I get excited all over again. It is my reward for making it through another pregnancy. It is my stress reliever for all those future sleepless nights. It is getting back into shape and conquering another goal I have set for myself. I cannot wait.

April. 2011. Odyssey! Gettysburg, PA to Washington, DC. A race through history. What could be more apropos for me?

The Jug O' Pee

I've admitted before that this third pregnancy (Baby Trois) is kicking my ever-expanding ass.  Months of nausea that seemed endless through the gray winter months nearly did me in.  I gratefully accepted a pass into the second trimester and now at 27 weeks we begin a new journey, even if it is for just a day.

What's that song about "twenty-four little hours"?  Right, Dinah Washington, 'What a Difference a Day Makes."  Well, we shall soon see.

Today I begin a 24-hour urinalysis. TMI? Too bad. It's my blog. Check the labels.  From this morning until I wake up tomorrow I have to pee into a bright biohazard orange jug.  A jug o' pee, if you will.  Tomorrow after dropping TD off at school I will head to the lab, give them my jug and have some blood drawn too.  We're checking for anemia and possible preeclampsia.  Again.  I did this with TD.  At 36 weeks I was put on bed rest with her due to preeclampsia and it was not fun.  The swelling, the ache in my side, the nausea and early labor.  Joy.  However, it wasn't as scary as this where I'm not so far along and there is so much more time yawning before me if something is wrong.

I have been taking it real slow the last few days. No laundry has been beaten into submission. The kids are fed, dressed and we do our thing but there is no galavanting around town.  We are at base-line operation levels here.  I spend much of their nap times on the couch laying on my left side to combat the swelling.  On the plus side, I've read all my magazines that have piled up, watched about five episodes of Vampire Diaries and gotten through quite a bit of 'My Fair Lazy'.  Also, when I first begin swelling early in the day I look like I might have had my lips done.  Heh.  I load up on the pink gloss and stand in front of the mirror puckering a lot until my cankles get out of control and Heidi Montag Pratt would die of shame at the sight of my swollen nose. 

I'll keep you posted.  If it is anemia then I just take iron pills.  If it is preeclampsia we have a whole different journey ahead of us.  Baby Trois and I are in it to win it.

Diary of a Weakling

Monday
Dear Diary,

It's Monday and I'm determined to keep up with the flow of this house and two children.  Yes, the idea of going to the mechanic's is not ideal during nap time but we'll prevail.....Right?

Heh.

Tuesday
Dear Diary,

Today the girls and I went for a twenty minute walk.  I can do this.  I don't need the gym.  We'll save money during my suspended membership and we'll all get fresh air.  Pushing the stroller and walking at a snails pace will be just fine.  I'll do all six loads of laundry and the girls and I will spend loads of time playing together too.

Wednesday
Dear Diary,

Um..I might have overdone it with the walking, the laundry, the doing every day things.  I've got a cold now and woke myself up from a nap due to snoring.  The girls were running wild and I have no recollection of falling asleep.  The laundry monster is still lurking and ever since last night my back and stomach muscles won't stop contracting.  It's maddening and also painful.  I'm out of breath and dizzy most of the time and I am having a harder and harder time picking up The Comedian and putting her on the changing table. 

Thursday
Dear Diary,

Seriously?!  WHAT THE HELL BODY?  No matter what I do I can't get enough rest. This third pregnancy is kicking my ass.  I'm out of breath just sitting half the time and I can't seem to stay awake most afternoons.  The only time I feel OK is sitting on my ass with my feet propped up.  I feel like some old lady about to get the vapors and it's frustrating beyond belief.  I can barely get breakfast for the kids without feeling winded.  I'm only five months along, how on earth will we make it to the end?  This baby is sucking the life out of me and I just want to scream in frustration.  I feel so weak and depleted and mad.  Why can't I just plow along like other pregnant woman? 

I hate this. 

Really.  I am beyond frustrated.  I feel like my life is just being drained away from me this past week and that I can't get enough rest even when I just lay on the couch amidst the laundry and let the girls play around me.  It's gorgeous outside and I want to be out there playing with them and being active.  Yet, each time I try I start contracting.  It's beyond upsetting and making me a bit depressed.  I feel like the biggest weakling.

Giving Number Three Some Attention

I've been in Florida this past week.  I should be soaking up the rays from the sun but the windy temps have kept me working away at my laptop in the confines of my hotel room.  I've ventured out for meals and post-dinner exploring with H, but not much else. 

If it sounds like a drag it isn't. I'm reveling in the fact that I can get this much work done.  I'm booked for trips through April now and I feel alive again.  I feel like Vicky and not a drone.  I've accomplished tasks and feel like my brain is no longer mush.  On my jaunts out for lunch and dinner I've tasted some amazing food at local venues (quiche to die for and a chocolate cake that made me smile for almost an hour straight) and enjoyed the warmer temps and ability to wear wedge heels without chasing a tiny being around and breaking a cankle. 

It goes beyond saying that H and I have had full conversations, discussed the girls in-depth and felt like we were dating again.  We needed that. I needed that.  I've missed him more than I even realized.  The break from the norm, the routine, the household duties, the childcare and just all of it has enabled me to focus on this pregnancy too.  It almost (I said, almost.) makes me tear up when I think about how little time I've devoted to just rubbing my belly and thinking about this next baby.  I've bought nice clothes to celebrate how I look this week and concentrated on rest and eating good food.  I'm doing what I need and what I allowed myself to do with both girls.  Something I haven't had the luxury of this time around.  I want this baby to feel wanted even if it didn't start out that way (Ok, forget almost.).  In a few weeks we will find out if it is a boy or girl.  The talk of names can truly begin and maybe then I will be able to fully own this pregnancy and not think of it as a back-burner, mark on the calendar thing on my to-do list.

I hope this feeling will last. 

Maybe Toothpicks Will Work?

There is a scene in 'The Way We Were' where K-k-k-katie finds Hubble asleep on a bar stool in the midst of a roaring party.  I can relate.  These days I seem to fall asleep no matter where I am or what I'm doing. 

For example:

Maryland played Virginia Tech on Saturday.  It was a tied game all the way through. I tweeted to other like-minded bloggers to my hearts content and was really into the game.  It went into DOUBLE OVERTIME and just in the last minute.  Well, I don't know what happened.  The phone slipped from my hands as I lay down on the couch and just like that I missed the end of the game. I woke up minutes later to see the score on the screen.  Maryland had won but I had missed it.  All that excitement and I couldn't stay awake.  I didn't even know I fell asleep.

Last night it was the season finale of the Bachelor.  I knew I was too tired to make snarky remarks on MamaPop's open thread so I contented myself with just watching it alone.  I love me some bad, overly staged reality TV.  Oh the drama, the tears, the shaking when Neil Lane himself helps you pick out a ring.  And you don't even know who Neil Lane is.  Blargh.  I saw the first girl get canned. Dumbass.  And then.... huh.  There's a big gap.  Suddenly the other contestant, er, girl is smiling and it's commercial.  I rewound it and saw the proposal through half-lidded eyes and yup, I fell asleep again.  Next thing I know it's the 'After the Final Rose' ceremony.  Not that I missed anything earth-shattering but I didn't even know I fell asleep! Again.

And another thing. Lost is on tonight.  The Others might stop being so cranky for once and the show might actually reveal some secrets. I'll fall asleep and miss it.  Wait, what am I talking about?  I should just bank sleep now until the five-million hour finale when nothing will happen until the last five minutes. 

Wall Snot & Dust Bunnies

I don't know how it's possible but I'm nesting.  Already.  I'm barely four months pregnant and I can't stop organizing and cleaning.  My perfume is no longer French gardens after a monsoon but vinegar and earth-friendly toilet cleaner. 

One day I'm ripping apart The Comedian's closet or sending TD under the crib to retrieve lost baby socks and the next I'm wiping snot off of the walls.  Yeah...no one tells you just how disgusting kids can be, do they?  I mean dirty diapers, the spitting up you are prepared for, but wiping nose gremlins off your four year old's bedroom wall?  That's just not something I thought I would ever have to do or use a putty knife to do it.  Did I mention the crusted milk I removed from each and every slat on The Comedian's crib?  Yup. I scraped that off yesterday. I even dusted the diaper genie. 

More stuff has gone into storage.  Closests have been turned upside down.  Linens have been changed. I'm eyeing all the drapes in the house and wondering how much of my right arm it will cost at the dry cleaners to get them cleaned all at once.  I vacuumed my tub yesteday.  It's that bad.  The giant triangle-shaped tub that sold me on this house now never gets used.  So instead of reaching and bending to clean it I sucked up the dust with the vacuum.  I've dusted hampers, knick-nacks and refrigerator vents.  I have vacuumed baseboards, wiped chairs and enlisted H to follow me on this journey into cleaning madness.  He cleaned the oven for me.  I'm not even going to tell you how long it has been since that disgusting cave was last cleaned. 

I fell in love with my couch all over again the other day when I unzipped the covers and threw it all in the wash as I febreezed its insides.  Its like a sickness this nesting.  I'm powerless against it.  I scrubbed my dishwasher door with a toothbrush, people.  The dog beds have been cleaned on every level of the house and I've purged the house of tiny, worthless fast food toys, scraps of paper TD deemed important on random afternoons and any toy item that no longer matches a set. 

Maybe it's not nesting though. Maybe it is that we have been cooped up indoors so much due to this barrage of wintry weather that we can no longer handle the dust, dirt and grime we've created.  Staring at the same four walls each day has made me see not just the boogers but the dust bunnies too.  Either way I think that H prefers my eau de lemon juice and baking soda to the French gardens.

Overheards- I'm Huge

Yesterday, I took the girls out for some play time with friends at an indoor play area.  While there a young woman struck up a conversation with my friend and me.  When she found out I was having my third she looked at me and said, "Wow! You are showing already!  You are going to be HUGE!"  I smiled through my teeth and laughed it off thinking, "Sweetie, I'm still smaller than you.  And ten years older."

Cut to this morning when H said to me, "You're my hot wife."  I smirked and jokingly asked, "Even though I'm already SO HUGE?"  He replied, "You're not that huge."

Excuse me, what?

He then said, "Wait. No, wait! What?! I didn't.  I'm so confused. It's still dark out, it's too early.  Don't get mad at me already...."

Well, if I'm huge now then wait until after this weekend when I become ginormous from all the candy I'll be enjoying.  Heh.

Trying to Come Back

When I first found out I was pregnant with this newest addition to our clan I still felt fine. I vowed that I would keep running, I wouldn't slow down with my workout routines and I would do a 5k every few months to keep me motivated.

I might be walking those 5k's now. 

Once I'm "with child" as H loves to call it, I become incredibly sick.  Unless I'm asleep, I'm sick.  I throw up a lot and I spontaneously gag whenever, wherever.  It's really sexy.  The idea that I would be "Super Prego!" with this third pregnancy suddenly became laughable.  I get so sick that water gives me heartburn.  I'm on medication just so I can act like a somewhat competent parent, take care of the kids, make their food and keep some of my own food down. Bagels are my balm.  I could eat an entire block of cream cheese and bag of bagels in one day.  I'm eating one right now.

Today I made it to the gym.  I took my little white pill, packed my bag and made sure I turned left towards the gym as I exited TD's school parking lot.  It was pouring down rain and I wanted nothing more than to lay waste to my DVR queue but I didn't. I ran for 25 minutes and while I'm slower than I used to be it felt incredibly good.  The sun was peering from out between the clouds as I left the gym and today I feel just a tiny bit optimistic that in a few weeks I will feel like myself again.  Myself with an alien taking up residence inside my body, but myself all the same. 

Is There a Plan C?

A week or so ago I mentioned that I had some "stunning" news.  That news would be that after the debacle that was Mirena and some malfunctions on Lifestyles part and Plan B, it has come to our notice that now we need a Plan C.

I'm pregnant. 

This my friends, was not planned. We, well I, was done.  No more pregnancies, no more babies and puking up my insides for months on end.  No more ginormous boobs to contend with as well as puffiness, cankles, or pants that don't stay up. My breeding days were over.

Ha! I feel like the Grand Pumpkin that comes to life in the Simpsons Treehouse of Horrors spoof.  He is fed pumpking bread by Milhouse and then screams, "Revenge!" and sets out to eat all the little children at the Halloween party.  Yes, Lifestyles and Plan B, I want revenge and restitution!  When I plunked down my $50 for Plan B along with a pregnancy test I never wanted to use, I really meant it when I said to the pharmacist, "Yes! That better be all."

I got rid of everything.  There are no more infant clothes.  No swings, boppies, Bumbo, baby bathtubs, or slings. All of it is gone. Maternity clothes?  I gave them all away or practically lit their poly-blend asses on fire.  We are all out of baby here.

So forgive me for all my cranky mood swings.  My winter blues and never-ending morning sickness have just done gone and killed my creativity these days.  I still can't wrap my head around this news despite the constant reminders that would be me barfing and spontaneously gagging all over the place.  Maybe when the cankles return will I really believe that this is happening.  Until then, bear with me.  I have no idea how to formulate this new Plan C. 

Why I Spat also known as My New Job

As if reviewing products, making vain attempts to make you all laugh on a daily basis, writing for other websites and more I've decided to take on yet another new job. In the coming months you will notice that at different times in this space there will be teasers regarding my adventures with my past pregnancies, being genotyped and a whole other realm of experiences I have had relating to both subjects. I'm working with 23andMe to help them establish their online pregnancy community. It is our hope that through this venue more patterns can be established, links built and research can be done relating to women's health and pregnancy.

If you want to read my first post, 'Why I Spat', "Good genes or bad genes I am not sure there is such a thing. It is a vast lottery of our pasts and our future that makes us who we are, adding in genes, good or bad simply cements things. Take me for example, as long as I can remember everyone in my family has died the same way."

It is a subject I am very passionate about and cannot wait to delve into more heavily. That being said, research breakthroughs are only possible if enough women participate by answering surveys-- if you are currently pregnant or have been pregnant before please visit the pregnancy community and complete a short survey.

Yup. It's the One About My Labor

3:30 a.m.- Crikey! I have to pee again. I'm glad I'm being induced today so I won't have to deal with this whole shuffling to the bathroom thing much longer. Huh. That's weird. I don't think I'm supposed to be bleeding. Or uh... Oh... having contractions?! Is this labor? Holy crap! I'm in labor!

I waddle back to our bedroom and tell H, "Hey, so I um.. think we should go to the hospital earlier than planned. I'm in labor or so it seems."

Then I do what any rightly thinking woman does and proceed to shower, put on make up, blow dry and straighten my hair and finish packing my bag. The contractions are mild so when else will I have this much time to devote to my looks in the near future, am I right?

Then I make H stop at Dunkin' Donuts and then I make us both wait in the car for a half hour as I sip my overly sweetened hot chocolate and re-think that whole everything bagel with cream cheese choice while I count my contractions in the hospital parking lot. Eight minutes apart. It's time to go in.

8 a.m.- I'm wearing the latest in hospital couture that universal blue and green checked gown. Why is that gown the go-to fashion choice for hospitals everywhere? I sneak a bite of a glazed donut and begin to Twitter and read Newsweek while I let the cervadil do it's job.

10 a.m.- Body hates cervadil and it's not doing it's job. I'm still the same status quo as I was a week before. This blows. So does morning television. Who knew that the Today Show let Kathie Lee Gifford have a whole freakin' hour to yammer away? I do now. She's more torture than the 4-5 minute apart contractions combined with my massive head cold.

12 p.m.- LAY OFF ME I'M STARVING! I want my lunch. H brings up some bland attempt at spinach and pasta and I instead try to eat some Cheetos. I've turned into Britney Spears saying in a thick overly done Southern drawl, "Ooops! I dropped a Cheeto on mah baaybeee." The pain is pretty tough now. Contractions are 3-4 minutes apart and the second dose of cervadil is kickin' my ass. I'm regretting the Cheetos and finding the bland pasta to be so odoriferous I want to scream at H for ever bringing it into the room. He will pay for this later I vow.

1-2 p.m.- HOLY HELL! Where is that damn epidural?! This is the longest hour of the day. I think the clock that keeps saying, "Saftey First" is mocking me. My midwife pops out from behind the curtain to tell me to remember just one thing, "Remember! YOU are a birthin' BEEOTCH! Focus above that pain. Focus!" I manage a chuckle and a thank you to God that she was on call today. Otherwise I might have killed everyone else with their quiet soothing. Contractions are two minutes apart and I practically draw blood on H's hand when the epidural is placed in and I'm having contractions.

3 p.m.- Everything is shaking. Everyone thinks I'm cold but it's just the epidural. There's blood and everyone thinks it's super fantastic whoopee! I'm numb and thinking, "Whatever." After the epidural life is pretty chill. Except for Dash Two taking residence up in my diaphragm. Oh and that freakin' catheter which I can still feel much to everyone surprise. Kick ass midwife takes things into hand and relieves all discomfort and cracks jokes about my pelvic region. I am in love with her. I might name this kid after her.

Somewhere around 4 p.m.- Fun times for all. My water has apparently broken and there is much blood. Whoo wee! Cheers go up from the midwives. I have no clue. Oprah is featuring talented children. Is it bad that I think none of them are all that talented? The TV is clicked off and I'm told to basically hold my legs closed because it's go time but they aren't set up yet. Alrighty!

4:46 p.m.- Ten minutes of pushing and two contractions later and Dash Two has arrived. It's done. There's an awkward moment of waiting and small talk between me and the midwives as we wait for this problematic placenta to present itself (can you say that three times fast?) and when it does it's quite a show. There is more than one it seems. It's all very intriguing and lab testable. I am half-tempted to take pictures after all the problems it caused. Seems we were always looking at just one of the two.

6 p.m. - Some juice and graham crackers later I find myself alone in the labor room. I call my Mom to chat and text some friends. It feels like 3 a.m. and all I want is a drink, some real food and to get a look at this gorgeous new baby of mine.

And there you have it. That's my labor story and I'm sticking to it. Can I just say, OH MY HEAVENS I'M DONE! I'M DONE! I'm like Macauley Culkin in Home Alone. You know that scene where he runs around the house yelling, "I'm Free! Whoo hooo! I'm free!!!!" Yeah, that's pretty much how I feel right about now.