TGIF, eh buddy?

Not to turn this into a pregnancy blog or anything...

I'm back from my OB appointment and I gained 2 more pounds. I know, I know...it has to happen. Mystery fetus is packing on weight, so duh, I'm going to pack on weight.

It's just...

*insert pregnant whine*

I worked HARD to get to a place where I finally felt comfortable in my body again. I finally felt like I wasn't a total lard ass and maybe, just maybe, I could have my old body back. I was wearing skirts and little summer dresses and picking up a tiny bit of swagger. Then--SURPRISE! I'm pregnant. I got two...maybe three months of enjoyment out of my hard-earned body before Mother Nature shat all over it. AGAIN.

Now? I'm pushing numbers that scare the bejesus out of me, and my body shape reminds me of Danny Devito as The Penguin.



*End whine*

In other news...the baby is locked and loaded in a head down position. After months of Dr. Loompa squirting goo all over my stomach and going no where near my Lady Business, I was shocked when he suddenly grabbed...uh...hair...and said, "Baby head right here. Okay?"

Okay! Maybe a little warning next time? So I don't go into a reflexive spasm and almost kick you? thnks.

Also? I'm so over taking the Big Sister along to my appointments. Today was pure hell! She's no longer intimidated by the office, so now she treats it like a playground--rolling on the chairs, spinning on the doctor's chair, telling the nurses that I have LOTS of pee cups in my purse and I NEVER use them, grabbing my cell phone and trying to call people, hiding behind the exam table and SCREECHING while Dr. Loompa is trying to find the heartbeat, and, finally, to top it all off, crying and throwing a fit because she wanted to go to grandma's house.

I'm done. Little Miss Give Me Constant Attention Positive Or Negative can stay with grandma.

Yes, internets, I'm in a lovely mood. You totally want to come hang out with me, don't you?

Pregnancy Week 30 - Weight Rant

Week 30 Belly Pic

At least my boobs look smaller next to my mega jelly belly.  Speaking of boobs...

They have not grown.  I'm still wearing the same bras I started out in--but maybe that's because this is my 2nd pregnancy?  They never went back to my pre-pregnancy C cup...but then again, my ass never shrunk back to it's pre-preggers weight. 

(FAIL.)

And speaking of weight...the downside of being pregnant in late winter is that everyone is losing weight for summer while I'm packing on the back fat.  I know this is the last time I'll be pregnant and I should sit back and enjoy the "freedom" of eating whatever I want...

But how many pregnant women really do that?  Pregnancy magazines write cute, positive, upbeat articles about how I should love my round "womanly" form and big appetite, then print a scary "How Much Is TOO Much?" weight gain article on the next page.  No wonder I'm stressing over each 1/2 pound.

Why don't these magazines just come right out and say what they are really thinking?  "If you're a size 2,4, or 6--gorge yourself to your hearts content!  Ice cream!  Pickles!  Big Macs!  Whatever you crave is adorable and cute--just like YOU!!!  But as for the rest of you members of the Chubby Wubby Fat Club...you better not gain any more than 20 pounds.  You're NOT cute.  And?  If you get pre-eclampsia or gestational diabetes it's your own damn fault for not eating salad."

And what's up with the pregnancy weight gain chart?  If you fall into the "overweight" category you should only gain 15-25 pounds (and 70% of moms can't stay within range--hmmm, wonder why?).  Let's break it down:

Baby                     8 pounds
Placenta               2-3 pounds
Amniotic Fluid     2-3 pounds
Breast Tissue      2-3 pounds
Blood Supply       4 pounds
Uterus Increase  2-5 pounds 

Uhhh...we're over 20 pounds and I haven't even factored in:

Fat Stores for Delivery and Breastfeeding  5-9 pounds

So what should overweight women cut out to stay within the 15 pound range?  Placenta?  Amniotic fluid?  Blood?!?  Talk about impossible standards!

Eh.  Don't mind me.  I'm obsessed with weight right now, because I'm terrified of the 3rd Trimester Pack On.  Last time, my weight (and stomach) exploded between weeks 34-39, and I don't want to live through a repeat.  I'm still sitting comfortably on a 19 pound total weight gain, but for how long? 

This sucks. 

My (nonexistent) History with Breastfeeding. *UPDATED*

I have a confession to make: I never tried to breastfeed Elizabeth.

When Dr. Loompa plopped the big E on my stomach, the nurse asked, "Are you going to breastfeed?" I said, quite happily, "No." And you know what? No one gave me any grief about it. The staff simply said, "Okay!" and started her on tiny bottles of Similac with no evil eyes, or rude comments, or Nursing Nazi propaganda.

I read all about the benefits of breastfeeding in What to Expect and really considered it--for the 7th month of pregnancy. Then I told my mom that I was going to try breastfeeding, and heard silence followed by, "Eww. Why?"

I'm from a family of bottle feeders. (Surprisingly, I don't mean beer.) Everyone used formula. Even my 80 year old Grandma told me, "In my day, only the poor women did that," and shook her head while looking totally disgusted.

As a new mom, I figured life with baby was going to be hard enough to adjust to without the pressures of a "brand new" feeding system to learn with ZERO support. I knew the first time I ran into difficulty my mom would be right there with a bottle of formula in hand, dramatically insisting that I was starving the baby with my stupidity.

Now? I'm at a different place in life. I survived one screaming, colicky newborn...so the new mom fears are no longer an issue. I know that babies are tough little suckers and I can't break them (on really bad nights, I would remind myself that babies have been found abandoned--yet still alive--in garbage cans, so my incompetence can't hurt her THAT bad).

And even better? I have a whole group of friends whose boobs have been there/done that! And they will help me figure out what to do with mine! So instead of my mom making worried sounds and hovering in the background with a can of powder, I'll have friends close by saying, "Try this way--it worked for me."

This time around...I'm going for it. But I still have questions that the baby/breastfeeding books just don't answer. Help a girl out, internets!

Q #1: Last time, I never had my baby anywhere near The Girls--and I still had plenty of milk. They gushed like mad for an entire month and I had to take pills to dry it up. I'm not the least bit worried that my milk won't come in...I'm freaked out that I'm going to drown the kid! Can you have "too much"???

I also have a plethera of milk. And I'm not gonna lie - there were times that my little guy would come up gasping for air cause it was coming a little too fast but after about a month, my body figured it out and now it isn't a problem anymore. - Lindsey

Q #2: I'm a 36DD. Last time? My "handfuls" turned into watermelons. NO LIE. When I laid on my back in bed, I felt like they were choking me. What the hell bra size am I going to swell up to as a nursing mom???

My 34Cs went to 34DDDs for the first few months of nursing. They're now down to 34DDs. Like others have suggested, I'd recommend starting out with a sleep bra and nursing tank. They're really comfortable and convenient for nursing in the beginning. They're not super supportive though and don't look great for going out. But, it took me a little while to figure out what would work best for me before I could go shop for a bra that worked well for the longterm. - Heather

Q #3: Can I work out? I know breastfeeding is supposed to burn mad calories (we'll see about that) but I'd like to get off the couch and back on the elliptical ASAP.

Work out all you want but know that it will be different because the girls are different and their new "swing" may surprise you. It has thrown my jogging way off because it feels like I have 5lb sacks of mud stapled to my chest. Oh and NOT EVERYONE LOSES WEIGHT. I gained all the way PAST my 40wk weight and am JUST NOW going back down. The first few months of nursing I was STARVING. Like, shoving WHOLE CHOCOLATE CAKES down my gullet. - Gena

Q #4: Weird question...but the ENTIRE areola should go in the baby's mouth? Really? Cause...uh...that's a lot. On me. And now I'm wondering if my boobs are weird.

Maybe not the whole thing. But a good portion of the underside, yes. Key thing - NOT JUST THE NIPPLE (OW!!). - Nicole

Q #5: Tell the truth. Did your boobs go back to normal after weening, or did they sag?

As for post-nursing boobs...I can't lie. Right now, they look different. I finished weaning a month ago, and it took until last week for me not to be making milk anymore. And now my girls are smaller than they were prepregnancy. HOWEVER - I hear that it just takes time to rebuild them. I have faith that they will return. Many women say that post-nursing they are happier with their smaller boobs for a while - I guess it depends. -Kitty

Step Off Motherhood Maternity!

Since I can only fit into one pair of maternity pants (stretchy jeans with the belly panel that covers everything up to the armpits) I had to bite the big one and go back to Motherhood Maternity.

*shudder*

The saleswomen at Motherhood will not leave me alone. As soon as my feet waddle through the door, they are all over me like hemorrhoids.

"Hi! Have you been here before?" (Said while I'm wearing the same shirt hanging off a rack two feet away.) "Do you know how our pants work?" (I grabbed a handful of sagging fabric off my ass and pulled while saying, "Yep, they stretch!") "What are you looking for today?"

Hmmm...how about a pair of clearance black pants for around $10? I've got two more months to struggle through, and the thought of blowing $60 on maternity pants makes me enraged. I'd rather save that money and blow it on a postpartum shopping spree at Ann Taylor--not tacky, overpriced stretch fabric that will be sitting in garbage bags by mid-May.

I smiled real wide and said, "Clearance pants!" totally confident that the word "clearance" would send the woman scurrying back behind the register to gossip with everyone about what a pathetic tight wad I was...but NO! All this one heard was "pants" as she grabbed handfuls of full-priced pants and jammed them into a fitting room.

I ignored her and waddled back to the clearance racks and started digging. Within one minute, she was back waving pamphlets about their Future Trust College Savings Credit Card in my face and blathering on about how wonderful it was to shop AND save money for my baby's college! SQUEE! The only thing that shut her up was when I said, "Look, we're struggling to pay off our student loans right now. This kid is on it's own, alright? I'm not interested." *evil pregnant glare of death*

I'm so glad I've hit the 3rd-Trimester-You-Know-What?-You-Piss-Me-Off-And-I'm-Going-To-Tell-You-All-About-It stage. I wish I had it back when the dirty old man came into my office. Ah, well. No use longing for what might have been.

I managed to shake the hemorrhoid loose and find a pair of black pants for $20 (Boo! You suck Motherhood!) so I'm sure you're all pleased to know that I now have TWO pairs of pants.

What riches!

Then I took Elizabeth into OshGosh and picked up another hemorrhoid hell bent on selling me every "I'm the Big Sister!" t-shirt in the joint. Gawd.

*Note to sales people: A giant belly does NOT equal a giant wallet. STEP OFF.

Pregnancy Week 29

Pregnancy Week:  29
Weight Gain:  19 pounds
Baby Kicks:  Mystery fetus likes to dance at 4 am.  Good times.
Mental Health:  Why, hello 3rd trimester anger!  Welcome to the party!

So...after 29 weeks I finally learned how to turn the flash off on my camera.  (You're welcome.)

I just look FAT.  I do not look pregnant.  I do not have a round little basketball-esque baby bump.  It's all spread out and wide and I look like I suddenly gained 50 pounds of spare tire. 

Look at my meaty fingers!  I could kill a man with my bare hands and powerful forearms.  GRRRR!

I know I've *only* gained 19 pounds, and I should be kicking up my heels with pure joy at that number.  But the truth is, I hate being pregnant.  The best thing about my body is a curvy hourglass figure!  I'm not the girl with thin, gorgeous legs--I have man calves that no boot will ever contain.  I'm not willowy thin--I have boobs and a butt.  So when my waist explodes...boobs, butt, and man calves combine to equal ONE HOT MESS.

If I were wearing spandex and a really bad sports bra, I could be on The Biggest Loser.

The worst part?  I still have 10 more weeks to go!

Trust me.  I'm not that glowing, happy woman contentedly stroking her belly and purring about how she's never felt this good in her life!  *squee*  I'm the woman floating miserable in the bathtub, watching her belly move and ripple with each baby kick and muttering, "Ugh, that is so gross.  I want my body back!"

Sick with a Side of Mommy Guilt

We are now on week two of The Never Ending Sickness. (Falcor not included. But he should be, 'cause I would totally send his flying dog butt to Target and pick up some more medicine. And Diet Coke. And maybe some more fudgicles.)

Kevin has walking pneumonia and pink eye. Elizabeth has a nasty cold and eyes that are turning red and starting to goo over. (Hmmm...wonder what that could be...KEVIN?) And I'm still laying around with one ear clogged and a head full of rock hard snot, wondering if I should go back to the doctor for another z-pack.

On top of all that, Western PA has turned into freaking Narnia and there is no one to shovel snow. I'm 7 months pregnant with a dysfunctional pubis, and if Kevin went out there he would probably choke on his own phlegm and die in snow drift--so that leaves Elizabeth.

Or the grandparents.

*sigh*

In-laws in town are handy for emergency situations. It's nice to call someone up and tell them that the entire family is at death's door and really, really needs Diet Coke and know that at least one other person in town cares if you ever emerge from your house again.

Downside? The Mommy guilt.

Last week, before Kevin came down with bubonic plague and I was the only one stuck in bed, I pulled out my normal sick SAHM playbook and picked #298: TV as Babysitter. I turned on the TV, took a handful of cold medicine, passed out--and woke up to disaster.

She brushed her teeth and smeared toothpaste all over the sink...and mirror...and medicine cabinet...and even in my hairbrush. She painted tissues with RED NAIL POLISH and since they were FREAKING TISSUES the nail polish ran through and stained the white window seat in my bedroom. She got into the cold pills on my nightstand and cut out all the perforated squares with scissors--and then squirted an entire bottle of nose spray all over my bedroom carpet.

(This is on top of her "normal" sneaky behavior of trashing rooms, scrounging through cupboards for food, and playing in my makeup.)

After that stellar day, my MIL offered to take Elizabeth. When I tried to say, "No, it's okay," she threw it in my face that it wasn't "safe" for a "curious 4 year old" to be "alone in the house while you sleep."

Grrrr... "Curious 4 year old" my ass! Try a spoiled 4 year old who is dealing with big changes by getting into stuff she knows she's not allowed to touch. (And regressing by peeing in her underwear. Ugh, that's another post.)

And where the hell were the worry warts during the newborn/baby/toddler stages of my SAHM days? No one cared then! I remember laying on the bathroom floor crying and trying not to throw up while Elizabeth screamed from her crib. I remember laying miserable on the couch with the baby gate up and PBS blaring telling myself, "I can do this. Kevin will be home at 6. It's only a few more hours." Now all of a sudden I'm an unfit mother because I had bronchitis and slept for a couple hours? Puh-lease!

But, I kept my mouth shut and packed the Big E off to Grandma's house. Why be a martyr? I need to get over this--and the Elizabethan Power Struggles can wait until I'm at 100%. I have a feeling I'm going to need all of my energy THEN.

Now I'm curious. Fellow moms, what do you do when you're sick and still have to watch the kids?

Wow. There is nothing on TV.

When my life gets busy, the first thing to go is usually time spent in front of the Idiot Box.  Besides, I prefer Blockbuster rentals to aimless channel flipping any day.  

But after my recent...uh, layoff?...I've had a whole week to catch up. 

Guess what?  I haven't missed much.

TLC is still running A Horror Story A Baby Story and terrifying (and yet at the same time boring--which is surprisingly difficult to do) pregnant women every morning.  Daytime talk shows all feature the same gay stories on how to dress 10 pounds thinner, cook 300 calorie dinners, and snag the latest hair trends (hint:  think RED!  SQUEE!).  And, just like 3 years ago, I end up on MTV watching True Life:  I'm a Crack Whore and letting my ass sink a couple inches deeper into the sofa.

Yep.  TV still sucks.

But wait!  What the hell happened to my beloved History Channel?!?  Who turned her into yet another reality show hootch?

I'm probably the only nerd who likes to zone out in front of a good historical documentary...but damn it, I'm pissed about the junk they are trying to pawn off as "historical".  First up?  American Pickers.

These two winners are supposed to "search across America rescuing treasures".  Actually, they're driving up to your senile Grandpa's farm and screwing him out of his antiques.  Classy.  Every episode features them snickering behind some lonely old man's back and offering him a couple bucks for items they're going to turn around and sell for a couple hundred.

Ugh.  Assholes. 

Anyone remember Antiques Roadshow?

People drag Great Aunt Bertha's crap in and let professional appraisers tell them how much it's worth.  Usually every episode features some redneck named Dale who's all pissed because his treasure turns out to be fake (of course Oklahoma flea markets sell Ming vases!) and the appraisers are all dried up history professors with zero personality.

Here's the History Channel's rip off:

Pawn Stars!  Antiques Roadshow meets Las Vegas Pawn Shop--and hilarity ensues!  *eye roll*

Alright, it's better than a bunch of old WASPs showing off their priceless antiques on PBS, but what's "historical" about customers trying to sell their junk for a quick buck?  The shop owner calls in experts to appraise the antiques (that takes about 2 minutes) and then the rest of the time that fat guy on the left screws around with his dee-dee-dee friend out in the parking lot.

Awesome.

And what is up with AMC?  I loooove old black and white movies.  Who doesn't like curling up in bed with a bottle of nail polish, a bag of Reese's Peanut Butter Cups, and a 1930's actress with over plucked eyebrows and boxy shoulder pads flipping her cigarette around and saying weird phrases like, "I'll be back in two shakes of a lamb's tail!"

Imagine my horror when I switched it on tonight to find some lame Sean Connery movie that come out in 2003.  American Movie Classics my ass. 

I would cut cable, but Elizabeth would die from Disney withdrawal.  So help me out--what do you watch?

This Little Piggy Stayed Home

You know how one day you're bored at work, counting down the last half hour before you can clock out and daydreaming about what you're going to make for dinner...

...and then your boss walks in and tells you not to bother coming in on Monday?

Yeah. I totally hate when that happens.

Here's the deal. Kevin and I decided that I would stop working at the end of February. I was technically part-time and I wasn't going to walk out of there with paid maternity leave (or even a You're-Preggers-Here's-A-Cupcake-And-Cheap-Baby-Onsie-On-Your-Last-Day-Of-Work! party). So rather than wait for my water to break all over my desk chair, we decided to sacrifice those last few paychecks and let me wallow on the couch in 3rd trimester misery.*

Like an amazingly responsible, professional, grown-up woman, I gave 5 weeks notice. (Yep. FIVE.) Why wait and give them only two? It seemed kind of rude. Why not give them plenty of time to look for a replacement?

Uhhh...because they'll decide to just let you go and save some cash on payroll.

I got dumped! I worked there for two years! I never got a raise! Or benefits! I did way more work than I was hired to do! And for what? "You don't have to bother coming back on Monday. Just take your time and enjoy getting ready for that baby, okay?" *wink, wink*

It was so awkward and weird. I didn't even know what to do (other than shove my pregnancy snacks and picture frames in my purse). It took a full ten minutes before it dawned on me to ask, "So...am I fired or what? Did I do something wrong? Can I use you as a reference?"

(And? That scene from Office Space where the bosses were saying, "Studies show it's best to fire someone on a Friday," kept running through my head.)

I never got a real reason, other than some mumbling about saving money and not knowing what to do with the business (really?) and lots of "It's not you, it's me!"

When I mentioned that no one else knew how to use the computer program I was using, they looked at each other and said, "Oh. Well, can we call you if we have problems with it?" Which felt oddly similar to a breakup when an asshole boyfriend said, "But...we can still have sex."

So. I am back at home in SAHM luxury. With bronchitis. And an ear infection.

Jealous much?


ETA: HAHAHA! Oh, wow! While posting the Office Space pic, it suddenly dawned on me that I never erased the blog pics from my work computer. The next guy is going to open it up to find Jedi Squirrels, Oompa Loompas, an obese woman squishing a skinny guy into the bed, and Giselle looking all pornalicious. Niiiiiiice.

The Pressures (or not?) of a Working Mom

6:45: Alarm goes off and Kevin gets in shower. Lay there, frowning and hating the world.

7:15-7:30: Shower and dress while Kevin feeds Elizabeth, packs his lunch, fills my travel mug with coffee, brings me a slice of peanut butter toast and a glass of milk, and helps me put on underwear, pants, and socks. (Admit it ladies, you're jealous of my pregnancy helplessness.)

7:30-8:00: Continue to get ready alone, because Kevin is now Elizabeth's personal chauffeur to Grandma's house. (Ha ha.) Make-up, hair, pack lunch, check e-mail.

8:00-8:20: Drive to work in peace.

8:30-12:00: Work. Or rather, work some, goof off online, stare into space, count how many days of work are left on calander...you get the idea.

12:00-12:30: Eat lunch alone at desk because work is in middle of cow pasture and there is no where to go. Also? Co-workers are 4 old men who never leave their offices.

12:30-4:30: Work in silence. No one even plays a radio. All I hear are keyboards clicking and the server humming white noise. Pray for death.

4:30-4:45: Drive home in peace. (Kevin gets to pick up Elizabeth, too! Ha ha.)

4:45-5:15: Lay on couch OR start dinner. (Depending.)

5:15: Elizabeth and Kevin come home.

5:30-6:00: Dinner, clean up kitchen, load dishwasher.

6:00-7:15: Family time. (Watch movie, play games, talk, run to store, etc.)

7:15-7:30: Elizabeth's bath time.

7:30-bedtime: Watch movies with Kevin in bed because I'm too exhausted to do anything else. Fall asleep ridiculously early.

Exciting, no?

Why am I sharing all of this with you? I read a post over at Vintage 30 that got me thinking: How much leisure time do we moms have? And, even better, do we act like we have a harder life than we really do?

Before I have to duck and run from all the venom-filled comments hurled my way, I want to stand up and say: "My name is Jaci and I am a pregnant working mom. Guess what? I HAVE IT PRETTY DAMN EASY."

I could climb up on my Sacrifical Motherhood Soapbox and swear to everyone that my days are stressful and exhausting and I couldn't possibly fit anything else in--but why lie? I'm not slaving in a coal-dust-filled electrical plant for 16 hour shifts like my Dad did. I'm on my butt in an ergonomic office chair. I'm not spending the afternoon over an oven cooked dinner like Grandma did. I walk in the door and flip off the crock pot or rip open a frozen skillet meal. I don't even have to pull out the mop and bucket like Mom did--I have a Swiffer Wet Jet and Clorox Wipes!

Beyond modern inventions to make chores easier, the basic duties of motherhood haven't changed and never will change. Face it, we'll always have to wake the kids up and get them fed and dressed and ready for school (and we get to do it without worrying that the baby will fall into the fire while our backs are turned).


We're always going to have to potty train a 2 year old...or read stories over and over to a 4 year old...or break up fights between siblings...or roll an 11 year old out of bed in the morning... We're always going to have to face the daily monotony of snack time, bathtime, tuck-in-time, and if-you-get-out-of-bed-one-more-time-I'm-spanking-you-time. All that crap? It's simply part of the Mommy job description.

My life was stressful this past spring, but that's because I was trying to do it all. I wanted my house to look like a page from Better Homes and Gardens, so I pushed myself to clean after work. I wanted to lose weight, so I pushed myself to work out from 8-9 pm every night. I wanted to impress my bosses, so I forced myself to go above and beyond on projects.

I was miserable and exhausted most of the time, but it wasn't because I was a working mom--I didn't have my priorities straight.

Now that I'm pregnant, a lot of things have changed. I'm not going to be at this job much longer...so "impressing management" isn't on my To-Do List. Workouts took a backseat to resting on the couch, and Better Homes and Gardens is just a magazine that sits on the back of my slightly hairy toilet lid. And you know what? I haven't missed any of it!

Yeah, I'm "lazing" on the couch--but I have really enjoyed playing Chutes and Ladders as a family and laughing at Elizabeth for totally freaking out when someone else wins. Sometimes I feel like a giant lard ass when it's 8 pm and in "normal life" I would be working out--but cuddling in bed has led to other kinds of exercise that sweating on an elliptical can't compare with.

As cheesy as it sounds, life comes in seasons. Right now? I'm focusing on becoming a mom--again--and all the challenges that are going to come with it. Whatever else I happen to accomplish along with way is just extra credit.

(I never have been the A+ student when A- still equals the same 4.0.)

This working mom? She could squeeze a few more things in if she had to. So what? She doesn't feel the least bit guilty about it.

I Have a Dysfunctional Pubis.

Did I ever tell you the story of riding around Wal-Mart in a beeping electric cart? Nooo?

I was in so much pain that I couldn't walk for the last two months of Elizabeth's pregnancy. I couldn't climb steps, or roll over in bed, or even step into my underwear without biting my lips and sweating through the pain. Eventually, I had to have Kevin lay my underwear on the floor so I could shuffle into them and he could pull them up for me. (Hawt.)

I gimped into Dr. Loompa's office and told him about the shooting pains in my pelvis, but he just smiled and said, "Aches, pains...that's part of pregnancy!" I immediately felt like a giant hypochondriac and didn't say anything more about it.

I tried pushing myself harder, but the pain had me in sweaty, gasping tears. I got depressed and laid on the couch for a month. Then, Kevin insisted I leave the house and just use an electric cart to ride around in.

It was awful. It's not like I had a broken leg, or crutches, or anything visibly wrong with me. I just looked like an annoyed pregnant woman too lazy to walk. And? It made the WIDE LOAD BEEP whenever I had to back up.

Anyway, two months of constant pain made labor seem like a breeze--six pushes and Elizabeth was out. Eight hours later, I was up walking the halls of the hospital, peeking in at other moms who just laid there groaning (but who had lots flowers and balloons in their rooms--damn you Kevin, you didn't give me shit) telling the nurses who yelled at me to get back in bed, "I haven't felt this good in months! I CAN WALK!"

Now...fast forward to this week. Guess what just came back?

This time I'm not a first-time mom freaked out that I might be like one of those wimps losing their shit on A Baby Story. I know this is not normal.

After some internet research, I stumbled onto symphysis pubis dysfunction, and finally felt some relief in knowing that I'm not weird, crazy, or a weakling. There is something wrong, damn it!

SPD is when pregnancy hormones do their job a little too well and relax an important ligament that holds the pelvis together. So, rather than staying in one firm piece--my pelvis is painfully separating and twisting out of alignment with each movement I make.

There's no real treatment (like most pregnancy issues) but it was nice to know that hey, other pregnant women are dealing with it too. You're not alone in this. You're not "weak" because you have to use the beeping cart at Wal-Mart--any more than another Preggo is "weak" for having gestational diabetes or severe morning sickness. Shit happens. It's okay.

This time, I'm going to ride in the stupid beeping cart and ignore the mindless Wal-Mart rabble. Maybe I'll embarrass Kevin by screaming out over the wide load beep, "Get out of my way! I have a dysfunctional pubis!"*



*I could also yell, "I have SPD!" but people would probably think I was saying, "I have a STD!" and might call Children's Services on me. Or at least yell back, "Boo! You whore!" and then I'd have to climb out of my beeping cart to defend my honor by beating the crap out of a Wal-Mart shopper in the Coco Crispies aisle. Which would probably hurt my pelvis even more and defeat the whole purpose of riding in said electric cart. I'll stick with the dysfunctional pubis line.**

**This post is guaranteed to score amusing Google analytics from pervs.

Pregnancy Week 27 - Goodbye 2nd Trimester

I'm big. My pelvis aches constantly and it's getting harder to walk. I can't get comfortable at night. My appetite is vanishing because nothing sounds good--not even Reese's Peanut Butter Cups (sacrilege!). Only one pair of maternity pants still fit comfortably and I've taken to wearing them everyday without bothering to wash them in between.

Annnd...that about sums up the end of month six. Any questions?

"Jaci, why don't you dump Dr. Loompa and find someone better?"

Good question, gentle reader. See, Dr. Loompa has been in practice for 43 years--and that's some serious mileage on his wee little boots. He delivered Elizabeth, and I can remember the relief I felt when he finally showed up just in time to coach me through six pushes, catch the baby, dig out the placenta, stich up the vag, and take a pic holding E (it's like a grinning Bilbo Baggins standing beside my bed--I'd post, but I looked drugged up--perhaps because I was). It's either him or the dreaded Birthing Conglomorate with their game of Midwife Roulette.

Dr. Loompa...

Birthing Conglomorate...

You see my dilema, internets.

"Jaci, what weird pregnancy symptoms do you have?"

Okay, so no one really asked this question. I'm just looking for some way to mention that I'm a Pregnant Klutz. The other night I slopped spoonfuls of spaghetti in that crack between my stove and the counter--repeatedly--and rather than adjusting whatever I was doing wrong like a normal human I kept slopping more sauce down the crack and yelling, "Damn it!" I spilled about 5 gallons of white French manicure nail polish all over myself and just sat there screaming, "Help me! HELP ME!" while I watched it inch closer to my dry-clean-only $80 red bedspread. And, while painting the trimwork in Elizabeth's bedroom, I kept getting the brush way too close to the carpet and just mumbling, "Oops," with every white blotch.

Accidents are one thing...but the 30 second pregnancy delay makes me feel like...I don't know...

*Insert witty closing line here* Sorry. The baby is sucking all creativity out of me.