Pregnancy Week 40 - I Admit I'm An Asshole

So. Here we are at the end.

After 2 weeks of off and on false labor, cramps, stress and general freak outs...it's all added up to a dilation of:

2.

Wow. That's...not spectacular.

When Dr. Loompa checked me today and announced no changes, I seriously wanted to throw back my head and howl. How is it that I can walk so much that I'm in "contractions" and my hip joints are locking up in pain, yet it does NOTHING?!? How can I wake up in the middle of the night with painful period cramps and back aches and it's not dilating or thinning out or doing anything productive? And, even better, why did my body have it all figured out the first time but has now decided to turn re-re and forget how this works?

I'd also like to take this moment to confess that before last month, I was an Only Child Labor and Delivery Asshole - noun. Mom of one who thinks that she knows all about labor because she went through it, and, smugly assumes that every birth thereafter will be exactly the same. See also: Annoying, Self-righteous, Talks-out-her-ass.

I rolled my eyes when The Experienced Moms would say, "Well, with my first..." and then drone on with the entire litany of their birth stories. I zoned out and didn't care to hear the details, because, gawd people, it's freaking birth! Been there, done that.

I fully expected this birth to be a repeat of Elizabeth's--at week 38. Instead I'm sitting here at week 40 wondering what the hell happened.

On Wednesday morning, I'll go in and have my membranes stripped. (Sounds yummy, huh?)

Then, Thursday morning, I'll head to the hospital for a pitocin drip.

I didn't want pitocin. But, I also didn't think I'd spend a couple weeks in false labor and end up facing my due date still very much pregnant! I'd love to go into labor naturally, but I'm not loving the idea of chugging castor oil (and possibly causing the baby to poop meconium in utero) or trying every ridiculous old wives tale floating around the internet.

The funny thing about a birth plan is that the uterus doesn't read it. And I'm not going to be one of those Birth Crusaders who hangs out until week 42 because by-god-we're-doing-this-my-way!!! The whole point is a healthy baby. Who cares how I get there?

Besides, I'm kind of excited about the idea of calmly walking into the hospital and laboring--start to finish--stress free. No analyzing cramps...no counting contractions...no last minute babysitting...no 3 am rides to the hospital...

Induction sure has it's upside.

Blog Farts

I'm in a pissy mood and can't write a coherent post. So I'll give you a list of pointless crap.

You're welcome.

1. Bloggers who lie and inflate their numbers trying to impress the "little people" make me laugh.

See that Site Meter in my side bar? Click on it. Go ahead. I don't mind.

It will open up and show the whole world that--gasp!--Jaci might hit 8,500 hits this month! I don't hide it, keep it on lock down, and then try to tell people that I get 80,000 hits per month. Because good lord who cares?

Kind of reminds me of people who brag about how much they make--yet never back it up by laying a paycheck stub on the table. Hmmmm....

2. I drank a cap full of Castor Oil this morning...

...because it was still in my bathroom closet from the Oil Cleansing Method experiment and I'm losing my mucus plug and gawd when am I going to go into real labor?!?! I took it straight because I'm bad ass...and too lazy to go downstairs for a glass of orange juice...and a "cap full" looked like about 1 teaspoon anyway.

I guess I'm supposed to take 2 TBS for it to do anything. Right now? It's not doing anything. I'm not even pooping.

My bowels are like a group of thugs hanging out in front of the liquor store, laughing their asses off at the castor oil. "Ha! Boy! You think you're bad shit, huh? You ain't nutin' 'round here!" The castor oil is avoiding making eye contact and just slinking on through my system in fear.

FAIL.

3. My dad flashed me a receipt from his savings account and my mouth seriously fell open.

I said, "That's your 401K, right?"

"No. This is just savings."

Niiiice. There isn't even enough in my savings for a big trip to Sam's Club.

Then I got a little pissed, because how come I had to wear clothes from WAL-MART in high school?!? And why was Mom always screaming, "We don't have any money!" every time I came home from college and made me feel like shit for needing $20 for gas?!? Clearly, they had money.

I'm all bitter.

4. Days away from Week 40, and guess what?

I'm getting stretch marks.

I don't want to talk about it.

5. I'm full of piss and vinegar.

Or at least, that's what my grandpa would say. I seriously hate the world right now, and have isolated myself in my bedroom so that I don't commit homicide. Or claw a stranger's face. Or make a friend's soul wither from my sarcasm.

It's just best that I be alone until real contractions hit, okay?

Found Out the Sex

Yep, you read that right. On Friday, during my guess-the-weight ultrasound, Kevin and I asked to know the sex.

I know it seems really, really stupid to go 9 months without knowing, and then find out one measly week before the birth. I mean, it's not like knowing now is going to change anything, right? The nursery is done. Clearance baby clothes are gone with the wind (and I'm too immobile to shop anyway). Why didn't we just wait for Dr. Loompa to catch the baby and say, "It's a ____!" and have that crazy, emotional moment in the delivery room?

Because I felt I wasn't connected to this baby.

After 9 months of calling it "It", pregnancy felt more like a medical condition to be survived rather than the miracle of another child. I had trouble picturing the baby...I flipped through baby name books and couldn't settle on anything...none of it seemed real.

"It" felt like an alien in my body.

When the ultrasound tech told us what "It" is...at first it didn't change anything. It was kind of like, "Oh, okay," and we grabbed Elizabeth and went about our day.

But slowly, over the weekend, something in me has started to change. I know who's foot is crammed in my ribs, and I've actually said the name while pushing it back out of there. I can watch my stomach move and say, "____ is awake. Look!" and Kevin and I can talk to it.

Elizabeth is running around the house calling the baby by name, and to hear the name coming from a little 4 year old as if, duh, the baby is going to be in this house very soon and will always live with us just drives the realness of it home for me. I'm going to have another child! We're going to be a family of four!

We went to Target together and picked out real outfits (not just yellow sleepers) and had fun talking about who is coming. I could pick up a baby toy and ask Elizabeth, "Do you think ____ will like this?" Or I can say, "Do you think ____ will have red hair like you?"

The baby is more real to all of us.

I can picture tucking my two kids into their adorable bedroom now. I can imagine the fights that are going to happen when the baby is 4 and Elizabeth is 8, and it makes me laugh to think of it. The whole picture of my family is becoming clearer every day.

I have no regrets whatsoever about giving up that moment when the baby comes out and we're all straining to see what it is. This week of bonding with my belly and feeling reassured that of course I will love this child as much as I love Elizabeth is priceless.

I'd rather slowly and quietly come to grips with who this baby is here at home, rather than in a busy hospital where it could feel unreal and overwhelming. If I were a different woman, I could pull off the whole not knowing thing with much more grace.

But, the fact is, I'm Jaci--and I do better when I know.

Oh, and by the way...

It's a girl.

Last Minute Pregnancy Thoughts

"I'm still pregnant. No, I'm not in labor. I feel fine, but I'm not in a good mood and I don't want to talk right now. Alright?!?!"

I'm thinking of leaving that message on my phones, and maybe even using it as an e-mail response. But I won't. 'Cause I'm a people pleaser.

I don't know why I'm not happy and excited like other about-to-pop pregos. I don't know why I'm not rubbing my stretched marked belly and purring, "Mmm, I don't mind if I go overdue. I luuurrve being pregnant! This baby will decide when it wants to come!"

But, here's the truth: I'm unhappy right now.

This isn't my first time in the ring. I know that labor hurts--pretty freaking bad--and the postpartum period is pure hell on earth. I know that I'll spend weeks spraying numbing stuff on stitches and hemorrhoids every time I use the bathroom...my boobs will turn into ginormous lumps of pain...and at night, a newborn will scream into my ear and take it's little hands and claw at my neck. So, it's a lot different from the Eternity ads I pictured the first time around.

Oh, shut up. You know you want your life to look like that ad, too.

Secondly, if you'll remember, I didn't volunteer for this. I didn't have several months of trying and dreaming and longing before those little lines finally appeared on the pregnancy test--it was a total shock during the most difficult time of my life. Is this the time I would have chosen to have baby #2? Umm... NO. In fact, I had decided that one child was enough for me! Now I'm adjusting my life and hopes and dreams around another baby and another 3 years of babydom...

It's been a hard pregnancy--and oddly enough, not because of the actual pregnancy! (This time has been a dream compared to the physical issues I had with Elizabeth.) My emotions have been all over the place just from marriage counseling and recovering from the bomb that blew up in my face last summer. My whole life was turned upside down, and I'm still trying to put everything back in place.

So, sure, let's add in pregnancy hormones and a newborn. Why not?

Also...why do I have to have at least 3 or 4 legitimate reasons to complain about pregnancy? Why does any pregnant woman have to explain why she's exasperated? It's freaking pregnancy, not a 10 day Caribbean cruise! Every woman is going to have an issue with it, and it's pretty sad that we can't be honest about it for fear that someone will roll their eyes and say that we're ungrateful. (Or worse, a piss poor mother.)

I believe we ALL have the right to complain. Whether your baby was a surprise, planned, conceived through infertility treatments, whatever...every woman has the right to say, "You know what? I feel like shit today," and not feel guilty about it.

And shame on any woman who dares to roll her eyes at her.

Pregnancy Week 39: False Labor Reigns Supreme

Pregnancy Week:  39
Total Weight Gained:  28 pounds
Centimeters Dilated:  2
Pee Test Results:  Normal.
Blood Pressure:  Normal
Pre-eclampsia:  Not me! 
FALSE LABOR:  EVERY FREAKING DAY!!!!  GAH!!!!

I would post a new belly pic, but I think the camera is shoved in someone's hospital bag.  (Exactly who has it is a mystery I don't care to solve right now.  Because I'm crampy.  And pissed off.  And ready to bite the heads off small animals.)  I'm using this pic instead:

(No, that's not a picture of me.  You think my thighs are that smooth?  *snort*  Although, if you swapped the too small underwear combo for a mumu-esque nightgown and placed Rice Crispy Treat wrappers on the sheets, she could be my twin.)

Every day, I have some period of false labor.  Either I have bad menstrual-like cramps that leave me grimacing on the couch wondering what the hell is going on, or, I have actual contractions that I can time (always 5 minutes apart!) that have me totally stressed out because they aren't THAT strong but should I call Kevin home from work and line up babysitting for Elizabeth and OMG what if I wait too long and have the baby on the kitchen floor?!?!  2nd babies come fast, right?!?!

3 hours later, it all peters out into nothing and I feel like a douche.  Again.  And I end up back in bed depressed and angry with a pillow over my head.

I guess weeks of false labor is one of the joys of 2nd pregnancies?  'Cause seriously, no one told me about that little quirk.  The first time around I had ZERO pain until I had a few cramps one morning...and by noon the next day I was holding Elizabeth.  So this on again off again bullshit has me stressed out and angry.

I complained to Dr. Loompa and he offered to induce me (SQUEEE!  YES!  YES!!!) on May 4th (huh?  wha--?), a whopping two days before my estimated due date.  Gee.  Thanks.

And today, while waiting for my 2nd ultrasound to play guess the baby's weight (which is rarely ever accurate, so what is the freaking point?) a woman pissed me off for a record breaking 8 hours.  (I blame the pregnancy hormone, Holdagrudge.)  I sank down in a seat and said to Kevin, "I'm done.  I'm just...done," and rubbed a foot angrily out of my ribs.  The woman butted into our conversation to ask when I was due, and when I said, "2 weeks," she rolled her eyes and said:

"Oh, you still have a loooong way to go!  I was overdue with my son for 2 weeks!" and blew. me. off.

Bitch, shut the hell up!  I wish I had a knife.  I'd cut you.

Okay, I'm done blogging for now.  Kevin just came home with Chubby Hubby ice cream and movie rentals.

He's trying to calm the beast, I suppose.

R.I.P. Jaci's Maternity Jeans

I think I've mentioned before that I have one (1) pair of maternity jeans that comfortably fit...and that I have worn them day in and day out since like, January. Then, one day last week, Elizabeth pointed at my ass and laughed, "HA! I can see Mommy's underwear!!!" and fell out on the floor in hysterics.

XL Motherhood Maternity Jeans
November 1, 2009-April 17, 2010
Your butt crack tore, but your memory will live forever.
R.I.P.

I went through the typical stages of grief.

1. Shock and Denial (No! Maybe no one will notice my pink underwear hanging out?)
2. Pain and Guilt (I shouldn't have worn them so much! Ugh! Stupid! STUPID!)
3. Anger and Bargaining (Like hell I'm wasting $40 to wear pants for the next 2 weeks! Screw it! I'll wear these damn XXL Flannel Polar Bear Pajama Pants first! Watch me...)
4. Depression (I don't want to go to Target in Polar Bear pants. *tear*)
5. The Upward Turn (Hmmm...I still have a pair of maternity capris, and I'm getting hot anyway...)
6. Reconstruction and Working Through (I have a really bad farmer's tan from wearing capri pants constantly...but whatever. Better to have tan swollen fat legs than white, right?)
7. Acceptance and Hope (Oh, who the hell cares? I'll be back in normal clothes in 2 weeks.)

And yes, the ripped pants are still laying on my bedroom floor in a twisted wad. Someday I'll actually pick them up and throw them in the trash. You know, before the Better Homes and Gardens photographers arrive.

Bedrest and Peeing in a Jug. Jealous Much?

My blood pressure is up, so I had to submit to a few tests including...wait for it...a 24 hour urine collection!

Right now, there is a large orange jug sitting in a bucket of ice in my bathroom filled with stinky pee.  In another couple hours I can run this disgusting pee jug back to the lab and go through even more blood tests.   

Just why the lab needs an entire GALLON of my pee was never explained to me, and by the time the lab tech shoved the jug at me and moved on to the next poor soul in the waiting room (seriously, the hospital lab serves more people than McDonalds) it was too late to ask.  What happened to peeing in a cup?!?

If my tests come back weird, then I have pre-eclampsia and Dr. Loompa will induce me.  (Eventually.  Someday.  Maybe.)  Until then, I'm back to laying around with my feet up because apparently I'm over doing it and that's causing all the false labor drama.  

(I'd really like to know how I'm "over doing it" because I seriously do NOTHING other than sit up and talk.)

Ugh.  2 more weeks, 2 more weeks, 2 more weeks...

Then There Was the Time I Was in False Labor for 5 Hours

I'd like to announce that in the class ranking of uteruses (or is it uteri?) mine is the slow kid at the back of the class eating paste and giggling to himself.

I could have sworn I was in labor last night!  I had contractions, not just cramps!  I could time them!  They were coming every 5-7 minutes!  And then?

Pffffft.

11:00 rolled around, and the baby must have been like, "Ooh, Chelsea Lately is on.  Shut up, I want to hear this."  Then it rolled over and said, "Eh, I'm tired.  How about we reschedule?"

Meanwhile, Kevin has the bags in the car, towels draped across every seat I may or may not use (he must think when my water breaks there will be a flood to rival hurricane Katrina), and his notepad and pencil out timing my contractions.  So I felt like an ASS when I had to look him and say, "Uhhh...I think it stopped.  Again."

So everything is in an uproar.  Elizabeth stayed the night at Grandma and Grandpa's, expecting that her baby brother or sister would be here when she woke up.  Kevin tweaked out about work and is now scrambling to find coverage.  Grandma and Grandpa planned on going away this weekend and are now waiting to hear what my doctor says at my 2:30 appointment.  And...like I said...I feel like a total ass for not being a crunchy granola Earth Goddess and knowing the difference between real labor and this---crap.

And if Dr. Loompa hears my story and then grins his weird little grin and says, "That's pregnancy," I'm going to jump off the exam table and claw his wee little face until the blood runs.

Pregnancy Week 38: I am Sweetness and Light. Duh.

Pregnancy Week: 38
Total Weight Gained: 28 pounds
Dilation: 1 cm
Labor Symptoms: Cramps? Contractions? Weird, rock hard U? Check.

Yesterday, I totally thought I was starting labor. All day long I had cramps and felt like a giant loser just sitting on the couch analyzing each and every twinge all by myself.

So I went to a friend's house and forced her to entertain me (Hi Jen!) while we sat outside in the sun for 4 hours.

Now I'm sunburned, and I wonder if sunburn stalls labor? Because by the time I got ready for bed last night, all cramps and contractions and icky twinges petered out into nothing.

April 14th baby? NOPE. Another night's sleep? FABULOUS.

Oooh, wait.... I just felt a cramp. Hmmm.

Basically, I'm still a huge moron who has no clue when her body is in labor. All I remember is that contractions start out like period cramps and then feel like someone is slamming a sledge hammer into your back and abdomen until you beg for death--or an epidural. Right now? I feel like a 13 year old girl who needs to take a Midol.

Speaking of 13 year old girls...

Everyone knows this blog is just Jaci running her mouth, right? Most of the posts on here are exactly the kind of rants you'd hear if you came over to my house and loosened me up with a couple glasses of wine. (Dear wine, how I miss you.) We'd all laugh and vent and slosh wine all over ourselves and feel human again--instead of like "Mom".

So when I get comments bashing me for not being grateful for my family or complaining all the time, it seriously makes me roll my eyes and wonder what sour-faced middle-aged woman stumbled in here.

If you're looking for sweetness and light, inspirational posts, or some Stepford Wife digital scrapbook of tow haired children in matching sailor suits--you ain't gonna find it here. Move on to another Mommy blog.

If you're more into hearing what the quiet Mom in playgroup is really thinking, then keep reading. If you'd rather relate to a Mom who doesn't have it all together, then keep reading.

And send wine. I've got 9 months to make up for.

Soon, precious. Soon.

Date Night Fail

In an effort to do something other than sprawl across my bed flipping through channels and blogs at the same time (thank you wireless internet gods) I asked Kevin for a date night.

With the in-laws right in town, we could *theoretically* have a date night every week. No babysitting fees! No worries! Does it ever happen? Nope. At least, it's never scheduled enough in advance that Kevin and I could go out and do something special. Take last night for example.

When he called on his way home from work, I suggested we go out. Alone. Because honestly? I'm dilated to 1 cm and have cramps. This baby could be here tomorrow or 3 weeks from now, and then date nights will cease to exist until the kid is 2.

Elizabeth went happily to Grandma's house while Kevin and I looked at each other with the, "Where do you want to eat?" question.

I hate the "Where do you want to eat?" question. It's fine when you're dating. Then it's all fun and carefree and you can say, "Grossly expensive local restaurant with cloth napkins!" and you both look at each other like, "YES! Overpriced food is awesome! We'll blow $60 on dinner and then go back to the apartment and have sex three times in one night! Luuurrrrvvvveee you!"

When you're married? Picking a restaurant is like navigating the Titanic through the North Atlantic. Grossly expensive place? Is it a birthday/anniversary/I got a raise! special occasion? Well, then, forget THAT. Chili's? Gawd. There will be tables full of screaming kids and music blaring while we yell at each other across sticky tables. No thanks. Steakhouse? It's Friday night! We'll spend all night waiting for a table. Yes, let's waste our whole kid-free night sitting on a bench surrounded by peanut shells, waiting for a beeper to go off! Fast food? How is THAT a date night?!? What's next? A slurpy from the Quicky Mart?

See? It sucks.

We tried Texas Roadhouse (because I wanted to eat the whole bread basket for my dinner). 40 minute wait. We left.

We tried Applebees...people were lined up clear around the building holding beepers and looking miserable. We drove away.

Tried Chili's. We drove around the parking lot and couldn't even find a spot.

Now we're getting pissed--and really hungry. And I'm getting car sick from peeling around parking lots.

Dingbats! (It's a local place.) After being seated at a crappy table by the drink refill/dirty dish station on plastic lawn chairs and looking over the stained menu ($10.99 for an appetizer sampler? WTF?!?!) we rolled our eyes and walked out. The waitress--who must have been on an extra long smoke break--didn't even notice.

Back to the Texas Roadhouse. It's 7:00 now, the line must have gone down. And damn it, I really want that bread.

Ha! NOW IT'S A 60 MINUTE WAIT.

I turned to Kevin and said, "That's it! We're eating at the damn food court in the mall. I'm not driving anywhere else!"

So we gagged down really gross fries and a sub from Charley's Steakery and paid over $9 for it. And? High school brats with no driver's license and no where else to go on a Friday night entertained us by jumping from table to table around the food court and screaming "Fuck! hahahaha!" until mall cops made them leave.

Our last date night before baby? Massive fail.

Pregnancy Week 36 - The Week Where I Turn into a Blowfish

Pregnancy Week: 36
Total Weight Gained: 28 pounds

I should have kept my mouth shut about my totally awesome pregnancy weight gain because now? I gained 6 pounds in one week.

(And my feet, legs, and hands are bloated so bad flip flops leave ugly marks. Yeah, it's pretty disgusting.)

Little Dr. Loompa squeezed me in again this morning because I keep flipping through What to Expect When You're Expecting and reading horror! doom! woe! pre-eclampsia! induced birth! and getting myself all worried over obscene weight gain and ankle rolls.

Good news? I don't have pre-eclampsia. Bad news? Yet. I'm borderline, and if my blood pressure spikes I will. I'm on orders to lay down, put my feet up, and avoid salt.

(And...I guess Dr. Loompa wasn't exactly insulting my cankles last time, but just noticed swelling that I was clueless about. Ahem. My apologies, Dr. Loompa.)

It's bad enough to be pregnant, but when you throw in water retention on top of it...gawd. I don't even recognize my freak show of a body anymore.

The end is near!