That Stupid Charlie Brown Song

Yay Christmas! For real, this is my favorite time of year. I will confess, I'd lost that loving feeling over the past several years, but that Christmas magic was just as potent this year as it was in grade school. My anticipation for Ava's reaction was beyond words. Watching her eyes get big in the face of soft, fuzzy, dancing, singing, lit up toys was hilarious. I cannot believe the generosity of those around my little family and am SO appreciative.

Adam did great, too! He put on a brave face for 48 hours and threw him into the lions dens' of the Nelson and Schmitt Holiday festivities and came out battle worn but no worse for the wear. I love that guy. It was wonderful to spend Christmas with him for the first time.

However, as the holiday season comes to an end, I find myself cursing that Charlie Brown Christmas movie with that one song- "Christmas time is here..."- it's the single most depressing Christmas song ever (perhaps with the exception of "Solider's Night Before Christmas" and "Christmas Shoes"), and it is rolling around in my head like a stale piece of stocking candy.

I suppose it fits my mood, though. Not that I'm sad, or melancholy... just reflective. This holiday season has also given me a great deal to mull over. For example, this was my first Christmas without my Grandma, and in a few days, it will be the one year anniversary of her initial admittance to the hospital. At Christmas, looking into the faces of my mom and her brothers and sisters... I saw what her passing had done. It has changed each and every one of us. Some are more caring and appreciative. Some are more reserved, hesitant to let down a wall and see too much emotion pour out. Others have become callous, cutting family out of their lives all together. The bad changes are few and far between. I felt like my Grandma swooped into our Christmas gathering for a little while, proud of her children and grandchildren, and in true Grandma fashion, flew back out to do her guardian angel thing with the rest of her ailing children.

I miss her very much. Somedays I don't think about it at all; it's like I could call her and ask her for a recipe any time I'd like. Other days I go to make that call and have the realization of her passing hit me all over again. Sometimes it's just a dull ache that won't go a way. I can't imagine what my mom is going through. Then I look at Ava... and I see both my Mom and my Grandma in her... and the tears turn a little sweeter.

Oh Ava. Another reason to reflect. It was right around this time last year that I found out she was comin' to town. At the time, I felt like I was a Santa Claus of my own, carrying around the heaviest gift load known to mankind, even if she physically wasn't that much at the time. My relative silence over her existence made last Christmas very strange indeed. In retrospect, she has been the best gift I ever could have dreamed, hoped, or prayed for. She has irrevocably changed my life and spurred me to want to change myself for the better. On Christmas, her pajamas depicted her as wrapped up with a tag that said, "Mom and Dad's Best Christmas Present Ever!" (Thanks Furg); truer words were never spoken (or written... or seen... whatev).

I also reconnected with some friends back home. Though only one of my marine boys is in town, the label I'd adorned him with for so long doesn't quite fit anymore. He's anything but a boy, and I was so proud of him. He's very much in love, mature beyond his years, and as caring and sweet as ever. I wish him nothing but happiness.

I also had a friend I'd lost touch with stop by. Though we'd sort of fallen away from each other under bitter and trivial circumstances... it was kind of like we just picked up where we'd left off. A nice feeling indeed.

Of course, Ava got to meet my two besties in the whole wide world, and while I'd been concerned that her presence might, I don't know... alter? the way we interact... nothing of the sort occured. Any "alteration" was merely the product of my own exhaustion.

However, my last reflection is the product of recent correspondence with someone from my past with someone I didn't know very well. I opened my email to find that a girl that I vaguely knew from high school had sent me a message on Facebook. When I opened it, I couldn't have been more shocked. She was asking questions about a situation that I, quite honestly, had no recollection of. As I read on, though, it made a lot of sense. Apparently, I had dismissed a situation involving her, paying it no attention, and in the end, wound up hurting her. Typical.

As we continued to exchange pleasantries (no worries, there's no ill will there anymore), I learned more about the young woman in a span of a few hours than I had bothered to absorb in four years of high school. She'd had the impression that I disliked her, which wasn't true at all. I began to wonder- how many other people did I hurt? Or ignore? How many people did I obliviously impact? I guess it just goes to show that we, all too often, are unaware of the way we shape the world around us.

This kind of ties into a conundrum I've been struggling with since I was little. I'm a very empathetic individual... probably too much so. Depending on when you've met me, this may or may not ring true with you. I've see sawed between this natural state of being and forced indifference for years. I don't know how many times I've been told I can't save the world (well... duh). At the same time, indifference doesn't sit well with my conscience. I try to balance it all out, and I know that in these early days of motherhood, I've resorted to indifference out of convenience, being too emotionally drained to be myself.

I guess this recent exchange has kind of been a wake up call. I can't afford to do that. It may be tiring or frustrating or overwhelming... but caring is what makes us human. I think of my closed off Aunts and Uncles, or of friendships that fell apart for like of trying, or other friendships that could meet the same fate without effort, and I know that indifference is no longer a luxury I can afford to partake in. When I think of my daughter, and how I want her to be brought up and who I want to help her become, I know that I will fail as a mother if I cannot be emotionally available and teach her to do the same. Does it invite pain? Yes. But without that pain, we don't know real joy, and we miss out on opportunities to really feel alive.

Well, I've finished my work work for the day, though I still have the house to clean. Perhaps I'll blast some music to try to clear the space between my ears of that melancholy Charlie Brown melody, without forgetting the lesson that accompanied it. Suggestions anyone?

Isn't She Lovely

Today was one of my favorite kinds of days. Adam didn't have work, I'm out of class, and Ava was content to lay between us. At least half of the day was spent lounging in bed, cuddled together. Ava would wake on occasion, and the only reason we would know is because she would start to kick her legs playfully and wind up socking us in the stomach or leg. After some cooing and bouncing, we'd give her a bottle, and she would drift back to sleep with us.

When we finally did wake up, she was still in a good mood. Her favorite thing to do is stare off at the lit up Christmas tree. I'll lay her under the branches, and she'll bat at the shiny, cheap, plastic ornaments like she has discovered an invaluable treasure. Her squeals and grunts could honestly entertain me for hours.

While I had originally intended to clean the house and do laundry all day today, my best laid plans fell right through my hands as I settled into the easy comfort of Adam's arms, Friday Night lights, and Ava's steady breathing. Between that and my ten cent poker games online, I now find myself gaping at the time. I'm leaving for Chicago not too long from now, and I've yet to wash the necessary clothes, pack for any of us, clean out the car or even think about the drive ahead. I think coffee, coffee, and more coffee will be the only thing that gets me home for the holidays tomorrow (or in 40 or so minutes, today).

I'm still waiting for my professors to post my grades. I'll have above a 3.0, thank goodness. I'm proud of myself. I know I talked a big talk about expectations for my school work this semester, but truth be told, I think I may have been trying to convince myself that I could do it. The only class that really tripped me up was statistics, but that's predictable. As I search for the grad school that will be a good fit for my fledgling family, I can breathe a little easier in the knowledge that, even with an infant, I can keep up.

Well, I probably should get things together for tomorrow. Wish me luck!

Don't call it a comeback...

It's been awhile, and I'm sorry for the delay, but life has been a little bit hectic, as I'm sure you can imagine. This has, all at once, been a semester from hell AND a blessing. Ava has transformed my life in ways I never thought possible. Sure, there's sleep deprivation, my new perfume (eau de baby puke), the perpetual mess I live in, and a constant stream of dirty diapers, but more than that, there's laughter, wonder and a tremendous sense of purpose. It is impossible to freak out about homework overload or memorization deadlines or debate assignments when you're watching Ava stare in amazement at the fish tank. It's a trip to watch her snicker with Adam's half-cocked smile, my chin, and her own mischievous sparkle in her eyes. I know I haven't kept up, but I promise I will start writing once a week. Unttil then, enjoy the baby girl's smile...

SHE'S HERE!

SHE'S HERE! Phew! After all that waiting, Ava Veronica Heugel has finally arrived! She was born at 10:10 pm on July 28th, 2008. She was 20 inches long, weighing in at 6 lbs 12 and 1/2 oz. What a day!

I had stayed up until 4 am that morning knitting what I hoped would eventually resemble a blanket, aware that I had a doctor's appointment at 9 am but not too concerned, as I was fairly sure that I wasn't any further dialated and I certainly wasn't having any further contractions. I just figured that I'd go in, have my membranes painfully stripped away AGAIN, and then go back and wince until I drifted off to sleep again.

How wrong I was. Well, partially.

I went in for my appointment, groggy and annoyed. Further fueling my annoyance was how late the office was running behind schedule. A half hour after my appointment was scheduled, bladder about to burst, they finally called me back. Lilyana, the office nurse, led me back to the exam room, took my blood pressure, and patted me on the knee, aware of my impatience to get the child OUT. 15 minutes later, my doctor finally arrived. As usual, she started out looking for the baby's heartbeat. Not as usual, she had a bit of a hard time finding it, and frowned when she finally did. She began the dreaded internal, again noting that I wasn't really any further dialated, but instead of the stripping I'd been dreading, she pulled her hand out earlier than usual. I looked up to see the same frown, but didn't think anything of it until I saw blood on her hand.

Bright red blood. A lot of it.

Before I could ask what was going on, she calmly stated that I needed to go over to Labor and Delivery right away for monitoring as the baby's heartbeat was not as strong as she would like. She rushed out of the room, saying she would call ahead and let them know I was coming.

I redressed myself, shaking. What did this mean? Why was I bleeding? Certainly that wasn't just my water breaking. Was the baby ok?

I called the boy and my mom on the way over. The boy had slept even less than I had under the same assumptions I had made and was probably less excited than me, but his concern overwhelmed any level of exhaustion. My mom asked why the baby's heart was slow and what had caused the bleeding, but hell if I had any answers. I just told her I'd call her once I knew what was up.

This visit to the hospital was a tid bit different than times past (obviously). I really had just assumed nothing big was up until they handed me the hospital gown. Before, I'd just hand to strip from the waist down and jump on the bed. Suddenly, things were looking far more serious. Still, though, there were no contractions or leaking water or even dialation, so it couldn't be today... could it?

Well, I was right about there being no signs, but concerned with the slower heart rate, the doctor decided we would induce. She prescribed an enema and a pictocin drip immediately. Like it or not, Ava was comin' out.

Well, so I had thought. At first, the contractions were no biggie. The boy dozed on and off in the chair next to me. I finally talked him into going to get something to eat when they put the catheter in, but aside from that, he just sat there trying to rest and jumping whenever the steady sound of the baby's heartbeat on the monitor spiked or lagged. Unfortunately, the contractions became more and more intense. Those of you who know me know that I am not good with pain. Like, at all. I put it off for as long as possible, knowing that I wouldn't get an epidural until I was at least 3 cm dialated, but soon I was begging for Demerol. An hour later, I needed another dose. An hour after that, I was begging for a c-section. My doctor told me she refused to perform one without medical need, and that she would now be breaking my water.

It sounds so simple. Like breaking a water balloon or something.

Yeah, right.

I screamed bloody murder, sobbing hysterically. Even after she stopped what she was doing, the pain continued. She had the nerve to get annoyed, saying the monitor wasn't even showing a contraction. Great idea- tell the hysterical woman she's being a baby. That'll get her to shut up right away. I continued to squirm and scream, convinced I was dying, blubbering that I wasn't strong enough to do this. Fortunately, I was 4 cm dialated, so I could finally get my epidural.

The boy had done very well. I knew he was scared, but he kept his cool as much as possible to help me keep what was left of mine. However, we both knew that getting the epidural would not be an absolute solution. Neither of us wanted to think about the length of the needle that was about to be inserted into my spinal cord, especially with me squirming in agony with each contraction. It was inevitable that a contraction would occur during the process, and if I didn't keep still, that needle could go in the wrong way, and.... I don't even want to think about it.

In any case, the anesthesiologist, Adam, and my nurse, Cristina (a saint, by the way) were all in the room. Adam was standing in front of me, holding my hands. They had just numbed the area, and a contraction kicked in. I was doing my damndest to keep still when all of the sudden...

"Now walk it out, walk it out, now walk it out..."

The far from soothing melody of one of the single most obnoxious songs to hear when you're in pain began to emanate from Adam's speaker phone. My blood began to boil and all capacity for rational thought vaporized in a split second. Quivering, I looked up with rage in my eyes.

"Turn.... off... that.... PHONE!!!!"

Poor Adam (yeah, there's no point in shielding identity anymore... and I'm lazy). He looked at me like a cornered animal about to be struck. He stammered something about not being able to get over to the phone because of where the anesthesiologist was standing, but such logic had no bearing on my demand. The nurse saw the beast emerging and moved to turn off the phone, but stopped mid-stride, giving Adam a funny look?

"Are you ok?" she asked.

"I'm fine," he said. "I should probably just drink something."

I let out a guttural yell, and she forgot Adam and moved towards the still ringing phone. At that moment, disaster struck. Adam went rigid, twitched, and began a fall backwards that seemed to last forever. He hit his head on the cabinet, fell to the side, and slammed it against a porcelain sink.

So there I am, needle being inserted into the spine, mid-contraction, love of my life unconscious on the ground, and totally freaking out. The nurse rushed to Adam's side as a flurry of other doctors and nurses entered the room and people started yelling things. I just kept crying as they brought him around. The only plus side to all of this was that I paid zero attention to the epidural being put in, and by the time they had Adam sitting up in a wheel chair, it was over and done with. They laid me down and began trying to convince Adam to go to the emergency room, but he refused (We still don't know why he passed out). This probably would have been more disconcerting, but within minutes the epidural kicked in, which is why the rest of the details from the hospital should be taken with a grain of salt, because DAMN those drugs were good.

While I departed to happy land, my mom and sister Brittany arrived. If I wasn't happy from the meds already, I was ecstatic then. I don't think anyone can truly appreciate their mom until their about to become one. In that moment, I was genuinely apologetic for putting her through hell for 36 hours before deciding to come out. I don't know how she did it.

The other thing, though, is that with the meds came a lack of conscious thought. As the nurses and doctors came in for continual examination, I didn't care anymore who saw what, when. Again, my mom had told me this would happen, but the evaporation of my modesty still seems rather mind boggling. My poor sister saw way more of me than she had ever anticipated.

Unfortunately, this happy fog was interrupted by the doctor coming in for an examination. My legs went up willingly, but came back down quickly as she shook her head.

"Lauren, you're still only dialated to four. We've given you all the pictocin we can. We're going to need to do a c-section."

These words cut through the fog like the knife she was proposing. Though just hours earlier I would have cried in gratitude, fear now seized me tightly. This was a major surgery. There were a lot of potential complications, and recovery was not supposed to be fun. Adam, my rock, even let his facade crack a little as fear flitted across his face. I gripped his hand.

"Is that really necessary?"

The doctor looked back at me with annoyance written plainly across her face.

"Yes."

I nodded, and she began barking orders to nurses for preparation. It was explained that they would up my epidural dosage so that I would be numb basically from the shoulders down. A bunch of questions were asked, but I don't remember a whole lot from this time span. I suddenly was freezing cold, and my teeth wouldn't stop chattering. I just kept trying to find my mom's face in the swarm, trying to stay calm and keep my grip on Adam's hand. I was panicked about the surgery, about the baby, about how prepared I was. This was it. She was coming out. Suddenly I was totally without confidence; was I really ready for this?

Little too late for that thought, huh?

They wheeled me down the corridor and into the operating room. This was even colder than my room and the hallways, and the walls echoed with instruments clanging about and my teeth smacking against each other uncontrollably. They strapped my arms down and I fought back tears. This was not how it was supposed to happen!

After what seemed like forever, they let Adam come in. At this point, they had put a sheet up in front of my face so I couldn't see my stomach being cut open. As much as I didn't want to watch, Adam was petrified. The whole time, as I fought to stay conscious, he held my hand and looked me in the eyes, telling me to stay with him. I don't think either of us have ever been so afraid. We couldn't hear anything at all, until in the middle of the sterile clanging...

There she was. Her cry, in that moment, was the sweetest sound I have ever heard. The doctor brought her behind the curtain, and Adam and I took in the sight of our dark haired, squalling, beautiful baby girl. Tears rolled down both of our faces. After months of waiting, wondering, dreaming... she was more wonderful that we could have ever anticipated.

He held my hand tightly while the took her into the corner to clean her up. You know, I know I've said it again and again on this blog, but wow.... I am so in love with this man.

The nurses called for him to follow them to the nursery, and I was again alone. Luckily, the emotional roller coaster and medical cocktail being pumped into my vein had left me exhausted, and I quickly passed out. I vaguely remember being rolled to "recovery," and I think I had an exchange with one of the nurses about how Madea's Family Reunion was better than Diary of a Mad Black Woman. At some point (I have no idea how much time passed), they rolled me into my room in the maternity ward. Adam, my mom and sister came in (I think) a few minutes later, followed closely by my beautiful little girl.

She is SO tiny. I mean, babies are small to begin with but she was was really small, especially for a child born into my family. She's like the size of a junior league football, and weighs less than my siamese kitten. But wow. She looks SO much like her daddy. Big, gorgeous brown eyes, a full head of dark hair, and the most precious little mouth you could imagine. I was in total awe. Let's be real- I still am.

At this point, the drugs were still thick. Over the next few days, they began to wear off, and I had to request pain killers. Modesty was still not a priority (as several of my visiting team mates found out the hard way), and learning to nurse was anything but easy (more on that later), but that Friday we arrived home, my new little family.

The past two weeks have been the most painful, joyful, tumultuous and miraculous of my life. Though some lessons have been learned the hard way, and there are many more to come, I am so blissfully happy.

Though this blog was originally intended to just chronicle the pregnancy, I think I'll keep it up. I hope you keep reading, be you friends and family far away, or just looking for a chuckle at our expense. It's sure to be a humorous adventure.

Bout to Pop

Ok, so now I'm just waiting. I'm soooo over this. I went to the doctor again this morning. She said the cervix is even more soft, the mucus plug coming out is a good sign, the baby dropped way low, but I'm no further dialated. In an effort to speed things along, she stripped the membranes. Again.

OW.

I think I've said enough about that, though. Needless to say, it set off some inconsistent contractions, but nothing more. Now I'm doing nothing with my time and waiting for her to pop out. I've now taught myself to knit and am trying to make the baby a blanket, but my arms get sore, so I have to take breaks. Usually I go on walks, but seeing as this blog is also a source of entertainment for some, I thought I'd provide you with what is, in my opinion, the best of YouTube baby videos. Enjoy!

Scared Kids:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XG0lQXR6gzA&NR=1 (have to wait till the end for the funniest part)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pup-Ydpn4z8&feature=related (again, wait for it)

Kids and bad language:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_pj2Nutu5v8&feature=related

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Uq05IcLBEBM&feature=related

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zkkvoipubtQ&feature=related

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1lOozkxLp1A&feature=related

http://www.funnyordie.com/videos/74

http://www.funnyordie.com/videos/33f2687080

Laughing at their expense:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q9yAkBSrMk0

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_OBlgSz8sSM

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pihygVBjAYU&feature=related (wait till the end)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nG6ieU89tJM&feature=related

Baby Laughter:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5P6UU6m3cqk&feature=related

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I_mBLWpdwnI&NR=1

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cXXm696UbKY&feature=related

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=41BvNhzl83Y

Teeheehee. Maybe one day I'll have such amusing videos about Ava.

Stripped

So I had my appointment yesterday morning. I went in thinking that perhaps my doctor would pull out a planner and ask if Wednesday at 9 am or Thursday at 2 pm was better for me for an induction, but no such luck. Instead, I walked in blindly to a rather painful experience. As the doctor performed the internal (which is uncomfortable to begin with), a frown crossed her face. Hand still thrust within she said, "Well, you're still not dialated enough to induce. What I'm going to do now is strip your membranes, hopefully get things moving."

OW.

Yeah, so that hurt. A lot. I sat there wincing, completely clueless about what the hell she was doing. As she snapped her gloves off, she said she'd see me at 9 am on Thursday and we'd see where to go from there.

OW.

The drive home was nerve-wracking. I was in so much pain, but it wasn't the wave-like pain that so many women describe when discussing contractions. Instead, it was like someone had stuck some kind of pole into my insides and was twisting slowly and deliberately- like my internal organs were functioning like a towel being twisted. I called my mom to let her know what was up, and she sounded just as quizzical as I felt. I begrudgingly crawled into bed, though sleep was probably a good hour away as I lay writhing in discomfort.

OW.

I didn't get up again until like 2 in the afternoon, and by the the pain had subsided somewhat. It was at this point that I decided to figure out what the hell my doctor had actually done to me. As I read, the pain suddenly made perfect sense. "Stripping of the membranes" is a practice that is used not necessarily to induce labor, but to bring it closer and make induction a possibility. The amniotic fluid sac is attached to the side of a woman's uterus by thin layers of mucus. A doctor who wants to "strip the membranes" will insert her fingers into the pregnant woman and swipe this natural adhesive away, functionally having it float around.

This can have a variety of effects. If the woman is already super close to labor, this will set off a chain of contractions, and voila, baby en route. If not, it puts more pressure on the sac via gravity which can cause the water to break and contractions to start. If you're really close to labor as it is, this will set off labor usually in the first 24 hours (no such luck here), but the typical window for it to get the party started is 72 hours. In my case, that will be the start time of my next doctor's appointment.

Well, further armed with knowledge about what was going on in my body, I decided to start walking around in hopes that all the jostling combined with the newly liberated status of the amniotic fluid sac would cause my water to break. No go, but it did cause some contractions. We'll see what happens on today's constitutional.

One interesting note, I think my mucus plug dislodged today. I know I had already talked about this occurring, but the plug can grow back, and given that its last appearance was spotting only, it's possible that it did not fully dislodge last time. However, this time around, the discharge was far more... plug like. I won't gross you out any more than that.

The point is, things are getting closer every hour. A bunch of people are in town this weekend for some of my coaches' wedding, so maybe Ava will arrive in time to meet the whole crew. We'll just have to wait and see. Time to go walk it out. Wish me luck!

I have less patience than my kitten

Well, my water hasn't broken. Contractions aren't regular. Only thing I can count on is my back killing me without a thing I can do about it. Like I've said before, though, I'm not going to go waste my time in the hospital to have them tell me that I'm not in labor yet- especially since I know that already. GAHHH. I just keep thinking about Monday- my light at the end of the tunnel. It's unlikely that my doctor will induce labor ON Monday if it's something she wants to do anyways; she's far too scheduled for it to happen that way. Still, answers or timelines or time "horizons" if you prefer Bush lingo would be FANTASTIC.

I'm more than ready. The car is packed, the house is clean, I've made Ava a dress that actually has a ghost of a chance of fitting for once, plans have been made for when the family will descend, and I even think the cats (subconsciously) are prepared for her arrival. I find myself continuously watching the clock without an end in sight. I'm staying hydrated and active- where is she!?

Who's the real baby?

Owwwwwww. I'm freakin' miserable right now. I guess it started last night. I went to go see "The Dark Knight" (which was, by the way, AMAZING), and within minutes of sitting down in the theater, was experiencing bad lower back pain. I just wrote it off to bad movie theater seating, and chose to grit my teeth through the film rather than miss a minute of Heath Ledger's performance (totally Oscar-worthy, in my book). By the time I got home, I was so pre-occupied with the film and so wiped out that I wrote the back pain off as a casualty of cinematic bliss and headed to sleep.

Not only did I sleep fitfully with nightmare after nightmare, I woke up several times to pee, and would wind up hurting badly. Again, though, I was so tired that I would eventually drift off. I wound up waking up around noon, as the boy and I were both working at one. My back continued to hurt, and I just felt like crap. No matter how I sat or laid down, no matter how I stretched or rested, the pain persisted. I was exhausted, too. I took a nap part way through my day, but could have slept for hours longer.

When I finally finished my work for the day around 8 pm (no, I didn't work for 7 hours; my job is very flexible and from home), I still felt awful. However, the possibility of the doctor inducing on Monday (however slim it may be) has been weighing heavily on my mind, so I announced to the boy that I'd be back in a bit after I cleaned the bathroom. Well, I had the best of intentions. I walked to the restroom and promptly walked- well, more like slouchingly shuffled- back to the couch. He was in the middle of a video game, which usually translates into on a different planet, but he slowly set down the controller and came to my side, trying to figure out what was going off. I brushed him off, saying I was just having a contraction. Most guys might freak out when they hear that, but my guy has heard it so frequently with all the false labor issues I've had that he just nodded with a look of skepticism and eventually returned to his game.

Well, after eating the super nutritious dinner of Domino's pizza (my hellish day had translated into a lack of grocery shopping, and thus no food in the house), I was still hurting. I have tried to be very conservative with any kind of pain killers these days just in case labor does come and it might interfere with my ability to be given an epidural (not even sure if that's a rational concern, but I'm pregnant and don't need to be rational). However, facing a long evening of misery, I bit the bullet and took one Tylenol 3 with Codeine.

That was probably an hour and a half to two hours ago. I still hurt. My upper back pain is pretty constant, and I'll chalk that one up to the strain my humongous breasts are exerting, but my lower back pain is coming in waves. I had read that for women who experience "back labor," this is how it starts. However, after two false alarms and wasted trips to the hospital, I am not going anywhere until I absolutely have to. Now, that may be in a couple of hours, or that may wait until my doctor's appointment on Monday. Personally, I'm hoping that whatever this pain is goes away quickly or produces a child in my arms pronto (well, not quite- I still want to get the bathroom cleaned).

I'm going to go back to the fetal position again. Wish me luck.

HAHAHAHA- you are kidding, right?

So the pregnancy forum (I know, I know- but it's not the same situation as before).... Man, I swear, if you're ever bored, just go check out these message boards. You'll cry, you'll laugh, you'll recoil in disgust, you'll want to hand out free hugs, potentially get knocked up yourself... This latest post I read, though, sent me off on a rant of a response which turned out to be a very enlightening process for myself.

So this girl is going into her senior year of college. She's married. She wants to have kids. All good. I get it. However, she also is going to be a teacher, so she has mapped out a million and one reasons why the best timing for her to conceive anytime in the near future is basically... now. She seems pretty intelligent, and this is obviously something that she and her husband have thought a lot about. To be honest, in a perfect world, their reasoning would make a lot of sense.

Unfortunately, as I've learned over the past year, nothing is ever perfect. The road ahead is always bumpy, curvy and sometimes out entirely. In my response, I shared how difficult pregnancy was for me during the school year, and went on to ask a bunch of questions about their "game plan." It's your senior year; isn't your course load going to be more difficult? Are you working? How will you save enough to afford allllll of the baby gear that's required and the medical care that is so important beforehand? Remember that pregnancy can be exhausting; will you have the energy for classes AND work? How will you afford rent, utilities, groceries, diapers, doctors visits, baby supplies and clothes, etc., with both of you only working part-time as substitute teachers? Plus, random one time expenses can throw the best laid plans off their axis. Do you have a savings base built up?

After I read through what I had written, I realized I sounded like a raving lunatic, so I put a caveat at the bottom saying that not everyone has the same experiences, and love is the most important ingredient, etc., etc. However, her story continues to resonate with me. This has been one of the hardest years of my life, and I know things are not about to get any easier. Looking back, I know I would never have chosen the path that I'm on, though it has been tremendously rewarding in some respects. I keep hearing my mom in the back of my head, clucking away that she could warn me and advise me all she wanted, but I wouldn't really understand or appreciate what she had to say until I was going through it myself. She was right. It's been much harder than I anticipated in some ways (though easier in others), and almost every turn in the road was one she had warned me about.

So I can post all I want for this girl, or anyone else. To be honest, it's all just one bit roll of the dice. We can't plan out life like it's one of this girl's lesson plans, or a debate case, or itinerary. Life's messy. You're going to get dirty. Things won't turn out the way you plan them. So I guess I'll just keep laughing, because a sense of humor is the only thing that is ALWAYS a good idea.

Waiting sucks

Oh baby, oh baby, oh baby.

I wish she were here already! I have done everything I can think of. The nursery is set, the house is clean, and I'm getting to the point that I'm compulsivley cleaning things that don't need to be cleaned just so I feel useless. I can't even let myself just relax and do nothing. For example, today I put together a puzzle, watched a movie and texted back and forth all at once. I still felt like I wasn't doing enough. I'm going absolutely stir crazy.

I guess I will just have to wait. I have a doctor's appointment on Thursday, so we'll see what she has to say about potential arrival times. Oh Ava- would you hurry up already?

Waitin' for my rocket to come

DAMN IT! So, long story short, I thought I was leaking amniotic fluid (I wasn't), got sent to the hospital again, and the internal they had to do to check it has now set off the baby on the kicking spree from hell. My only hope at this point is that her karate skills will actually rupture the membranes and she'll arrive. If not, then I'm just in for misery as a result of me trying to look out for her. AGH!

Blue, baby, blue

Ok, so now I can't stop crying. My mom and sister just left after visiting for a few blissful days, and I'm bawling like a baby. I have been so good about putting on a brave face for the last 9 months, but going back to normal now that the family has come and gone and the hormones are raging, the mask is off and I'm a big, blubbering baby.

The visit was absolutely wonderful- don't get me wrong. They got in early afternoon on Wednesday, and we got some lunch, walked the mall and hung out a little at my place. I had busted my butt getting the duplex presentable, staying up till like 5 am the night before cleaning compulsively, so it was rewarding to show off all the hard work I've put into this place. It's not perfect, but I'm proud of it. They brought me a birthday present, too! A beautiful purple sewing box with all the fixings. I was so excited I made Ava a dress that night- though it was too small, and I initially forgot to leave openings for holes. I guess that's what I get for not using a pattern. Oh well- if at first you don't succeed...

Yesterday we had the doctor's appointment. At first, the nurse said they couldn't come in, but after I begged, pointing out that they had driven all the way from Chicago, they were able to stay for the first part of the appointment and hear the heartbeat. The look on their faces was well worth the wait. After they were ushered out, the doctor did the internal exam, and said I was 1 centimeter dialated, 70% effaced, and the baby was in position and ready to go. She also guesstimated that the baby is about 7 lbs! What this means, functionally, is that she's a-comin'.

Well, as soon as I told my mom all of this, the day became about ways to try to get me to go into labor while she was in town :) We visited the speech office, went shopping for nursing bras, and eventually wound up relaxing at their hotel for awhile while the boy worked out some issue with our car (long story). Once he had all of it sorted out, we met up and went for a hike at the nearby Lost River Cave. Sweaty and tired, we decided to refresh by grabbing a Starbucks (shaken iced tea lemonade for me!) and swimming at their hotel pool. The water felt wonderful with the baby, but then her mood took a turn. It was almost like she could sense the visit was coming to an end, and she started trying to push her way through my pelvic floor. Of course, while baby may have wanted to meet Grandma Nelson, my body wasn't quite ready for it, so all she succeeded in was making me uncomfortable. My mom was thoroughly amused, because all of her pushing resulted in her little butt being jutted out of my stomach. Funny in theory, perhaps- but not in practice!

Once the pains had subsided a bit, we all went to our places and got ready for dinner at the Outback. Not only was the food great, but it was nice to just kick back and relax together. As the night drew to a close, we were all a little reluctant to say goodbye, so my mom made it easier by proposing breakfast for this morning. While the boy had to work, I was glad to have one more chance to hang out before they returned for Chicago.

Unfortunately, we were all so wiped out from the past couple of days that we all overslept, and by the time everyone was ready to go, they needed to hit the road in order to avoid really bad traffic on the way back. They came over to say goodbye for a few minutes, and I kept the incoming tsunami of tears back as they headed out the door. I know that it was hard for my mom to begin with, and I didn't want to make things more difficult. As soon as the front door was closed, though... I lost it.

It's not that I regret moving down here, or the baby, or any of it. I love the man I'm with, I love this baby so much it hurts, and I'm proud of how much I've accomplished on my own. Still, it's not easy. I've been kind of anti-social by nature, and the end result has been keeping most people at arm's length. While sometimes this practice has been self-preservation, now I'm just very lonely, and very pregnant, and missing my family very, very much. If I wasn't ready to pop, I would just drive home at times like these for a few days or a week, but as it stands, I'm just kind of stranded and helpless. My mom laughed when I said I wanted to try to drive home with the baby over labor day weekend, but I was dead serious. All I know is something's gotta give before my sanity does.

I wish Ava were here.

Getting to the finish line

Yay! Ava is medically, officially full term as of TODAY! Woohoo! That means a few things. One, my uterus has done its job and she has grown to be a healthy, viable baby, so I didn't screw up too badly anywhere along the line. Two, they for sure won't stop labor if it starts now, barring some unforseen event. Woohoo! Good things, good times, and really, good grief. Now it's just a big ole waiting game (hah, like it wasn't before).

The past two days, she has been fairly quiet, actually. There was a one or two week period there where she was really active, all the time. I wrote it off to her getting cramped and tired of small spaces. At first I was worried about the inactivity, but my grandma said that as long as she is still moving sometimes, it's totally normal. It's just gotten to the point that she doesn't even have enough room to kick me- which is fine by me! Less pain and more of a chance she'll get sick of it all and push off. My grandma also said that quiet days usually directly proceed labor. Also fine by me. Kind of. Sort of. My nesting, however hardcore it may be, is also intermittent, so I'm not entirely ready. However, given that my mother is descending upon our new place tomorrow for the first time, we'll have to be good to go at that point, so I'm not too worried.

Still, I don't know that all the planning and preparation in the world can ease all of the fears. After my last post about some of the things I'd been freaking out about, a few people reached out to calm me down (much appreciated, by the way). That's actually helped with a lot of the logical, immediate concerns I've had. Unfortunately, my mind, I guess, is still ill at ease, because once the dreams begin when I go to bed, it's a nightmarish roller coaster. I've dreamt of indentured servitude, the baby being born with a tumor on her eye, rolling over on the baby, the boy's brother's girlfriend being rushed to the emergency room (there's a mouthful for ya!), and not being able to find the baby after letting someone hold her for a bit. NOT fun stuff to wake up thinking about. Still, at least the "boy leaving me" scenario has been tabled. If he's in the dreams ever these days, he's super supportive. Kind of like real life :)

Actually, the other night I was really feeling ill, and he was a super hero. It had started earlier in the day when I began feeling kind of weak. I just figured I was hungry because, well, I can always eat these days, plus I'd been cleaning and reorganizing things in the living room all afternoon. I ate a little bit, felt a little bit better, and then started getting hot flashes and the chills. At that point, I thought maybe I was getting dehydrated again, so I started drinking more water. Unfortunately, by the time I went to bed, I felt even worse. I thought I might throw up, explode, give birth, or all three at once. There were nausea pains paired with false labor pains, and I was most certainly in tears. We'd been trying to watch an episode of Weeds, but I just couldn't do it anymore.

The boy was great though. He walked me to the shower to make sure I didn't fall (I was feeling pretty dizzy), and then waited in the bathroom to make sure I was ok. I told him he didn't have to, that I'd call if I needed help, and he merely replied, "You feel bad, and I can't do anything to help you feel better. This is the closest to doing something that I'm going to get. Let me do it." He genuinely cares about me and the baby, and it's moments like that, where he could have just gone to bed and let me deal with my misery (as I'm rarely good company when in such pain. Think Medusa on some kind of crack) but chooses to endure my sniping instead, just to be near me, that I realize how lucky I am to have someone who cares so much about me. I don't know what I did to deserve such a wonderful man, but I am beyond thankful.

Well, I suppose I better get back into nesting mode again before I start work. Here's to Ava being medically certified to be alive!

If you don't have anything nice to say, pt. 2

So, I'm aware that posting twice in one day is pretty lame, but I'm running out of steam to clean and fired up over that dumb pregnancy forum scuffle. Oi vey. I do sound like a desperate housewife, huh?

In any case, if you've been reading, you know I let some old biddies have it on a pregnancy forum I frequent from time to time. I guess that's not fair- how about inconsiderate biddies? Anyways, the initial responses were kind of a scrambled type of defense, but they soon realized that they weren't making a whole lot of sense so the situation fizzled out with the a member proposing that we all just let it go. Her proposal stood strong for several days, but then the calvary rode in. Three or four other women got on talking about how much they agreed, and how ridiculous these other women were. One of the mean ones got on and said something about it being a matter of opinion and how dare we try to suppress their opinions with ours, etc., etc. One of her friends got back on shortly thereafter, talking about how sick she and others are of hearing about stupid 15 year olds who will never learn unless a hard line is taken.

Well, as you can imagine, this got my blood boiling a little bit. I pointed out that these may all be opinions, but that the validity of an opinion can be weighed via warrants and evidence, of which some of these women had none. I also pointed out that there was no need to respond to the 15 year old girls who likely had no real knowledge of birth control to begin with if they can't keep their comments civil. Moreover, before they feel the need to dole out judgment, they should take into consideration that their comments have just as much validity as allegations that pregnancy past a certain age are irresponsible because of the risk of birth defects, or arguments that say having more than x amount of kids are irresponsible. If they wouldn't like being the target of comments like that, then perhaps they should keep their mouths shut.

It turns out that the original poster in this whole mess has been through much more than any of us originally knew, and the more recent posts responding to her situation have been far more kindly and patient. Some of these women being understanding now are the same ones that were originally so dismissive. Maybe I got through to a few of them.

You know, my sister routinely chides me for trying to save the world. I don't think I do. I just get really pissed when people pick on others who don't really have the ability to fight back. Some of these cruel posters will never change their ways, and I know I'm wasting my energy talking to them, but if this poor 17 year old girl gains a little comfort from knowing someone is in her corner, it's worth it. I'm no saint, I can't save the world, but I can try to make it a little better, right?

Happy Little Housewife

I am in hardcore nesting mode. However, I'm having a problem deciding whether this is due to the impending arrival of my daughter, or the impending arrival of my mom. That's right, the original Mama Nelson is coming to town on Wednesday. I know for some people, parents spell out judgment day, and at one time, I'd probably have agreed, but now... I can't wait to see my mom. Realistically, there is little she's actually going to DO, but I want to show her the new place, the baby's room, the place I'm delivering at, etc. It will be nice to hang out with her, especially since I don't really have any girlfriends around here.

But anyways- back to nesting, since it's all I can think about anyways. I really want this baby to come into a home... not a work in progress. So all the "progress" that I've been putting off (read: work) is now all-consuming. Yesterday I organized the hallway closet, hung mirrors and picture frames, decided I didn't like what was in one of the frames and painted a new picture to go in it, wiped down walls, did dishes, painted wall hangings for Ava's room, etc., etc. It already looks much more home-y, but I'm far from done. My To Do list is 2 pages long, and it will likely grow as time goes on. Perhaps this is not so out of character though... I always have a never-ending To Do list...

I did make the boy his own To Do list yesterday, but it's what to do in case of labor! It's likely the pain will make me more of a control freak than ever, allowing me to complete the majority of the necessary tasks myself, but in the event that I am so incapacitated, he has everyone's phone numbers and the locations of important information and items (maternity bag, diaper bag, etc.), so there will be no excuses :) Well I mean, there will be, he'll be about to be a father and most likely losing his mind, but we'll make it. He's been really cute lately- just walking into the baby's room and rocking in the glider. He talks to her more too; it's adorable!!

Well, time to go continue refining the nest. Hope Ava likes it!

Mental Fireworks

So I know most people get that super strong, nearly magnetic draw to family around times like Christmas and Thanksgiving, but for me, it's the fourth of July. It may be due to old memories. Every fourth of July, my dad would acquire some kind of illegal explosive to amuse the kids with and scare the hell out of my mom with, and we'd run around like banshees until late in the evening. Some of my more humorous childhood experiences revolve around this holiday, so it's no surprise I'm nostalgic.

It's not just nostalgia, though. It seems like everyone is staged for a family polaroid right about now. Perusing the Facebook feeds, I see pictures from parades and weddings and the whole shebang just makes me feel giddy. Don't get me wrong, I'm kind of glad Ava isn't here yet- I have a feeling the fireworks would make for a very looonnnng evening indeed- but it does make me look forward to her arrival even more. Next year, it will be us posing at the local parades, smiling behind large sunglasses and eating the Cracker Jacks that my Grandma Schmitt insisted on for every parade. It will be us cooking out while she splashes in a wading pool with her dad, and finds wonder in the sparks flying out of the end of a multicolored stick that will make my heart freeze in worry as her hand reaches out to grab its luminosity. It will be us standing by anxiously to see if fireworks delight or instill fright in our little one.

I guess I'm just in a good mood today. Not gonna knock that, though.

If you don't have anything nice to say...

When I first found out I was pregnant, I was scared witless. I think most women who are my age, unmarried, still in school, etc., would have a similar reaction. I was petrified that my family would reject me and that I would face harsh criticism from friends. Now, suffice to say, as evidenced by my prior posts, I faced no such rejection. However, I still remember the chilling uncertainty that laid before me.

It was at this time that I started turning to online forums to get some basic advice and information. I had no insurance aside from my parents', and I was wondering if prenatal care was a necessity, or really just a common practice that had grown out of cautious ways. I learned very quickly that prenatal care was very necessary, especially given the health complications I was facing. Some people were very sweet in their replies to my queries; others called me selfish for even considering an alternate route to the delivery date. I didn't post on those sites for much longer.

However, an abundance of time and concerns about the impending labor have drawn me back to these sites. Many of the posts are totally innocuous, and the majority of the users are just looking for answers and to support one another. Unfortunately, that is not always the case.
I stumbled across the case of a 17 year old girl. She had gotten pregnant and decided she couldn't keep the baby. She considered a surgical abortion, but was ultimately administered the pills for a medical abortion. She took the first one, and was given four more to take. She soon began to doubt her decision, and ultimately decided that she wanted to have the child. She did not take the rest of the pills. Her first post dealt with whether or not the child would have birth defects because of her initial reaction, and if there was any way to tell in advance. Sadly, she miscarried not long after.

Regardless of the circumstances, the loss of a desired child strikes me as a tragedy that I don't know I'd be strong enough to handle. I didn't think the girl was bright, by any means, but I understood her initial fear and felt for her loss. Her post at that point was heartfelt, as she lamented her judgment, and stood amazed by how much one could hurt over a child that they'd only known about for several weeks.

The first responses were condolences. Then started the attacks. Several women dismissed the sympathy, saying she didn't deserve any attention, she was just an immature child, and she had gotten an abortion. While many of the original respondents conveyed their continued support, the assailants continued to attack her character.

I was sick to my stomach over what I had read, but the straw that broke the camel's back came with the girl's 3rd thread. She stated that she and her boyfriend had had unprotected sex, and she wanted to know if she could be pregnant again so soon after miscarriage. Never in the post did she state or imply that she was interested in an abortion. The first response or two after her post told her that she could be, but that it was dangerous, and that she should be careful. Then the prior assailants reappeared. One slammed, "She's just a child. She shouldn't be having sex, let alone thinking about having a child herself."

That did it for me. Don't get me wrong, I don't really think the girl should be having a kid right now, either. However, I know that people probably thought/think the same thing about me. It is not my place, or anyone's, to judge, especially on an online forum where many girls without hope may turn to seek some guidance.

You may not think someone is mature enough to be having sex. You may not think they're ready for children. If they aren't asking for your opinion on the subject, though, then who are you to provide it so curtly? I just don't understand it. The condescending tone that these women took was appalling, especially because their comments were justified by self-righteous disclaimers about wanting to help and having wisdom via their age. I have no doubt that these women could be fountains of information. Unfortunately, nada one actually answered her questions about her body and the situation she was facing. How sad.

I made the decision that was right for me. I don't regret it for a second. I'm not naive, though; I know there are people who believe I chose unwisely, be it prior to or after conception. I was so lucky to be surrounded by enough loving people to write off the nay-sayers. I can only pray that this girl I stumbled across can find the same.

Stupid Doctors

So like I said, I'd had all of the pains coming inconsistently. Making things worse, there were a couple of symptoms that indicated my mucus plug had come out. I know that sounds gross, but it refers the build up of material at the base of the cervix to hold the baby and all that entails inside. So last night, concerned about the manifestation of stabbing pains originating at my belly button on top of everything else, I called labor and delivery.

The doctors told me what I had already figured- that until pain comes consistently, it isn't labor. Still, just wanted to be sure there weren't any complications. The nurse advised that I lay on my left side, drink a lot of water, and call my doctor in the morning to see what's up.

Well, I slept in until one, as I'm still on the boy's nocturnal sleep schedule, and then got up to go renew the registration on our car. I was going to call my doctor beforehand, but they were going to be out to lunch until 1:30, so I decided to do the errands first. Once I finally figured out where I was supposed to be, the line was so long and my back hurt so bad that I decided to screw it and head back. In the car, I called the doctor. The nurse who answered instructed me to go straight to Labor and Delivery, so I told her that they had told me not to the night before. She put me on hold, and my doctor got on the phone, curtly ordering me to go to the hospital right away. Great.

I was right by the hospital as it was, so I started to head over. Panic began to set in- I was SO not ready to have this baby! I kept trying to get a hold of the boy, but he wasn't picking up, so I had to text him. In the elevator on the way up to the appropriate wing, I was near tears. I kept thinking, I'm 21, pregnant, scared, and by myself- I can't be about to have a baby.

They hooked me up to all the machines and asked the typical battery of questions. The whole time I had to remind myself to keep breathing. I know it sounds absurd, but I felt like I was this impostor- like I was supposed to be screaming and bloody or not there at all.

After a little bit, the nurse informed me that I had developed an irritable uterus, which translates into a whole bunch of mini-contractions. So... not labor, but still painful. They had be drink Gatorade and sent me on my way. I'm dialated to one, meaning nothing is happening.

In other words, I wasted a whole bunch of time, and felt like a complete oaf. I had told myself I wouldn't be one of those women who cried wolf, and thanks to my doctor, I was in just such a position. Of course, now I'm in a whole lot more pain, but I don't want to make any more phone calls in case it just lands me back in that dumb hospital feeling like a moron. Great, right?

AGH.

Clock's a-ticking

So I know I haven't posted in awhile, and I apologize. For the record, Texas was fabulous. I was very happy to get to know the boy's family. The heat there is very humid, but preferable to the dry heat that is so pervasive in Kentucky. The drive back was pretty gruesome, but we did eventually make it. I still haven't recovered from the nocturnal way of life that the boy's house embraces. Granted, the baby doesn't really allow for a normal sleeping pattern to begin with, but I still feel like I'm simply pausing from running on the treadmill continuously each time I do catch a little bit of shut eye. I'd say I can't wait for the baby to arrive so I can get some rest, but that would make me an idiot, and despite a case of the pregnancy stupids, I'm not that dumb.

Actually, I'm just ready for her to arrive at this point. Braxton Hicks Contractions? They're supposed to be pressure- not pain. Unfortunately, Ava doesn't get that. I won't be in labor, but I'll totally be in pain, so much so that I'm pacing the hallways at night. I can't breathe regularly, despite the baby having dropped quite a bit. My back kills me, and I don't sleep for more than three hours at a time. I get dehydrated very quickly, and I can't do a thing most days. MISERY.

On a more positive note, when I got back from Texas, I went to the doctor, who said that everything looks good, my protein levels are where they need to be, I only gained two pounds in two weeks, and the baby is in the position she's supposed to be. Then she tells me I'm past due for an RH test (are we noticing that she fails to tell me about these important details? Kind of a trend...), so I had to go over to the hospital to get the test done and pre-register for delivery. The rooms look really nice, though I'm sure they'll be transformed in my nightmares to a version of hell once I experience the pain that accompanies a stay in one of them in real life. Still, it made it all that much more real. It's almost here....

Wait- IT'S ALMOST HERE. This realization kind of put me into a panic mode. Will I be a good mom? What if I screw her up? What if I make a mistake, and she gets hurt? Then I started to worry about the delivery itself. What if I'm too much of a wuss and I can't do it? What if the cord gets caught around her mouth? What if I die during delivery? I actually made the boy PROMISE he'd marry someone else so she'd have a mom if I did die. Can you say paranoid?

Now I'm just attempting to keep breathing. Four more weeks... four more weeks...

Looking Forward, Looking Back

I'm in Texas right now, getting to know the boy's family a little bit better. The more time I spend here, the more I learn about him, and the stronger my love grows for him. He's just such a wonderful person, and his family is salt-of-the-earth. The support that we've received from everyone has been so fantastic, and I feel wonderful knowing that this little girl is going to have such a loving family, no matter what corner of the country she visits.
This emotion was recently juxtaposed with a blast from the past. One of my ex's (not a super significant one, just a few dates, but an ex, nonetheless) IMed me while I was watching the boy play video games with his brothers. He asked me what was going on, and it struck me that he probably had no clue what had been going on for what is today 34 weeks. So I replied, "Oh, nothing, just waiting for the baby to arrive."

Pause. A long one. Finally, he chimed back in.

"Oh."

After what seemed like another long stretch of time, he asked how far along I was, and then suddenly had to go. I couldn't help but laugh, because I knew that he was inwardly breathing an irrational sigh of relief, thinking, "I'm not with her."

Of course, we would never have wound up together, and both of us know that. We were about as compatible as oil and water. Still, I'm on good terms with a few of my ex's still, and the conversation where I announced the pregnancy always goes about the same way- awkward pauses paired with retrospective relief. As ridiculous as this may seem, I understand it. I remember when a past interest of mine and his current girlfriend became pregnant. I had chuckled to myself, thinking that it could have been me. Funny, now it is.

Granted, that was in high school, and a positive pregnancy test would have been a disaster at that point. Now, it's a blessing, and I can't wait. When I look back though, especially when thinking about the wonderful guy I'm with now, I can't help but think about how lucky I am that the baby is coming at a time where I'm with the love of my life. Someone up there was looking out for me.

So yes, conversations with ex's are amusing. Yes, the relief on the receiving end of the news is palpable. But I gotta say, I'm just as relieved to have this delivery come right on time.

I'm such a baby- how will I deal with labor?

Owchie.

I'm hurting, and in a big way. It seems that the never-ending expansion of my breasts and stomach is taking a huge toll on my lower back. I can't be in one position for very long at all, be it laying down, sitting up or standing. It feels like I'm on my period I'll cramp up so bad. I'm exhausted all the time, and the baby looks like a small alien trying to tear her way out of my stomach. The only thing that makes me feel any better is hydrocodone, but I can't take it unless the pain is extreme because I don't want the baby to be born addicted.

This sucks.

I want her out.

Happy Birthday to me...

Well, I am officially 21. I'm pretty sure this is the last "big" age benchmark that people actually enjoy and look forward to, which brings about a sense of sadness and relief. In some ways, it really does mean adulthood is here. I know, you'd think a baby on the way would have already heralded such an arrival, but if you think about it, most of the time, 21 year olds aren't necessarily adults. It's the "party age." I'm supposed to go out, get trashed and make a whole mess of mistakes. Not quite the case now. Not only would I arrest myself for child endangerment for getting trashed at this point (I was 32 weeks yesterday!), even after the baby comes, responsibility takes on a whole new meaning.
Don't get me wrong; I've never really been the party type. While the law may dictate 21 as the beginning of experiments with alcohol, reality says otherwise. I just don't like the taste of most alcohol, and those of you who know me know that I am a control freak, so that lack of control that accompanies drunkenness is far from appealing. So no, I'm not lamenting my loss of legal partying memories. It just makes a person think about decisions made.
I'm not trying to say I haven't already made my own slew of dastardly mistakes. I can list several by name ;-) but I won't. Still, instead of spending college as a college student, I opted for a more steady route. I haven't changed majors, really. I never pledged greek. The only organization I've been involved with is WKU Forensics, and while speech may be a lot of partying for other teams (or, in some instances, people on my own team), I've played it safe and by the rules. I've been with the same man for almost three years now, and that's unlikely to change, like... ever. Despite brawls with the family, I've remained very close to them. So basically, the majority of the stereotypes assumed when considering the "college experience," I left by the wayside.
I don't regret it.
Sure, I may not have a whole lot of rowdy stories to tell my daughter when she's older, but I have enough, and I was certainly there to help friends dig themselves out of holes they thought too deep. Plus, I wouldn't change anything for the world. I am in love with the most wonderful man I could have dreamed up, and changing anything I've done along the way might have altered where I am now. Certainly not worth the risk.
So perhaps sadness wasn't the proper adjective. Turning 21 brings a sense of ... melancholy? Nostalgia? Both? Hrm.
As far as relief goes... well, it's done. I've just never been in to throwing caution to the wind in a big way, and now that I've finished the set of teenage angst hurdles, I feel like it's more socially acceptable to be a fuddy duddy. Let's keep it real- they were calling me Mama Nelson long before Ava arrived on the scene, and with good reason. I've always been the Mama Hen among friends, and while before it was just a little weird (the boy thinks my expressions make me sound like I'm eighty, but I think making a mountain out of a molehill is a perfectly hip way to indicate exaggeration), it's now adult. Which I'm supposed to be. So I guess I'm finally acting my age? Or, well, at least close to it.
The next benchmark is graduation from college, and as pumped as I am to receive my degree and make the parents proud, I'll be a parent myself at that point, which kind of makes the piece of paper have less to do with personal accomplishment and more to do with providing for Ava. After that, it's marriage, which is kind of a given at this point. If the boy is reading this: THIS IS NOT AN EXCUSE TO SKIMP ON THE PROPOSAL. STILL HOLDING YOU TO HIGH STANDARDS, HERE. And of course, I'm such a girl when it comes to getting excited about the dress and flowers and music and... well, you get it. Still, because it's only a matter of time, and to be perfectly honest, I have most of what I want planned out already, it doesn't seem as overwhelming. Then comes baby. Oh, wait, I already did that! So I guess the next BIG thing is... turning 30? Haha, go figure.
Well, I may not be going out to get totally wasted tonight, but today will be enjoyable. I'm going to take a nice hot shower, and then the boy and I are going to go on a hike, do some mini golfing, and perhaps catch a movie. Leisurely, and Ava friendly, which is just what the doctor ordered. Cheers!

Blah blah blah... I'm boring myself

Pregnancy does not suit me. I feel totally useless. The past two days, I think I've been operating on this adrenaline rush. We had to move out of the townhouse, the house had to be live-able, and then last night we had guests, so I power cleaned. However, I now feel listless and worthless.

I woke up this morning, fully prepared to have some heavy duty transcription editing to do, only to receive jack taco. How fulfilling. To top it all off, I just had zero energy. It's not really a matter of being tired so much as being without motivation, drive or will. I can't find it in me to do anything. I have a headache, my arm has that soreness again, and the world seems daunting. This is especially amusing, since a lot of what I have left to do is busy work- not even difficult!

So what have I resorted to? Well, I feel a bit like a beached whale, laying in bed and inhaling episode after episode of Desperate Housewives while wishing I had something to do. I hope with all my heart that I have a smidge of energy tomorrow, because I really would like to get a dent made in my to do list before my birthday.

WAHHHHH

I do not do pregnant well. I don't like having to share my body with another person- I just don't! Not that I don't love my daughter- because I do- I just hate the limitations it places on a body. Literally. I can't lift what I used to. My back goes out if I twist the wrong way. I exhaust easily. I can't eat what I used to. I can't sleep the same hours I used to. I can't get as much done in a day. All of this adds up to one big headache- especially when you're not entirely moved out of your old place, but have to be by Saturday to avoid paying another month's rent.

Let me elaborate on this a little. So, despite the best of plans to move over a month's time into the new place, what wound up happening was a lot of moving in the beginning, a little in the middle, and a big chunk still to go at the end. It's not that there's a lot of physical moving to do, but there is a lot of trash to be dealt with and some cleaning to be done. I don't labor under any fantasy that I'll be getting my deposit back (not with my jackass landlord), but I am not a horrible person (or at least I hope not), so I am doing what I can. Today, I tackled the bedroom.

Now there's not much up there. A dresser, an end table, some clothes and odds and ends... and a bunch of junk. Problem is, Ms. Genius (yeah, that's me) didn't realize we didn't have trash bags anymore at the townhouse. So, in my state of pure brilliance, I chose to use old sheets I was getting rid of anyways to wrap the junk up in, and then drop it out the window next to the trash can. Here's the problem with this plan: trash is heavy, and windows are small. So while I was expediting the trash process, I was also killing my back. Smart, huh?

So I was almost done with all of this when I look down and see blood smeared all over my ankle. I had been working in the closet, where months earlier someone had stepped on a frame and cracked some glass, but I had never cleaned it up. It now appeared that one of those shards of glass was sticking out of my ankle. Lovely. So I wiped it off, and headed downstairs to breathe and transfer the trash from the patio into the garbage can. While standing in the living room, my ankles and feet began to itch, and wondering if the blood had started to drip again from my battle wounds, I glanced down. No, no blood. Just fleas. Like forty of them on each leg. Gross.

Then I headed out to the patio to finish things up. In my infinite wisdom, I had only calculated the ease (or what turned out to be a lack thereof) in dropping trash. I now found myself having to lift said heavy trash into the garbage can. In a show of what felt like Herculean strength but probably would have been quite easy for anyone else, I managed to stuff about 2/3 of the crap into the can. I smiled at my work, until I realized that the trash had already been taken away yesterday, and now the garbage can was full, with 1/3 of the junk from the bedroom lying about on the patio and even more trash inside waiting to go out. GREAT.

On the way home, as my body and mind settled from the adrenaline rush that comes from wanting to GET THE HELL OUT OF DODGE, my body was finally heard, and it was ANGRY. My back hurt tremendously, and I knew it was only going to get worse. On top of that, there was this intense pressure on my pelvic floor.

No, I had not gone into labor. Just clarifying. You may continue.

This pressure has been there for the past few days, but it was very prominent in that moment. As I mulled over the different sensations, I realized that my whole belly seemed a lot lower, and this, in combination with the spontaneous hardening and softening of the belly, plus sporadic pains therein, got me a little worried.

What does this mean? It means the baby has dropped. As in, she's making her way towards the vaginal canal so she can come out to play. Problem is, SHE'S NOT SUPPOSED TO YET! This functionally puts me on bed rest until I see the doctor next (a week from today). Unfortunately, in the midst of the final moving days, this benches me to the sidelines. Those of you who know me know that when crisis (or catastrophe) strikes, I like to be at the helm so this lack of control is enough to make me want to cry.

On the upside, baby is coming. I just hope she waits until after July 1st to make an appearance!

Pinch me, I'm dreaming...

Oh the nightmares.

As if I don't have enough on my mind these days, my sleep, which is already restless due to late night pee breaks, is being interrupted by terrible nightmares, or at the very least, very vivid dreams.

A lot of them circle around the boy. There have been dreams where he runs off with some random person who is supposedly a good friend (it's never anyone I actually know in real life, though), or others where he straight bounces. In one, he's started sleeping with someone else because I'm too busy with the baby, and I apparently was ok with it, but when I tried to reach out and reconnect, he told me he liked the hussy better. I always wake up in a cold sweat from these dreams, even with the knowledge that I am with the most faithful, devoted and loving man on the face of the earth. He always kisses me when I tell him about these frightful visions, and tells me I'm crazy for thinking he'd even contemplate leaving.

Doesn't make the dreams any less disturbing.

Other dreams have revolved around my grandma, who passed away in April. It's really jarring, because they'll be so real, I'll think I'm going to wake up to call and tell her about it. In one of the dreams, she was planting flowers outside of our new place. I was so rattled I had to get up to double check that someone hadn't been gardening overnight. I mean, I'm not particularly religious, but she was, and I can't help but feel she's looking out for me. One of my aunts, when she passed away, reassured me that even though she couldn't be here, my daughter to be has the most diligent guardian angel ever.

So what does this have to do with being pregnant? Hormones. It's part of the process. Pregnancy-info.net does a much better job than I could of explaining it:

"Throughout your pregnancy, your body pumps out a variety of different hormones, including progesterone and estrogen. It is thought that these hormones affect the way we sleep at night, causing us to experience longer periods of REM sleep. It is during REM sleep that our minds begin to dream."

Ok. Cool. Now I know why. Doesn't make the dreams any less weird.

Oh well. Less than ten weeks until the due date, and only 5 or so more until I can urge her to come out without feeling guilty about it.

Picking up Speed

BABY STUFF CRISIS MODE!

Also known as Post Baby Shower Overdrive Syndrome.

Also known as Lauren is LOSING IT.

Well, not really. I'm just excited, and those of you who know me know that I am functionally obsessive compulsive when something big is happening, and that I will purse my goals with tunnel vision at all costs. Unfortunately, the light at the end of the tunnel is baby, and thus, I am going forward at full speed and trying to figure it all out along the way. A couple of things I've noticed.

One, baby things are unnecessarily complicated to assemble. Who knew a high chair could create such a headache? You know, when I was going through and registering for the showers, I scoffed at the people who judged a product based on ease of assembly, but these days, I feel like I should have listened. The screws, parts and pieces add up in a way that makes my head spin. Of course, unlike a normal person, I decided I should just get it all done at once. Talk about a pain in the butt. Once the high chair was done, it got a little bit more simple. The swing came together fairly easily, and I've found a place for basically everything.

Two, baby has a lot of stuff. A LOT. I'm telling you- it's absolutely insane. It's not like I can just stack and go, either. You have to make sure that things are put in logical places-bathing supplies go on their own special shelf in the bathroom; a new shelf for bottles, nipples, etc and a drawer for the spoons and bottle liners (though you haven't quite figured out how they work yet); a makeshift changing table from an old computer desk with diapers and creams stacked beneath; the list goes on. What's worse, is that she has more clothes than I can shake a finger at, and all of it had to be washed in special baby detergent. At least that smelled good.

Three, I'm exhausted. I'm totally wiped out, and for no apparent reason. I try to move, and be active, and be productive, and I fail, and it sucks. On top of that, I'm trying to figure out what to tackle first, and the to do list seems too daunting to function.

Four, my doctor sucks. I go in, and she goes, by the way, you need an ultrasound, NOW, because the radiologist couldn't find the heart. Ok, problem is, she was referencing my ultrasounds, which was, by the way, 10 WEEKS AGO. So here I am thinking, shit, I have a baby, and she doesn't have a heart, and what the hell does that mean and... then the technician explains that it really just means that my uterus doesn't photograph well so we need to try to get a better picture of the heart. Here's to clarity.

Well, I'm off to settle the baby with some pizza. Wow this girl can kick.

April Showers Bring May Flowers... and Baby Showers!

YAY! PAR-TAY! Ok, so perhaps not in the traditional sense, but it was certainly a celebration, and the first of two. Yep, that's right- I've had my first baby shower... and what an experience!

I love my team soooo much. They have been tremendously supportive from the beginning of all of this, but they blew me out of the water with the shower. It's the end of the semester, cash is running low for most, and finals are in our midst. I assumed that would translate into a handful of people and many thoughtful cards, which, to be honest, I would have been overjoyed with anyways. Instead, there were streamers, balloons, delicious cake, a mountain of gifts and loads of friends fighting over who gets to babysit first!

Moreover, it was fantastic to see the boy finally get some attention for his role as daddy-to-be. He really has been fantastic, especially over the last month or so. My grandma passed away right in the middle of all of the national tournaments for speech and me being perpetually ill (I am, by the way, feeling better!), and the end result was an emotional wreck of massive proportions where his girlfriend had once stood. Not that I had been this pillar of strength and logic before hand, but I was certainly a monster in the aftermath. In any case, he has been supportive and more patient that I ever could be, but because he works a great deal and had kind of become disenchanted with forensics as his career came to a close, he was never quite the center of attention as far as baby things go. My family (God bless 'em) has been very vocal and involved every step of the way (which is what I needed, frankly), but his family is a little more quiet and subdued, especially on this issue. So, after all that babble, the point is- he was the center of attention for a little bit.

It was adorable watching him open the gifts! He'd get all excited about one thing or another. At one point, I was about to reach for the next package when he starts nudging me and goes, "No, wait! You've got to see this!" I turned, and he's grinning like a Cheshire cat, holding up a little pink outfit. "It's got a hat!"

He totally melted my heart.

He was enthralled with how many different products go into bathing and changing a child, and by just how small some of the little accessories were. He beamed with pride at the sight of a little teething toy that said "I Love My Daddy." I think it became very real for him in that moment, but instead of running for the hills as many men might, he got more and more excited.

At the end of the shower, toasts were made, and I was fighting back the tears, they were so sweet. Again, the boy was given some attention and love, as teammates testified to the fact that he was going to be a great father. Have I mentioned how much I love my team?

As we transported all of the beautiful gifts into the room that will be the nursery, I, on the other hand, panicked. There's still so much to do! I am 28 weeks, 1 day, which means I've still got some time, but I don't know that there is any amount of time that can prepare someone for pushing an infant between their legs and taking on responsibility for a new life. Don't misunderstand- I will step up to the plate swinging on day one, but it doesn't mean I'm not nervous now.

A couple of things have been resolved, though. For example, I am coming back to compete, though I am done, done, DONE with Parli. I think it's for the best, honestly. Looking into next year, I think I'd go crazy if I had to worry about all of the uncertainties associated with partnerships and travel. I'll be doing IEs and LD, and my Director of Forensics has asked me to function as a student worker for the program, keeping track of times for pieces, managing the extemp files, and helping out with some novi. Weeee!!! Here's to figuring things out :)

School has finally come to an end. For awhile, things were looking a little scary; I wasn't sure professors were going to be understanding about my month of hell. However, they all came around, and while I may get a C in one (at worst, two) classes, I have one A for sure, might pull off another, and potentially could get two B's afterwards. We shall see, I suppose. I'm just glad none of them failed me!

My schedule for next semester has been set up as well. I'm taking a lot of evening classes to help stave off the need for babysitters (not that there's a shortage of volunteers). We'll see how things wind up panning out. I over-registered so that if I need to drop one, I can. Time will tell how things shake down.

We've moved into our new place! Kind of. Sort of. Well, almost. It's a cute little duplex, and while we have a neighbor, hell if I know who the are, as they have yet to be here. My landlord (who's really cool) told us that she's almost never there, which I guess will be a good thing with a screaming child next door at 3 am. It's got plenty of space, is in good condition, and the landlord has given us free reign to paint/landscape/do what we want. Plus, we don't have to mow, but we get a yard! Yay!

I have already painted the living room, which was quite the ordeal. Before you start gasping in horror for my child's brain development, I followed the rules. Latex paint. Windows open. Mask. Frequent breaks. A room that should have taken me a day to paint took me 2 1/2. It looks great though! Only room left to paint is baby's... though I may have the boy figure that one out for me.

Well, I've got to go make some money a la transcription revision. Next baby shower is May 17th! I can't wait!

Phew!

Ok, so my life is FINALLY beginning to calm down, and as the dust settles, a couple things have become clear:

1. Doctors Suck.
2. People are pretty cool.
3. Pregnancy sucks.

Ok, so on the first note. I am ALWAYS sick these days. I would just write it off to "rhinitis of pregnancy" as I previously planned to (by the way... doesn't the word rhinitis give you the image a large rhino horn in the place where my nose should be? Ok, sorry, off topic), the coughing has been really severe and kept me from sleeping. After losing enough sleep as it is to Ava's hiccups, I finally sought medical attention (for the third time) to cure what ails me.

I don't have a family doctor down here yet (though I'll have to get one soon for when Ava arrives), so I've been relying on Urgentcare. Now, back in Wheaton, where I grew up, Urgentcare was a very professional operation where you could expect just as thorough an examination and treatment as you could with your regular doctor. In Bowling Green, unfortunately... well, let's just say it was less than I had hoped for.

First, the doctor tries to prescribe me a Z-pack. I say, "Well, like I told the nurse to put in the chart, I finished a Z-pack about a week or two ago, and the symptoms never went away."

He flips open my chart, makes a face, and says, "Right you are! Ok, let's try Amoxclav."

I purse my lips and furrow my brow. "Well, as my chart should indicate, I'm allergic to penicillin."

Again, he opens up the chart, flips through the pages and raises his eyebrows. "Oh, yes, I see it here. So... no penicillin. Let's try (insert some gobbledy-gook I can't remember)."

I close my eyes and take a deep breath. "You know, sir, that I am 6 1/2 months pregnant, right?"

He opens the chart back up, looks at my stomach, and then back to the chart. "Huh. So you are. Well, can't give you that then- it might kill you or the baby!"

He chuckles, and my stomach lurches. He mutters through his final prescription, I think hoping he won't have to correct himself again, and at this point I am so horrified I just want the interaction to end.

So I go to the pharmacy to get the prescriptions filled. I can't read the doctor's handwriting (have you ever wondered how the pharmacists do it? I mean, do they have to take a class or something?), so I ask the pharmacists if everything is ok, given my allergies and pregnant state. Despite the fact that they've entered that information into my file at the pharmacy three times now, she informs me that it's not there, and she'll have to enter it again. After typing in the info one painful key at a time using her forefingers (really? She was like my age. No excuse for not being able to type if you've been through enough school to be filling my prescriptions), I ask her again. She looks up at the ceiling, as though she expects the answer to be written in the cracked white tile.

"Umm... I don't really know... HEY!! TINA!! CAN YOU TAKE LODRANE IF YOU'RE KNOCKED UP?"

Someone, I'm assuming Tina, hollers from a back corner, "UHHH... I DON'T KNOW. DID HER DOCTOR SAY IT WAS OK?"

The twittering idiot in front of me responds, "WELL, I MEAN, HE DID WRITE THE PRESCRIPTION!" She rolls her eyes and turns back to me. "You should be fine."

I sure felt reassured.

Well, I called my mom, who said she didn't know for sure on anything, and to call my OB/GYN. Makes sense, except I'm avoiding them altogether until I figure out what the hell is happening with my insurance (another post, another day). So, I cave and call, but no one is around. In the meantime, I still feel like CRAP.

Then, thank God, my #2 Observation from above comes to fruition- a girl in one my classes is actually an OB/GYN nurse who's come back to school to get another degree. I awkwardly asked her opinion of the medicines, and her face turned dark.

"Well," she said. "The first thing they gave you is Hydrocodone. This is a fairly strong narcotic. Now if you were taking it to just calm down some severe pain once in awhile, it would be fine, but it says here he wants you taking it on a regular basis. Do that, and the baby will be born addicted and go through withdrawl."

Great.

"This second one," she continued. "This one is a Class C pregnancy drug, as classified by the FDA. What that means is that there 'have not been adequate studies done on the effects the drug may have on a pregnant woman or her fetus.' That doesn't necessarily mean it's bad. Problem is, with this one in particular, studies conducted on mammals who almost always react in the same vein as humans found that the drug produces birth defects."

Fabulous.

"The last one," she went on. "Is also a Class C drug. Studies haven't proved anything yet on this one, though."

Wow, exciting.

It thanked her profusely and decided I wasn't touching anything, except maybe the hydrocodone if things got bad.

Moral of the story? ALWAYS double check your doctor. They are not perfect, and some of them are damn stupid. This doesn't mean you should read so much about your health that you become a hypochondriac, but especially if you're at risk due to certain conditions (pregnancy, high blood pressure, etc.), a follow up or second opinion can't hurt.

Second lesson is that people can be pretty cool. That nurse potentially helped me keep my baby out of harm's way. Renewed my faith in mankind, if only momentarily.

Finally, pregnancy sucks. I mean, yeah, it's kind of cool feeling Ava kick around when she doesn't like the position I'm sitting in, or feeling her settle down when the boy reads to her at night, and I'm beyond excited for her to be here, BUT

I just want her out already!

Ok, so maybe she should wait a few more weeks, but I wish the time would go by faster :)

Ramblings of the Delinquent Blogger

So, things I've learned about babies in my last month...

1. Milk doesn't come out of a single hole in the breast. It's more like a showerhead effect. Makes sense, but I think it's weird.

2. ER doctors are fucking stupid. After waiting 7 hours for what my OB thought was my gall bladder freaking out, the doctor basically was like, "So... I'd run this test, but you're pregnant... I'd say it's this, but you're pregnant AND young... I'd prescribe you this, but you're pregnant... so, um... try urgent care?" WTF?

3. Jessica Furgerson is on crack. Run the drug test. You'll see.

4. I technically COULD drink, if I wanted to. I won't, though, so don't worry. Not worth the risk. Chances of the child being crazy are already high enough.

5. My child is a genius. Sitting in IE rounds at nationals, she would begin to kick furiously in rage at unwarranted arguments, even if they are mine. I think we can all agree that those are bad. Good job, Ava!

6. Oh, I guess I should mention that we decided on the name Ava.

7. I guess I should also mention we found out that the fetus is a girl!

8. The boy believes our baby is fat. I tried to tell him that Nelson girls are just show offs, and we all pushed out our bellies in the womb only to be born string beans. He said, no, she's just obese. He also said he would buy her plastic surgery if she's ugly. I endorse neither stance.

9. Being sick sucks. I am sick all the time and have no opportunity to recover.

10. Update: my appetite is insane. Taco Bell is as delectable as a five star bistro and I ate an entire box of frosted flakes in two days by myself (on top of the other meals I've had). Also- you should be careful around me when I'm hungry, because if you look tasty, I might just bite you.

11. BABY'S REQUIRE A RIDICULOUS AMOUNT OF CRAP. I finally registered on Target.com, and it took forever. It's all so cute though! The boy, however, has vetoed exorbitant amounts of pink, so there's lots of neutral selections.

12. Flying sucks. Enough said.

13. Breast milk reportedly increases IQ. Also, breastfeeding is going to hurt more than anything. Woo hoo!

14. Baby girls produce millions and millions of eggs in utero, but only a portion of them survive when they are born.

15. Not only does the mother feel the baby kick- you can SEE it. It was quite possibly the scariest thing I've ever seen. Made me think of Alien when the monster tore out of the person. Maybe I'm confusing movies. It was also very cool though- the first visible sign of life. (Aside from the burgeoning stomach.)

16. Yellow, a very common choice if you're looking for something neutral, actually makes colicky babies more anxious and nauseous. Who knew?

17. By three months old, a baby can understand the normal tones associated with female and male voices. They will become confused or even frightened if the tone does not match the perceived gender.

18.... Ok, pregnancy stupids means that I'm out of things to say, but I promise I won't wait this long to post again. Much love, and pictures soon to come :)

Midol can't harness this rage

Oh, my poor, poor guy. He thought he was complimenting me when he said, "Really- I can't even tell you're pregnant. You don't look like you've gained any weight."

My lip began to quiver. A shaky wail escaped. "You mean I always look this fat?!?"

The road to hell is paved with good intentions...

So, hormones. What lovely little creatures they are. I mean, the only way to describe it is that feeling you get when you're watching the main character in a movie make one of those mistakes that you know could be avoided if everyone would just be open about what they're thinking or feeling (though of course no one ever is) and you know what's happening and how things are about to get hectic and all you want to do is shake them and say, NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! Except, the problem is that instead of it being a movie, you're watching yourself say the most neurotic things ever in a pitch that resembles the hysteria of a schizophrenic being put under arrest and could be used as damning evidence against you if someone wanted to challenge your competency to make legal decisions about your future. It's PMS 24/7 for nine months. Yayyy...

As BabyCenter.com explains, the surge of hormones your body is experiencing during pregnancy throws the levels of neurotransmitters in your body out of wack, which leaves you susceptible to massive mood swings. Magnifying these mood swings are high levels of anxiety about finances, your ability to be a good parent, and how large you've become.

There are a few strategies you can use to personally regulate your mood swings. The most important thing is to take a step back, breathe and think about what you're getting ready to say. It's pretty good advice on an average day to not speak in anger, but during pregnancy, this advice functions as law. You can take it back and blame it on the baby, but that excuse will get old real fast. Plus, if you can keep breathing on a regular basis, you might be able to avoid some of those massive blow-ups.

Eating right can help control the beast as well. As tempting as it may be to eat an entire box of shortbread cookies in one sitting (I know, I've done it), it doesn't help to stabilize your sugar levels, which can lead to lots and lots of mood swings. Eating foods that are especially rich in B6, such as bananas, peanuts, brown rice, eggs, avocado and whole grains, can help to keep your moods on an even keel, and aid in the development of neurotransmitters for your little one!

Another little piece of advice I would hand out is to be very careful of how you treat your significant other. The boy has begun to recognize when the Dr. Jekyll/Mr.Hyde transformation is about to occur in me, and will head for the hills at the first sign of twitching. He's been the target of one too many outbursts- none of which had any real basis to them- and I may have scarred him for life. Now, he and I had already honed our fighting skills into an art form, so it hasn't caused us to sleep in separate rooms, but in any other couple, I guarantee there'd have been some problems.

Remember, he's just as scared and confused as you are, and an outburst doesn't help to remedy that or the perceived offensive behavior of the moment. Men will wait on you hand and foot during this time period, but be careful not to turn into one of those Evil Stepmother Queens whose mandates are keeping Cinderfella from his Xbox Ball. I'm sure he's willing to go to far fewer of those galas than he used to, but he needs an outlet as well. Don't you forget.

After I had my pity party and my guy recovered from a state of utter bewilderedness, I muttered something about hormones, which made him laugh. He rolled his eyes, looked directly in mine and said, "Really? You think that was bad? Maybe this will be easier than I'd thought."

Only time will tell.