Fucking Babies, Man

Right after Egg was born, TB and I discussed having another baby as soon as humanly possible. Because babies are yummy and awesome and we were both high on baby fumes. When we came down a few months later, we realized that although we loved the shit out of Egg, we were fucking tired. Straight on the heels of that realization, we used our legendary math skills to determine a few bumming facts:

• Chicken is 12 years and 3 months older than Egg
• When Chicken is 18 and in his freshman year of college Egg will be in first grade. Or kindergarten. Whatever. It's late and I'm tired.
• It is likely that Chicken will no longer live in our home full time during his college years and he better get the fuck outta dodge after he graduates.
• We are basically raising two only children, or as close as one can get and not actually have two only children. Which is impossible, technically.
• We don't want Egg to grow up without a sibling that is nearish to his age.

This means we need to have another baby. We talked about it and thought that two plus years was a good space between kids, hypothetically. We did not want a fall birthday. This meant that we would want to get pregnant late spring or early summer. Which sounded great on paper, but the two of us were terrified and not ready in the least. And of a month and a half ago, my body wasn't even fertile. See: breastfeeding around the clock and no ovulation.

With my first visit from Aunt Flo, it looked like things could happen in a few months. And my only thought was, "FUCK NO." I'm not ready. TB isn't ready. And then I got an awesome haircut and some good advice that we really needed to hear but were too fucking stupid to figure out on our own: You shouldn't have Baby B to make Baby A happy. Or in my hair stylist's world: "Don't get another puppy as a playmate for the puppy you already own. You might end up resenting the poor thing. Get a puppy because you want one, and for no other reason." How is it that advice from someone that has three different colors in her hair (like blue!) and no children woke us the fuck up?

But it did. I love babies. I love Egg and Chicken. Some day I might want another baby. That day might be too late for my aging reproductive system, but I am okay with that reality. Right now, my husband spends at least four hours driving to and from work every day. He gets up at 3:30am five days a week. I'm still getting up at least twice every night to nurse Egg. Parenting a teenager has its own challenges, and we are both stretched to capacity. So we're waiting until the thought of having another baby sounds wonderful to us. I hope it's not too late, but I know that now is too early. What do you think? What has worked for your family (if you have one)? What about your hypothetical family? I want to know! Does this sound stupid? Why are all three cats staring at me? Damn. It's 11 o' clock. I'm going to bed.

Sleep

We are having a wee smattering of sleep issues here at Sam's Stories. I'd like to illustrate it with the following texts between myself and our new babysitter: (I have a post on the babysitter issue, too.) (Not that our babysitter has an issue. I have an issue. Or twelve hundred.)

Sitter: My mom said I'm good to go for Friday.
Sam: Yes!!
Sitter: :) 5 to 7:30?
Sam: Yep! Thanks!
Sitter: No problem.
Sam: Can you text me your address so I can put it in my phone?*
Sitter: Sure. (insert address here) I'm going to your house tomorrow though, right?
Sam: Tomorrow? (at this point I am trying to figure out how to say politely that I had no fucking idea what she is talking about when she is a newish sitter and I don't know her well enough to use the word "fucking" yet) Hmmm....my brain is failing. Do you remember why? When I told you? Dude, I need a decent night of sleep.
Sitter: Haha. You said tomorrow from 5:00 to 7:30.
Sam: Friday! Today is Tuesday, right? I hope.
Sitter: Today is Thursday.
Sam: No way.
Sitter: Yeah.. Lol
Sam: ROFLMAO. I am SO dumb. Sorry!
Sitter: Hahaha no worries. You just need sleep.
Sam: Total FAIL. See you tomorrow then!

So, the combination of traditional holidays stresses, SERIOUS FUCKING FAMILY FAIL, shitty sleeping by one baby and therefore one mama and partially one daddy, and a new phone mean that I have no brain and blogging has failed me. Or I have failed blogging. Whichever. I have had mad, passionate sexor with my phone many times and OMG I lurves it so much. I can read blogs very well with my phone but typing an actual post is not appealing. I might have to get over myself and start blogging on it. I have SO much to say to you all!!


*I got a new phone so I am updating contact information. If you know me in the real world, text me so I can add you. I chose not to do a data transfer so I am starting all new. Like a baby. Or a virgin. Or a baby virgin. EW. All babies should be virgins. Otherwise is just WRONG. Sorry! One should NOT post after taking night time pain meds. No filters. Bad Sam!

Yet Another Letter

Dear Three Strangers,

Thanks so much for being assholes. When most of the free vagina-owning world is damn excited to see a new baby, you three pretty much suck my ass. I'd like to lump two of you together, because you said the exact same fucking sentiment: "Only XX days old and ALREADY OUT OF THE HOUSE?!?!?!" Well, ladies I have two words for you: "Fuck you." Because I don't remember being given rules about when my baby is ready to leave the house. Due to the fact that my baby is breastfed I cannot leave the house without him. So I either stay home until you deem it appropriate to leave or face your criticism of my parenting.

Guess what? My 12 year old needs to get to school five days a week and for some reason I won't let him drive himself. My car needed to pass a smog inspection by the end of January and the state of California could give a fuck if I was on my way to do it when I decided to take a detour to the hospital and have a baby instead. I have to leave the house to get shit done. I have to take the baby with me. So, in case you missed it the first time: "FUCK YOU."

To the lady that looked me up and down today while pausing at my abdomen and then giving me the death stare: "Fuck you, too." I have absolutely no control over the shape of my body at this point and if it pisses you off that I don't look like I had a baby almost two weeks ago I don't fucking care. Does it make you feel any better that I had to work for every pound gained during my pregnancy and I felt sick after almost every meal? Or how I stressed that I was hurting my baby because I couldn't gain enough weight? How about the metric fucking ton of nasty assed Ensure that I drank to load up on calories? You are a bitter, resentful hag and I can't believe that your emotions were so damn transparent. Get a fucking hold of yourself and stop being such a bitch.

Sincerely,

A Postpartum Woman That Feels a Bit Stabby Today Because You Suck

Egg Has Arrived

I originally attempted to publish this post at 7:ooam Tuesday, January 20th. However, the server gods hated me and when I logged back in I found NOTHING. And no Sam's Stories. Nice, huh? What a day to have shit go bad wrong, when all of the innernets is waiting to hear the splendid news. Egg is here! The stats:

Baby: a boy Egg
Weight: 7lbs 7oz
Length: 18 1/4"
Born: 6:03am, Tuesday January 20, 2009

We will be hopefully returning home Wednesday morning (in just a few hours) and I will update as soon as I can. Everything went splendidly and I am so in love.

Live From New York...Er...San Diego County...

I have been officially admitted! Although I'm still only 2cm my doctor doesn't want me to go home with the bleeding that I have been having. I was offered IV fluids, pictocin, and IV pain meds but at this point I am more interested in drinking water (with mah mouth!) and letting nature take it course. Later I'm probably going to accept something to help me sleep so I can be functional tomorrow to push Egg outta my hoo-ha. Hopefully my overly competent cervix will fucking cooperate and dilate some overnight.

I took a shower and YAY it was awesome. Teddy Bear brought me McDonalds for dinner and it tasted wonderful. I know, I'm a dirty, dirty girl. They are going to monitor me intermittantly so I can move around. At this point it is less painful to walk through the contractions than to sit through them. I can't think of anything else to update at this point. Oh! Just to let you know, Anne said that I won the innernets due to my blogging from labor and delivery. I totally did. YAY I'm a winner! Also, I think Obama will owe me fucking big time for popping out a baby in his honor. Or whatever. WIN!

I Have Teh Innernets!!

Sam here, live and in the hospital. I woke up this morning at 11am feeling rested for the first time in weeks. I got into the shower and started having contractions about every 3-4 minutes. I ignored it because I have been having contractions FOREVER and OMG I am just totally over it at this point. I needed to drive to my in-laws out in BFE to pick up Chicken and then drive back into town to drop him off at a friend's house so I could do errands and then see my doctor.

I made it to my in-laws house, stopped inside to pee and WHOOSH! I wondered if my water had broken. Nope. Seems I lost my plug and had a bloody show. I haven't ever experienced these things so I was going WTF? and luckily I had a pad in my car (from eons ago) and I was set. I think the bloody show should be more aptly called Holy Fuck I Started My Period because it was not exactly a dainty, ladylike show. Gross.

I decided that going to my doctor's office was a good idea, so off Chicken and I went to see the wizard. Of course, he wasn't in the office so they sent me to labor & delivery which is one block away. I've been here since 1:15pm PST. I'm having regular contractions 2-4 minutes apart but I'm only dilated to 2cm. And I can't wait for the nurse shift change because my nurse has the shortest fingers in the world and my cervix is WAY back there and FUCKING OUCH PEOPLE. Her knuckles kill the outside of my parts while her fondling of my cervix is not delicate. Leave the hoo-ha alone, people. I'm sure Egg will fuck it up enough on his own.

My doctor should be here soon to discuss what we are going to do, send me home, keep me, etc. I haven't been officially admitted at this point. Teddy Bear is with me and Chicken left with my step-mom-in-law. He was bugging the serious fuck outta me. Damn kids. Since I now have my laptop and teh innernets I'll be updating as I can. If I can't I will try to text Redneck Diva so she can update. Wish me cervix dilation luck okay?

Fucking Jinx

Remember how I was talking about being sick and back in the good ole days when bronchitis was my very best friend? I am an asshole and my lungs are making me pay for my transgressions. My OB called in antibiotics today and when TB arrived home with them I could have kissed him. Except I was too busy hacking up green shit. I know that antibiotics are not ideal when pregnant, however my asthma/pneumonia/hospitalization history dictates that I take care of my fucking lungs or they refuse to work. Supposedly, Egg needs oxygen and shit to live and when my lungs don't work, he gets all brain damagy on me. Fucking kids these days, huh?

In the State of The Uterus, my contractions are getting longer and stronger. But not closer together. I am thinking at this point that I am going to continue to dilate and efface and all that shit but not go into full-blown labor until one day I sneeze and Egg falls out of my vagina. Every time that I have the runs I think, "Maybe THIS is it! My body is clearing the way for teh bebe!" And then it turns out that my fibro/IBS hates me and likes me to spend lots of time shitting my brains out. Oh yeah, that again.

Hey? You tired of me bitching yet? Want to hear unbearable cuteness? Chicken was on my bed with Reina the Devil cat perched happily on his chest, purring away when he said, "I wish Egg was here so I could hold him instead." AWWWWWW. And then he went back to being a 12-year old asshole. Like his 34-year old asshole mother.

And The Band Played On...

I am still totally knocked up and contracting like a fucking something or other that contracts. Words are not my strong suit today. Tomorrow I get a hand up my hoo-ha to check and see if there is any more progress on the cervix front. I am currently thinking that I'll be ready in a week, (as if I have any choice in the matter). I have a few more things around the house to finish, and Chicken doesn't go back to school until January 12th. I am 37 weeks today, and my due date is January 25 if you haven't been keeping close track of my uterus at home. Don't worry, The New Girl. I will be damned if I pop out this baby without notification to the blog world. I should have a wireless Sprint card at the hospital with me, and if not I will have someone guest post my every movement. Even bowel movements, because this wouldn't be Sam's Stories without poop, right?

Chicken came home on Saturday. His luggage came home on Sunday, and I am sure glad that he was up until 1am on Friday night with his dad and step-mom washing all his clothes so that he could arrive home with clean, fresh-smelling laundry. HA HA HA. Just kidding. They were up until 1am. Chicken did log in 3 hours of sleep Friday night and showed up on Saturday totally fucking wrecked and exhausted. But his clean laundry bore the unmistakable scent of cigarette smoke. Nothing like washing your clothes only to have them smell like you just spent 8 hours hanging out in a bar. A bar NOT in California of course, because you can't smoke in a bar here anymore.

It is hard for me to imagine thinking that smoking in your home is okay when you have children. Especially when at least one of those kids (Chicken) has a family history of asthma. It makes me sad that Chicken had to spend three weeks inhaling smoke, and that his siblings live like that every day. I was a smoker for about 15 years. I get it. But I never smoked inside my house, even when I was a single adult. Inflicting your addiction on your children is just plain wrong. *sigh* At least Chicken is home, happy, and safe. Soon all his clothes will be clean and fit for use, too.

WIN and FAIL

First the FAIL: Today I had my first cervix check as well as group B step check. Which means that I spent most of the day with the runs of course. Then taking a shower because I just can't have my OB all in my cooterus after I have shit my brains out repeatedly. Then shitting again. Then another shower. Rinse, lather, repeat and hope that I can leave the house long enough to get to the damn doctor's office. Luckily it stopped long enough for my doctor to examine a clean and tidy cooterus and poke a super long Q-tip around my nether regions checking for strep.

WIN: 1cm dilated/50% effaced/-2 station with Egg HEAD FUCKING DOWN OH YEAH!!!! He is currently sunny-side up but I'll take it as a complete and total motherfucking WIN. No more breech baby. My boy rocks out with his... well...you know. I am fucking stoked.

Merry Christmas

I dedicate this day to three amazing bloggers:

Redneck Diva for sending me an adorable stuffed and animal and hilarious onesie for Egg. She even included a picture of her lovely children in the package, which now lives on my fridge so I can say "hi" to them ever time I check inside for something edible.

Monkey for sending me an invaluable book, Medications and Mother's Milk. I hope to be able to breastfeed and make informed decisions about which medications I can safely take. What's better than being physically functional AND feeding my baby? Not fucking much. Monkey also sent me a care package chock full of new baby things, including BABY LEGS OMFG. I opened half the packages of yummy baby goodness on Christmas eve and I'll wait until Christmas day to open the rest.

When certain people (*ahem* TB) find the battery charger for the camera and CHARGE IT I will post pictures of the cool shit I received from my bloggy peeps, although I think I am going to wait to show off the onesie from Redneck Diva until Egg can wear it.

Jeremy for setting me back on track with Egg's real name. His comments were a neon sign saying, "Uh Sam?! His name is XXX and why are you fucking around with other names?" Yes, it was one hell of a long neon sign. And neon isn't cheap these days.

Oh. I almost forgot. You probably wanted your present, right? Okay, fine. The name I picked out for Egg before he was even conceived is the one I am sticking with now. I just needed to search around for a bit to reassure myself that the name was the one. Although he will continue to be Egg on Sam's Stories, in real life he will be called James. Merry Christmas.

Baby News

Egg is still breech. Bah! Slightly more info here. Make sure to read the post below and give me your name suggestions for Egg. Maybe a good name will convince him to go head down?

What's My Name Again?

I have a small problem. I don't think I am feeling Egg's real-life name. For those of you that forgot, it is my dad's first name, my maiden name, Teddy Bear's last name. Originally I thought we would call him by a nickname of my dad's first name, not the same one he went by as an adult. Confused? How about this example:

• Richard-the name
• Dick-nickname my dad used as an adult
• Richie-nickname my dad used as a small child and the one I wanted to use for Egg.

But! I wasn't feeling Richie when I tried to use it on Egg. TB wasn't feeling Richie either. So TB and Chicken started to call Egg Richard instead. I just can't see calling my baby Richard (or, you know, the actual name which is not Richard). So I call him Baby. Although I am thinking that I need a better name for the birth certificate.

This is where you come into play, dear readers! I need a name. I am thinking just a first name, as I would like to use my maiden name as his middle name. My maiden name is unusual but fairly easy to pronounce. My last name might as well be Smith it is so common. I want a first name that is not used for both boys and girls (like Taylor), is not going to be mispronounced 10/10 times (like my real first name), and cannot be the following: Adam, Stan, Matthew, David, James. All those names are taken by close family members or are already ruled out for some reason. Sam cannot be used because Chicken really wants to be named Sam (??) and also it would be confusing with my nickname and blog name. Yes, my nickname really is Sam. No, my real name has nothing in common with Sam.

So! Give me options, people. If I choose something suggested by a reader, that reader will get something really cool. Like a gold star. Or the bragging rights to say, "I named Sam's baby." AND! I will post the winning name. Unless you lose and I pick a name all by myself/with help from TB and Chicken.

Speaking of Chicken, he has had his first traumatizing Redneck event in Virginia: his stepmother gave him and his older step-sister fifty bucks and set them free in a dollar store to purchase things for a party. Including centerpieces, which sent him over the edge. I'm not sure how to explain this other than to say that living inside my son's body is a 40 year old gay man with impeccable taste that does not approve of purchasing centerpieces at a dollar store. I'm just happy that thus far this is the worst thing to happen to Chicken. I can live with a little Redneck* experience to make him appreciate the good life back home.

*This in no way means that I do not totally support my dearest Redneck Diva and think that she is the greatest Redneck ever.

Theories And Size Isn't Everything

I had my regular OB appointment today, which I expected to take about 5 minutes and be completely uneventful because I am an asshole and live to jinx myself. Two things happened, one expected and the other was a total WHAT THE FUCK?! According to the in-depth ultrasound, Egg is due sooner than expected by a week or two based on size. Now, three things that go with that bit of news: I understand that ultrasounds are not an awesomely accurate predictor of size, I know my dates are not off because I know the exact weekend that I ovulated (we were charting), and lastly TB is a big boy and we've been expecting this baby to be on the big side. No surprise there at all. Baby big = no duh.

Now for the WTF news: Egg is now breech. After months of ultrasounds showing him in the proper position, some time in the last two weeks Egg decided to flip the fuck around. Now, I'm not a medical professional and I forgot to discuss this with my doctor but I have a theory here: remember when my uterus went HOLY FUCK and I was having contractions and I ended up in L&D? I believe that is when Egg was doing his in utero (sp?) escapades. My doctor did say that the large amount of amniotic fluid facilitated the flippage.

At this point, the breech thing is a wait and see. I will have another ultrasound in two weeks to check on Egg's position. If Egg doesn't flip down by week 36 (4 weeks from now) then we will sit down and discuss options. I can't imagine a large AND breech baby is going to have an easy time slip-sliding out of my va-jay-jay. *sigh* This is where I whine and cry, "I DON'T WANNA HAVE A C-SECTION AND YOU CAN'T MAKE ME!"

Egg's Room Quickie

Today Teddy Bear put up the chair rail in Egg's room. Try to imagine the blue less BLUE, the bottom color slightly more yellow, and the carpet more champagne than brown. Stupid lighting at the end of the day. The rail is a lattice-type we painted, hopefully it will match the tree to be painted on the closet doors by my step-mom-in-law. I have five soft wall hangings that are Pooh Bear and friends, one is shown in the picture but I haven't decided on final placement yet. While we don't have any furniture at this point it feels great to have the carpet and walls completed. I'm 32 weeks today. Where the fuck did time go?

Labor & Delivery Visit #1

Yesterday I hit 31 weeks and had a very stressful day which led to me sitting in Teddy Bear's truck crying my fool eyes out while Teddy Bear and Chicken said their goodbyes to my extended family. I would have given my own goodbye but mine would have sounded like, "You fucking suck" which I have heard is frowned upon in polite society.

I traveled to San Diego to visit my mother, her two sisters, one of her brothers, her cousin, her aunt and various cousins. Most of them live out of town/state so it was a nice gathering. I told myself that I would not stress about the food situation and would simply run out to get something Sam friendly (wheat free and lowish carb) when the time for dinner came. Yes, my family seems unable to take my wheaty status into consideration EVER. When the dinner menu was brought up Teddy Bear and I just laughed. Sandwiches, lasagna, raviolis, pizza, kibbe, and salad. For those of you that aren't Lebanese, kibbe is essentially raw lamb, spices, and bulgur wheat. Yes, my mom's family is Lebanese. You might have wondered where my stunning ability to tan hails from, no?

Well, dear readers, the menu choices left me with salad. Fucking salad. Which my mother reiterated no less than four times throughout the afternoon when she caught Teddy Bear and I laughing over the menu. "But SALAD! Don't forget the SALAD! You can eat the SALAD!" she cried. When the time came for dinner, Teddy Bear and I popped over to a local tree-hugger store (Henry's) and found a terribly crappy selection of frozen gluten-free meals. Most of the Henry's that I visit have a much better selection, but whatever. I'm fucking pregnant and hungry. We bring the meal back, heat it up and I eat with my family.

The frozen dinner was 90% white rice and 10% chicken, which meant that I added some cheese, ate all the chicken, a few bites of rice and handed it over to TB. I figured I could eat some salad and not fuck with my blood sugar by gorging on simple carbs. Look at me being responsible! I walk over to the salad, see a box of croutons and poke around in the bowl for a moment. Can't be too careful, right? Guess what I find? CROUTONS! In the FUCKING SALAD! YAY ME! I return to the table, let Teddy Bear know what happened and try to be cool. Stay cool, Sam. Don't worry! You can eat another time! Or you can go cry in the truck!

Guess what I did? I cried and cried and it sucked. Chicken and TB came out to the truck, I cried some more and then they took me home. Or, almost home. Because at some point I started having contractions that left me dizzy, gasping, and grabbing for something to squeeze really hard. And thus we headed for L&D, where I knew that an hour's observation would lead to a complete stop of the contractions and a big ole jug of water to consume. Now I have my very own big ole jug to fill with tasty things like VODKA and TEQUILA or maybe just water.

I got to hear Egg's heartbeat thumpy thumping away, listen to him kick the shit out of the heartrate monitor and lay in an uncomfortable hospitable bed while Chicken tried to amuse me. I also learned that hospitals = very bad memories for Sam and I would like to avoid them at all costs in the future. Remember that time my dad set himself on fire (accidentally) and I spent three weeks in the burn unit with him? Oh. Maybe I forgot to tell you about that one. Next post? Deal.

The Big One

I normally don't include ultrasound pics on this blog, mostly because not all readers want to be smacked in the face with BABY! But this pick is so representative of my child, I had to include it here. The rest will be posted here for your viewing pleasure. Remember that ancient great-grandmother types read the baby's blog, so curb your fucking enthusiasm, okay?



Now tell me that there is any doubt in your mind that this picture is a full frontal "Here is my scrotum and penis" view. Today's ultrasound was amazing. I've been waiting forfuckingever for this one, the super long here are all the parts and let's measure them ultrasound. The other ones have always been a quick and dirty on a rinky-dinky machine-which is awesome but not quite the same. Kind of like jerking off versus an hours long intimate encounter with a loved one or two.

I got to see Egg swallow, people. Fucking swallow. Like little lips moving and WOW I am still stunned. There is a PERSON in my uterus. Egg is now moving around to the point where I can feel heels/knees/bony something or other with my hand as opposed to just a quick POP! to the bladder which could be caused by a reptile or eating my food while it is still mooing. This makes all the pain more manageable, the interaction with Egg and the belly rolls and SQUUEEE! I am feeling mushy and good about it all.

It helps even more that Egg has moved further down, putting pressure on my inner thighs and pelvic floor (AKA Teh Pussy) instead of my hips. While it still hurts, the pain is reduced and I can walk a little easier. YAY for walking! I'm still a cranky, tired, hurty bitch I am a happier bitch. And that is good news, indeed.

Sleep Does A Sam Good

Today I took Chicken to school, came home, internetted for a bit and then PTFO'd (passed the fuck out) until 2:30pm rolled around and it was time to pick up Chicken again. I feel better about life in general and I am ready to take on the couch/innernets/light parenting. Chicken is currently in Algebra I and I am enjoying the shit out of helping him with his homework. I love basic Algebra. It makes my geeky heart go pitter-patter.

Speaking of geek, I have a website that I want to share with you. It is authored by a good friend of Teddy Bear and it follows the geek news blog style. It is called Geek-tastic and I command thee to go, read a post, and comment. Want to weigh in about the virtues of fast versus slow zombies? Here is the post for you. Tell him I sent you. Or no more chicken pics for you!

I updated Egg's blog over here, and I updated my sidebar with NEW! EXCITING! LINKS! of DANGER! with the exception of the danger because who the fuck am I kidding? I am lame and boring without any danger at all. Unless it is the ever-present danger of shitting mah pants. If you should be on my sidebar and I'm an asshole and forgot you, leave a comment. Or just pout in silence. Whatevers.

As far as my test failure goes, my doctor does not want to make me take the 3-hour glucose test and considers me "pre-diabetic" and put me on a fucking diet. I suppose I can take the test if I wish but I really don't feel the burning desire to take it. I have been ordered to cut out simple carbs, eat every two hours, and avoid big meals. HA HA HA HA HA. I mean, "Yes sir!" Because I haven't had any trouble with my appetite in the last six months, right? And I don't already have the no wheat in my diet issue, right? I'm going to do my best and talk to him again in two weeks at my next appointment. Don't tell anyone but I was on the verge of tears through most of the appointment. And I'm not a teary pregnant chick at all. Fuuuuck.

Mr. Sunshine Doctor also talked to me about my hips of fuckedness and indicated that he expected me to be totally fucked and horizontal fullish time by the end of my pregnancy. What? You wanted to be pregnant and WALK, TOO? HA HA HA HA. I'm having TB look into renting me a wheelchair so I can at least participate in weekend activities that require walking. You know, like grocery shopping?

For those of you that were pissed, outraged, and generally wanting to fucking kill my Chiro because he told me that another baby was not a great idea I wanted to clarify myself. Or yourself. Whatever. His point was that putting myself through another highly painful and debilitating pregnancy was not a splendid idea-and I totally agree. I assumed (HA HA HA I am a total asshole for that) that this pregnancy would be similar to the first two and I would potentially have the added benefit of my fibro going into remission. (Insert more insane laughter here) At this point I am thankful that I can have this baby and will cherish him to pieces with no expectations of ever doing this again. It is just a risk that I do not want to take, and I do not want to put my family through this again. Make sense? Okay, moving on to better things...

Remember how you were saying that I wasn't a true geek? You were doubting my geek cred? Look at this shit, yo:
This door mat comes from ThinkGeek and happily greets visitors to my humble abode. I love it. Anther thing I love? Being able to show Chicken what it looks like when you are high as fuck* and trying to function in public. Great job, Joaquin Phoenix and thanks for the teachable moment.

*This is no way is meant to construe that I am anti-drug. It is merely to convey that too much of anything is really fucking stupid.

Housekeeping

Hi peeps! I am blogging from my lovely new master bathroom. I have a dedicated shitter in the bathroom with a door to keep out the strays and I am loving it. TB wants to install a laptop shelf in here for me because he is awesome. I have some news and announcements on the private blog front for you all. First, there are a few of you that have requested invites and then not responded to the invitation. Those peeps would be: Peg, EB72, Anne, and Corinna. If you have a better email address for me, drop me a line at samsstories at gmail dot com. I've sent the invite to Peg and EB72 twice at this point. Several of you have requested an invite in the comments without giving me an email address. I have to email the invite to you, so without an email address I am stuck.

Then there are a few of you that want invites and I don't know who you are. Almost every person that comments on this blog more than once or twice gets a visit from me on their blog. I like to know who is reading and to read what they have to say. Even if you were a reader from way back (hi Stuck in Houston!) I will remember you (or search my comment archives in Gmail) and will give you an invite. But! If you are a lurker I don't "know" you, I can't be sure that you aren't a not nice person posing as a reader. Got it?

Sigh. If you are a lurker, don't worry that you are missing out on awesome Sam content. It isn't particularly interesting or exciting and definitely not funny on the private blog. If you haven't received an invite and you are saying, "Duh! I know you! What the hell is wrong with you, Sam?!" then shoot me an email. In all likelihood, I will only post one or two more times there and then pull the plug on the whole thing.

The reason things have been so quiet here is that I moved on October 4th and my new house is a mess of boxes and random crap. ARGH! I would post new pics for you all, but at this point all you would see are boxes and more boxes. You might catch a sleeping cat if you're lucky. I'm trying to rest more at this point because my body did not appreciate all the painting and crap that I did to prepare the house. I worked my ass off every day and now I am taking a break. This requires a lot of really crappy television, much pooping, and being horizontal for most of the day.

In baby news, I am 25 weeks today. How the fuck did that happen? I'll be six months officially on the 20th of October. Chicken turns FUCKING TWELVE YEARS OLD on the 18th of October...and now my brain is fried by the insanity of having a new baby and a 12-year old at the same time. I am nuts. Please send help or hot pool boys/girls. I'm not picky.

Sorry For The Radio Silence

Between the house buying stress and gestating I have had too much in my brain to blog coherently. My brain looks like this on the inside:

• paint!
• carpet!
• wood floor!
• spackle!
• packing!
• signing docs!
• baby kicked!
• omg my stomach is moving!
• please remove my hips!
• when the fuck will escrow close!
• appliances!
• need sleep!
• want to nest!
• AHHHHHH!

See? Not a great post. In other news, I've opened a new, private blog in order to discuss things that I cannot discuss in a public forum. If you would like an invite, leave a comment or email me. I need an email address from you to invite you and I need to know you either from you commenting here or from me reading your blog. Got it? Great. Good times, people. Good times.

Eat Mor Pussy

Once upon a time I had an idea born of way too much free time and copious amounts of something or other. It was likely the fault of Chick fil-A slogan that I grew to love when I lived in Virginia: "Eat Mor Chikin". How could you not love those damn cows? When Chick-fil-A finally made its way out west I realized that even without a bun their charbroiled chicken bacon cheesy goodness of a sandwich was AWESOME. Add Sam friendly (gluten-free) fries and a gallon of sweet tea and I'll spread my er...you know what I mean. Yummy shit that there Chick-fil-A. Now, everything was fine and dandy until I thunk up an idea that involved Dude the cat. You see, Dude walks around with his tail straight the fuck up like a flag pole all day long. It cracks me up (yes, I am easily amused) because you can see him coming around the couch just by the tip of his tail poking up on the other side.

One day I decided that such a magnificent flag pole tail needed a flag. It stands to reason that the flag needed to celebrate the goodness of Chick-fil-A and the badness that is my brain. I purchased some felt and puffy sticker letters and BAM! a flag fit for a Dude. I call it "Eat Mor Pussy" because who can't get behind a slogan like that?

Please excuse what I would love to call a "baby bump" but what is more aptly referred to as a big ole belly full of baby. Also, the chair pictured is Dude's chair complete with his special towel to keep his furs off my dining set. I do not have purple chairs, people. And, do not pay any attention to the fact that Dude is eyeballing the backyard with a "fucking help me please" tone to his body language. He loves the flag. See?

You might also note that I appear to have a smaller belly button above my regular old belly button. (If you click on the picture it will get bigger.) I had my navel piercing removed a few weeks back to avoid a stretched-out, stupid looking hole. Too bad I can't avoid that fate all around, huh?

20 Week Ultrasound

The details and pictures are up at: Chicken's Sibling. Oh, and it is totally a boy. YAY!!

Overloaded

My brain is done and my hateful allergies stuffing up my head are only serving to further fry the few remaining operable brain cells. Fuuuuuck. There is so much going on right now that I really need to take a xanax, smoke a bowl, drink a beer, or fuck my brains out to let out a little of the pressure. However, my current condition means that the first three are prohibited and the last one just doesn't sound like very much fun. I'll have to make due with blogging for the moment I suppose. Dammit.

First of all, Chicken is attending a new school this year. The middle school he was attending failed miserably in a number of areas in my opinion and I was not sending him back to that place. I found a new charter school locally that seems to fit perfectly with my wants and Chicken's needs. Maximum enrollment is 150 students 6th-8th grade and class size is less than or equal to 25 students. The interior of the building is not completed, therefore yesterday class began at a local park. The students took a field trip to the library, parents and students had a potluck lunch, and everyone got acquainted with each other. Not a big deal if you are a normal human being and like other people. For me, it was a stretch but I am proud to say that I socialized all day and mostly did not make an ass out of myself. Chicken had a blast and is looking forward to the first real day of school on September 2nd. He has an independent study contract to work on until then and is not appreciating the workload. I think it is good for him.

Next, we are buying a house. We've completed negotiations and are waiting for the underwriters to find new and unusual ways to ass fuck us. We are expecting to close escrow by mid September. In the meantime, we have a few home improvement projects to worry about. Namely, the issue of doorknobs. Oh, and carpet and paint and grass. Maybe bushes? Epoxy the garage floor. Replace a door and closet doors. Find a gas dryer as ours is electric. Perhaps a microwave? GAH. The list manageable but daunting, and my concerns are petty but pressing. For example: how do I choose a color to paint my bedroom when in the near future we are buying a bigger bed and therefore a new duvet cover? I don't want to be completely neutral and boring but I don't want to repaint in a year or less. How does one figure this out?

Then comes the carpet and the hard floors. We want carpet in the bedrooms and hard flooring in the living room. The dining, kitchen, and baths are all nicely tiled. I have no clue about flooring. None. Not a fucking clue if you paid me to find one. I don't know what is good, bad, or indifferent. I am hoping that Teddy Bear can field this one and I can play the girl part and say, "Oh that's pretty or ugly or blah."

Then I started looking at paint for Egg's room. Chicken can pick his own paint, but I am fairly sure the baby is screwed out of an opinion at this point. I drew a complete fucking blank. The colors started to swirl and I just wanted to wait until much later to even think about the decision. Teddy Bear filled my arms with brochures and samples and I staggered to the car. Guess what I found?
How fucking cute is that? Now, I'm not married to Baby Einstein or Pooh Bear but the butter yellow, soft blue, and brown have me swooning. The picture isn't the best so you'll just have to imagine the gloriousness of it all. Please tell me everything will fall into place as easily as this. Please? Because being knocked up, a new school for Chicken, buying a house, moving, and putting a fuckton of work into the new house seems like a lot of work. Can't I just bake cookies naked and call it a day?

First Belly Shot

17 weeks 2 days

Ultrasound

I had an ultrasound today. The doctor says the baby is looking good. We saw the spine clearly and then something that resembled a um...package. A manly package. The doctor said we'd check again in a month to be sure, but his bet is on a boy. Living in mah uterus. Wow.

Because I Am Insane

I have been thinking of birth plans lately. Here is what I have so far:

1. I will not labor in a room without either a wireless network or Sprint cell service. (TB has a Sprint card that I can use in the laptop.) No birthing babies without the innernets!

2. Don't give my baby any fucking formula you assholes. Also? The baby will eat better when attached to my tit. Please give me my damn baby.

3. I will eat while in labor. If you say "no" I will have my husband or a small, innocent child sneak it to me. You will not deny me food or I will cut you. Jello and ice chips do not count as food. Does anyone have a small, innocent child that I may borrow?

4. I would prefer you to use both hands to yank my vagina into a big enough hole to birth the baby than to use a knife to cut an opening. I've tried both ways and your hands are so soft. What kind of lotion do you use?

Am I missing anything?

Letter To My Left Tit

Dear Lefty,

I understand that you are looking forward to the day that you can provide sustenance and comfort to a baby. Nursing can be a rewarding experience. What I don't understand is your desire to prove your ability at this point in time. Yes, you are the overachieving tit. You are bigger than your right counterpart. Congratulations on that accomplishment. However, I do not currently have a need for milk. My shirt is not thirsty and becomes cold and slightly miserable when wet. Let me remind you that I am expecting the baby to arrive in early 2009. It is currently August of 2008. I understand that calculating time is not your greatest strength, so let me make this completely clear for you.

STOP IT. TOO SOON. NO NEED MILK NOW.

Love,

Your body

The Innernet Sucketh

My due date, carefully calculated by the Innernets and my cycle, is January 25, 2009. While I think that is a fabulous thing (the innernet giving me a due date) I am slightly not happy about it. The last really fucked up miscarriage I had was before I got knocked up with the Chicken and I had not yet gotten a due date (long story for another post). Therefore, there was no "OMG I would have had a baby on XYZ" date.

As the new car smell wore off of my uterus MANY years ago I don't have that "oh of course I'll have a baby in January. I'll probably deliver on my due date and I will smell like roses the whole fucking time" mentality. Nope. I am going to relax and take care of myself, but I'd be lying if I wasn't checking for blood every time I visit the bathroom. I just don't want to get blindsided by badness, and this pregnancy is about two minutes old.

Bitching aside, want to hear something that is AWESOME? The first date of my last period, a day that I will have to tell a million fucking people over the next few weeks/months/etc. is April 20th. That's right people. I'm carrying a 420 baby. I'm that cool.

I Can Haz Urine?

Since blogger fucking hates me and refused to upload the picture I created, I went to I Can Has Cheezburger and created my masterpiece there. Yes, that is my pee stick. I wasn't planning on announcing in such a bold way, but since only two of you (Anna and Jenn) commented that you clicked on the link in the previous post and figured out what I was trying to say in a subtle fashion, well here you fucking go.

Humping Like A Motherfucker

When I told Anna that I was attempting to get knocked up she told me to go to Fertility Friend and use their handy dandy software to chart my temperature and other fertility signs. Like a good friend, I did. My chart looked like a fucked up motherfucker, and according to the fabulous software behind the scenes, I did not ovulate this cycle. Also, I was probably dead. This past week my uterine area has been fairly pissed off, with weird pressure and crampiness that was not appreciated. I decided that either I was pregnant or my uterus was going to up and die on me any minute.

Instead of peeing on a stick early this weekend, I decided to head to Santa Barbara and enjoy my paid mini vacation with Teddy Bear. Of course, it is fairly hard to enjoy yourself when you are surrounded by douche bags. We stayed at the Fess Parker Doubletree (about 1 mile south of State Street and across the street from the beach, Anne). Remember the cost of the room? That was the corporate "we're spending about 100k this weekend at your establishment rate." The best rate I could find online for a normal person was $465 per night on a weekend-just to give you an idea of the type of place we were at this weekend. See the pretty room? It looks just like the room we stayed in, except for the pubic hair and clogged drain.

I'm not saying all this to be an annoying braggart, more to set the stage for the fucking imbeciles that fed me wheat on Saturday night. I expect morons when you're at a burger joint, they don't get paid enough to give a fuck about me and I understand that fact. But when you (or your husband's company) are paying out the motherfucking ASS to stay somewhere I expect to be able to EAT ME SOME FUCKING FOOD. *ahem* I don't have the energy to blog about all of it right now, I will this week I promise. The highlights contain fun times like the moment I realized that my fancy dress for the fancy dinner was at home and I was in Santa Barbara. Or the moment I realized that I had just dined on sub-par creme brulee that an asshat had added Bailey's Irish Cream to in a fit of insanity. Yes, Bailey's is a Sam no-no due to the wheaty goodness they use while making it.

The weekend was pretty much a bust, I didn't drink because I wasn't sure whether or not I was pregnant, I didn't want to pee on a stick and get all excited and have my step-mother-in-law smell it on me. (The excitement not the pee you asshole!) But now I'm home and in bed loving teh innernets in my undies, listening to my Chicken procrastinate like a fucking professional. I have one more day of student teaching left and then I am fucking enjoying my summer, people. Enjoying the fuck outta it.

Annaland

I called Anna this morning stressing about my temperature chart and she was having a bit of trouble talking me down off the ledge of my insanity. This resulted in today's quote of goodness:

"Let go and Let God, Sam," quoth Anna.

And then I laughed and laughed and laughed and it was all better.

Please Tell Me

Tell me that you all know that the video wasn't my [Hallmark holiday] gift, because if any of you seriously thought that my husband is that kind of a dick AND that I would put up with said dickishness I would be ashamed. Ashamed of you. However, I do not take suggestions lightly, and I believe that Teddy Bear needs Box Lunch: The Layperson's Guide to Cunnilingus written by the lovely Diana Cage. Of course it is written by a woman for two (or more if you'd like I suppose) women to enjoy, but even the most manly man could likely get something out of it. In my opinion, one can never practice the fine art of going downtown overly much.

As far as dildos go, I had one once about fifteen years ago. I loved it dearly and it served a certain purpose at the time. Since then? Meh. I don't really have any needs that aren't well served by TB or my own two hands. You're welcome for the over share.

I had someone at the house one time that observed a random Sam bra hanging out on the couch. He was rather surprised at its plain cotton blah-ness. I suppose if you talk to me at length you might think that I have a whole ball of kinky sexiness at my disposal, including HOT HOT undies. Actually I am all about comfort in my everyday wear. I love cotton. There. I said it. I fucking hate lace, itching, tight rubbing tagged misery. I have issues with skin sensitivity, not that I get rashes but that my stupid body likes to interpret normal clothing as BAD! and HORRID! and OUCH! Some days are better than others. If society wasn't so damn obsessed with my fairly perky tits and HELLO! nipples I would never ever wear a bra. It's not like the damn things move around much without one, they just do their boob thing and occasionally attract my husband's attention.

I don't know if it is the FMS that keeps me from pursuing the crazy fun with toys sex or a unhealthy dose of apathy. I know that devoting energy to figuring out the very best vibrator seems a little silly when I am struggling to get through each day. I like to tell myself that eventually I will get tired of vanilla sex with TB and want to ramp it up to something more appliance-oriented. It's just that vanilla can be awesome. Especially big ole Wookie vanilla. RAWR!

Speaking of FMS, I haven't posted much about how I have been doing lately. The short answer is shitty. Full-time student teaching, including all the preparation before and after school is more than my body can handle. Trying to "pass" is supremely difficult right now. (By "pass" I mean appear like I am not in a fuckton of pain with every muscle in my body stiff and pissed off at me.) I only taught the equivalent of one full day last week, and I don't know if this week will be any better. At this point my supervisor is in my corner and trying to get me full credit without finishing all the hours typically necessary-due to my disability. She thinks that I am a rockstar in the classroom (she is the one that observes four lessons during the eight weeks and makes sure that I am semi-competent). So cross your fingers for me. At this point I won't go back in the fall unless I get pregnant and go into full remission. I just can't do it feeling like I do. Yay fucked up body failing me!

Damn I sound whiney today, huh? I'd really love a nice, hot bath and a couple of darvocet to take the edge off but the urge for a fetus NOT addicted to pain medication is greater. Speaking of my uterus, it's cycle day 23 and I'm having trouble resisting the urge to pee on anything that remotely resembles a pee stick. Watch out Dude and Reina!

Lamest Drug Addict EVAR!

I never updated you guys/girls on my great quest to get my drug situation in line with the baby-making situation. How about a list?

Drugs In My Big Ole Drawer of Drugs:

• Vicodin*
• Darvocet*
• Xanax
• Elavil
• Imitrex
• Qvar*
• Albuterol*
• Flonase*
• Celexa
• Cymbalta*
• Tramadol
• Ultram
• Lunesta*
• Skelaxin (sp?--too lazy to walk into my bedroom to check on the spelling)
• ... I know I'll remember something else five minutes after I hit "publish" on this post

The ones marked with an asterisk are daily medications and have been (mostly) for the last year. The doctor I saw wanted me to go down to: Flonase (allergies), Qvar (asthma), Albuterol (asthma) and .... that's it. He also recommended that I go cold turkey and just suck it up through the withdrawal. Well that sounds all good and fine if you're BATSHIT crazy. I made up my own plan: Flonase, Qvar, Albuterol and 1/2 Celexa (20mg) with the intention of going down as low as I can on the celexa without making my family and my brain hate me (more). Celexa has more acceptable side effects than Cymbalta does, and I just happened to have a shitload of it in my drug drawer from when I switched off of it to try out Cymbalta.

Now, for the what the fuck?!? part... I went cold turkey off of the pain and sleep medications. Other than the trouble sleeping (it is part of the fibromyalgia) I haven't noticed any withdrawal. Now how many people end up in rehab after becoming addicted to painkillers? How the fuck is it possible for me to have a gazillion alcoholics in my family and the only thing I've managed to be addicted to in my life is smoking (cigarettes - three years next month smoke free!!). And don't think I haven't tried when I was young and dumb and full of ... yeah. I suppose I should feel lucky but really I feel like a druggie failure. DAMN IT ALL TO HELL!! Maybe I'm developing an addiction to parenthesis. (Notice?)

---

One last thing-there is a new icon on the sidebar for NaComLeavMo. The idea is that for a month you visit XX number of blogs on the participating list and leave XX comments, as well as respond to comments left on your blog. The point is to start/increase conversations on your blog, as opposed to the posting in a vacuum thing. It is also a good way to meet and greet other bloggers. Click on the picture for details about the month of commenting. If you don't know Stirrup Queen, she is the Jewish mother to the internet infertility world. Did you know that I have experience keeping a Kosher kitchen? Yes, I am talented. Remember the year I spent as a nanny for my good friend? Yep, she's Jewish and keeps Kosher so I learned the ropes. I rock.

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One last thing. I promise. Today I was out getting my eyebrows ripped off waxed and Chicken and his Little Friend found two dogs roaming the neighbor. By the time I got home they had called the owners and followed the dogs all over tarnation to keep them on the sidewalk and out of the street. I got them to hop in my car to keep them in one place until the owner showed up. She was SO happy to get her puppies back, she had been walking all over the neighborhood and park with a bag of lunch meat calling them (??). My Chicken is following in my footsteps with the saving animals thing. Good Chicken! Good Boy! Sit!

Pr0n

I love me some good porn, and at I Really Should Be Working Thanksgiving Mom is giving away a copy of Porn for New Moms. Speaking of new moms, I am currently in the throes of the two week wait (2ww). For those not in the know, this is the time between baby-making nookie and the expected arrival of the period. Is there something in there? I have no idea. I can tell you that TB and I worked on this project like champions and we'll do it all over again next month if need be. Damn sex!

I have a small request. Let's pretend that you read my blog and you know me (or TB) in real life. Okay? Then let's pretend that I post "OMGWTFBBQ!!!" the instant I pee on a stick and it is positive. THEN let's pretend that I miscarry and post it on here. IF this happens I will likely not talk about it in real life. So DON'T FUCKING BRING IT UP YOU DOUCHE CANOE! It is your responsibility to keep up to date on the blog OR don't read. There is no fucking way I am telling friends that I am pregnant and then calling them all XX number of weeks later to say "Oops! Didn't stick!" Get it? Fabulous. I knew you could do it. Go team uterus!

Return of the Cooter

Some of you may have noticed that I have been out of town (mostly) since Thursday evening. Yes, it was time again for my semi-annual scrapbook retreat on top of ole Smokey. A fitting nickname considering that I was on top of a mountain and most of the way up to 5000 ft there was an abundance of crispy-fried trees from the 2007 fires. I don't know why it upsets me so much to drive by mile after mile of burnt land but I really hate it. The reason I say I was "mostly" out of town is that although I left Thursday night I came home Friday night to get insperminated. Yes, that isn't a word but just roll with it for fuck's sake, okay? One of my scrappin' buddies commented that I was leaving for a "booty call" which is not exactly the way I saw it but whatever. I got me some sperms up in my hoo-ha and that is what matters. Did I mention that I think I am ovulating? So it wasn't just FUN sex it was BABY MAKING sex. And here is where I feel like a total asshole because either I am going to get pregnant and stay pregnant right away and feel like all the internal worrying I do is for nothing OR I'm going to have trouble and feel like an asshole for thinking that sex is going to easily lead to baby making. Because I'm not the proud owner of a vagina if my brain isn't totally fucked up and twisted like that. Whereas TB is saying, "Woot! I deposited my payload and we're going to have a baby." Can you imagine being that um...optimistic? Me neither. But I'm trying. Guess what? Chicken butt! Also, this is the longest fucking paragraph EVER. Sorry! Lastly, I've caught up on my Twitter comment responses but there were more than will show on my blog so if you're REALLY curious/nosy you may click on the OMG Not Twitter! link to see the rest. Okay? See you tomorrow. Byes!

Shit! I forgot something. The book that a few of you recommended, Taking Charge of Your Fertility? Well Anna, preggo Queen of Annaland owns it and offered to let me borrow it! TB picked it up Saturday (I had returned to scrappin') and NOW I HAVE THE POWER.


Or, um, I have the book. YAY!

PS I can't stop watching the Suck My Ass, Touch a Damn Dick video. Just. Can't. Stop. Loving. It.

My Obsession

For a long time I have been a wee bit involved with reading infertility (IF) blogs. My dear husband doesn't understand or approve, but I have my reasons. I think that he viewed it as a way to worry about what could happen when we started trying, but that wasn't it at all. I have lusted for another baby since before Chicken was out of diapers. My baby lust has resulted in a few random things, one of which is the Dude. Chicken was 6 years old and OMFG I wanted a baby and it just wasn't in the cards. So I adopted a cat. Luckily, Dude has allowed me to treat him like my baby, up to and including dressing him up on occasion. Dude is very patient and spends much of him time sleeping on me, sometimes on my head. I love it and it helps take the baby crazies away a little.

Back to IF blogs-reading about women trying to have babies soothed me, because at least they were TRYING. When they succeeded I could silently applaud and when they failed I cried with them. I was vicariously trying to conceive (TTC) through these blogs, and a small bit of me could understand the pain.

My latest obsession has been reading about the adoption triad. For those of you not up on the latest lingo, the triad includes the Adoptive parents, the Birth (or First) parents and the child. I have only posted about my adoption story once, but I am mentally working on the issue. My feelings have changed greatly in the last few years as I have gotten to a place in my life where I can open up the past and poke at it a bit. It is painful, gut-wrenching, and devastating but I am trying to get to the point where I can blog about it.

This is all a long-winded way to explain what has been going on in my head lately, as well as the changes to my sidebar. I've added and moved and deleted links, plus introduced new categories. I am going to continue to fiddle around with my template, and I have a new request from My Brand of Crazy for a purdy blog so my creative juices are a flowing. If I have fucked up your blog link/deleted you/did something else stupid like forgotten you entirely leave me a comment or something.

Annnnnnd... I am thinking about going to the dark(er) side and signing up with Twitter-but for a good cause. You know how I fuss occasionally about replying to comments and such? What if I use Twitter exclusively as a means to reply to you and your comments?

Verbal Diarrhea

Dear Reader(s),

Thanks to your fabulous advice and tasty comments (along with a small helping of brains on my part) I have concocted a master plan which is subject to change without notice. Here's the scoop 'o poop:

1. The soonest appointment I was able to make with an ob/gyn was May 7th. According to my complicated calculations involving my fingers and a little cervical mucus (totally kidding!!) I will be WAY past ovulation by then, making this cycle a bust before I even got to enjoy a round of thoroughly deep dicking. And that sucks.

2. The soonest I was able to make an appointment with MY ob/gyn was the end of May. Which meant that by the time I am able to switch medications allegedly given to me on that day I will be past the fertile time of my NEXT cycle. Please remember (for fuck's sake) that this ob/gyn I have only seen once anyway because I moved from San Diego a year ago. My old one was only good for my annual visit and not much else. I fucking hated her a little bit. Another post. Remind me sometime okay?

3. Certain RAD and AWESOME readers mentioned that I probably would not get the drugs I wanted from an ob/gyn even if I went down on him/her and my best bet would be to visit my regular doctor, which of course I left in San Diego. I really need some new doctors, huh? My San Diego doctor (not pussy doctor, just general practice doctor) was also very highly demanded and getting appointments was a pain in the ass which would lead me back to numbers 1 and 2.

4. I have gone to the local Urgent Care a few times since moving to *redacted* and noticed that there was a "normal" doctor in the same office. Meaning EASY! and CLOSE! and in my network so CHEAP! I couldn't remember the name of the place and couldn't be bothered to attempt to find paperwork to get a phone number so I just drove the 1/2 mile to Urgent Care and made an appointment for Monday afternoon. WOOT!!

5. I have two Rx for my asthma, Albuterol and Qvar. My fibro specialist does not feel comfortable refilling them. Although he'll gladly hand over Rx for vicodin and darvocet like they are yummy for my tummy. I am on the last refill of my Qvar and I will end up in Urgent Care without it. The only solution is to find a regular doctor or a pulmonologist. I try to avoid doctors with specialties. It creeps me out. I'M NOT SPECIAL DAMMIT!!

6. I looked up the medications I really want to keep taking on Safe Fetus (thanks Amanda!) and HOLY FUCK with the extra digits and cleft palate and I just couldn't keep reading any more. Everything there IS scary.

So! I may save this cycle and create a fetus playmate for my knocked up friends. Yay for me. While you are giving me input, I have a specific pregnancy/medication advice request: I want to switch my anti-depressant/anxiety medication to one more baby friendly. I would like to have some information in hand when I go to my appointment on Monday so I can say, "Well my friends inside the computer said..." My current prescription is for 60mg per day of Cymbalta, however I am taking 30mg at this time due to ramping down medications for impending fertilization (please and thank you oh gods of babydom).

The reason for this particular drug is that the fibro pain can be alleviated by the Cymbalta AND I tend to be anxious due in large part to the fibro. Thanks fibro!! I never found the pain relief side to work, however I might have needed to take more than that dosage according to my fibro specialist (one specialist is enough, thank you). Um, where was I? Oh yes. Need drug for anxiety. I have taken: Effexor (FUCK NO!), Celexa (have 3 month supply sitting in drawer), Lexapro, and Wellbutrin (to quit smoking) in the past. The Wellbutrin was horrible - don't give the anxious chick uppers! Any suggestions? Bueller?

Oh My Fucking Fuckity Fuck!

I have been trying for MINUTES!! HOURS!!! DAYS!!! to make a pre-pre-natal appointment. I want to know which medications I can continue to take without creating a three-headed baby. I have already weaned myself off of an assload of medications and reduced the amount of several others. I know that without my asthma medication I will not be able to breathe, but should I stay on Qvar or switch to something more fetus friendly? I figure that this appointment should be relatively easy to make, right? HA HA HA!

Receptionist: What kind of insurance do you have?
Sam: (Uh? Who the fuck cares if you can't answer my question? Are you going to bill me for asking if you are competent? Maybe?) I have BlahBlah which is a PPO. I'd like to make a pre-natal consultation appointment.
Receptionist: How far along are you?
Sam: I'm not pregnant, I'm taking medications and I...
Receptionist: (interrupts) Oh you're infertile!
Sam: No. I'm not infertile. I have a medical condition...
Receptionist: (interrupts) You're high risk!
Sam: NO!@!! I fucking want to talk to a doctor. About medication. To avoid a three-headed baby. BEFORE I get pregnant.
Receptionist: Oh, you want a consultation.
Sam: (OH MY FUCKWAD DIDN'T I JUST SAY THAT!!!) Yes. I want to know which medications I can and cannot take and replace medications that will not work while pregnant.
Receptionist: Well the doctor will not prescribe medication that is not approved for pregnancy.
Sam: (Fucking bloody hell...)

Seriously people. How fucking difficult is this to understand? Really? I know I should have done this BEFORE but I missed my appointment last month due to that whole school/teaching/fucking fuckwit fuckers. Now I cannot get an appointment until May 7th. That is after I called just about every place in town. I'm considering dropping all non-essential medications and stealing TB's sperm in the middle of the night when I ovulate. Anyone want to hold him down while I get the goods?

Cycle Day Uh What?

I was expecting Aunt Flo to visit on Friday, which would make it cycle day (CD) 1. However, she sort of popped by and then left again, returning for a cup of tea on Saturday and then nothing. Finally, today she returned with a vengeance so YAY! But? Was Friday CD 1 or is it today? ARGGH!!! It is totally fucking with my master plan. Now I'm going to have to engage in LOTS MORE intercourse with TB just to be sure. *sigh* Any helpful words of wisdom out there in blogland?

And Another Thing...

I have a lot of things on my mind. Some good, some difficult, none indifferent. I apologize for the recent radio silence, sometimes I need to wrap my mind around things before I blog them for the world to read. There are a few topics that I don't feel ready to address, but they are bouncing around the empty space in my noggin and eventually will come out to play. First off, I have a little "business" to discuss. I am in the (lengthy) process of removing all facial pictures from my blog as well as direct references to the city that I call home. I am student teaching for eight weeks and feel that it is inappropriate for the parents of my kids to see my face AND my naked ass if they should find this blog. I felt I was left with the choice of censoring my blog (fuck no!) or removing my face. And Chicken's face. And Teddy Bear's face, etc.

When I am no longer in the classroom my face will (probably) reappear for your amusement/enjoyment. One might ask, "Well Sam, that is all good and well but what about your tattoos? Those tend to identify a person rather easily!" I'm glad you asked, gentle pretend reader. As you might guess, I do not wear clothing in the classroom that displays my tattoos. I do not talk about my tattoos with students or parents. I think I'm good. If you (not pretend gentle reader) feel that I have forgotten something important, just let me know!

For the good news: Teddy Bear and I are going to try to get pregnant next cycle. You might recall that I put getting knocked up on my New Year's resolution list, however I did not discuss the prospect any further. Teddy Bear and I have been talking about it privately and I did not feel comfortable blabbing about it here before we had reached a decision. Which brings me to another thing...

I have always claimed that I do not let the my readership cause me to censor myself. Uh? Wrong! The baby discussion is a HUGE example of self-censorship. Here is a simple equation for you to ponder:

I am 34 years old.
+
I have been off the pill for 6+ months to allow my body to remember how a "normal" cycle works.
+
I have wanted to give Chicken a sibling for a VERY long time.
+
I am finally in a relationship where I feel comfortable saying, "I want a child with this man."
=
The loudest clanging of any biological clock that has ever clanged.

And yes, I understand that I am not the first or only woman to ever lose her collective shit about wanting a baby. However, I have not felt able to blog about it because I didn't want any real-life readers in TB's camp to give him shit/feel sorry for him/suggest heavy sedation for me. Therefore, I have kept most of the crazies bottled up except on those occasions when ovulation made me especially crazy and I bugged the shit out of TB. The logical side of my knew that I am in the middle of school (which ends December '08) and it would be stupid to have a baby now. But! Logic is irrelevant when one's eggs are screaming: "For fuck's sake FERTILIZE ME!!!"

Through careful calculation I arrived at May for the penis-in-vagina without condom date. If I manage to get preggers in the first two cycles I will be out of the first trimester barf-fest in time for the fall semester to start and deliver well past the last day of school. Because everyone knows all about the best laid plans and blah blah I'm not listening.

This all leads to a gentle warning: I will be blogging about Trying To Conceive (TTC). I will NOT discuss actual acts of conception in mind-boggling detail, however I might say casually that we are "trying" in the next five minutes so DON'T FUCKING CALL ME AND INTERRUPT!!! Also, Chicken and I discussed the whole thing (again not in detail-ew!) and he wants to know when we find out that we're pregnant. He's excited but knows that I've miscarried before so there is a goodly chance of a pregnancy not sticking the first or (insert number) time around.

I hope it works. I hope it "takes" the first time around. I hope we get a healthy baby. *crosses fingers* I can't wait to share the experience with my two favorite people, my Chicken and my Teddy Bear.

Post Script: I know that I'm the only one that pays any attention to my labels, but I have added two new ones. Who Am I? is for any post that I removed pictures due to privacy concerns. Baby should be pretty fucking obvious, but is also a warning to any readers that do not want to hear about baby shit.