Birth Story Part II

The first part of the Birth Story Series is here. Thanks to Essie for reminding me that I had this post to finish up tonight!

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I drove to my doctor’s office, two hours early for my normal 3pm appointment. Of course, my doctor was at his other office and only a front office lady that I didn’t particularly like was there to help me. She gave me the options of waiting for my appointment or head to the hospital which was about a block away. I told her that I was bleeding somewhat heavily and didn’t think a bloody show was supposed to be a bloody fucking period. She shrugged. I almost muttered “useless fucking bitch” under my breath at that point. I looked at Chicken, felt another contraction hit and said, (in my mind) “fuck this shit” and went to the hospital.

On the way to the hospital I called my doula. She was still having childcare difficulties and I wasn’t worried about it yet. My objective was to get reassurance that everything! Was! Okay! and have a damn baby at some point. Preferably with my husband in the room, because he was 100 miles away and afternoon traffic from his jobsite to the hospital was going to be a bitch.

When I got into the hospital, I expected to head right back to labor and delivery. Oh hai! I’m stupid people making you wait in the waiting room with SICK PEOPLE AND CHILDREN. I glared at everyone and tried not to breathe in their January germs. Fucking heathens and all going to the ER for a cough in the middle of the fucking day. Go to the doctors you assholes! Apparently contractions do not leave any room for sympathy. After waiting three hours (or fifteen minutes) I got to discuss paperwork with some lady that wanted to call a clergy person for me. Uh? What? Do preacher-type people usually come hang out in birthing rooms? I declined and signed fourteen pieces of paper which contained ?? I have no fucking clue. Then they wheeled me to Labor and Delivery. It was about fucking time, yo.

They gave me a gown and checked me, my vitals, etc. I was still two! fucking! centimeters! They wanted to monitor me for an hour, and I was totally down with that plan. Except they put down a towel for me to place my lady bits on to keep the blood from getting all over the place. Since I was getting up to pee every ten minutes, what was I supposed to do with myself? Hold something over my crotch as I hobbled to the can? So I put on my handy underwear and a pad, like a normal fucking person. Although they didn’t say anything to me, I felt the unhappy vibes the nurses were giving me. Over fucking underwear. Fuck you stupid whores. I don’t like dripping blood on the floor. It’s gross and my 12 year old is sitting right there next to me.

Speaking of Chicken, we had not made a firm decision about where he would be during the labor/birthing experience. We made a backup plan in case he wanted to leave, and if he wanted to stay it would be fine. If I decided I was uncomfortable with him there, he would leave. Well, he wanted to get the fuck out of there, so my step-MIL came from work to pick him up. My FIL was already here by then, chatting with me to keep me company until TB arrived. Note to self: next time have some sort of plan for getting FIL out of the room during labor.

All I wanted to do was to get down to laboring, but dealing with relatives, a missing doula, a doctor that was running late, a husband that wanted to play on his PSP (at least he made it to the hospital!), and nurses that were convinced that I wasn't actually in labor kind of fucked with my mojo. I couldn't concentrate enough to make changes to the stuff that was bugging me because I kept having painful contractions. Finally my doctor made an entrance.

I talked with my doctor and figured out my options:

A) I could get some meds to make me comfortable, go home and get a good night of sleep and come back tomorrow if I was in labor
B) I could get hooked up to a bunch of shit, get a mild amount of pitocin, get meds to make me comfortable, get a good night's sleep
C) Take oral pain/sleep meds, take liquids by mouth, let my body do what it wanted, get a good night's sleep

"A" freaked me out because I knew I was in labor, I was bleeding more than I thought I should, and the hospital was 35 minutes away from my house in excellent traffic conditions.  I had followed option "B" in my first labor and it sucked. I wanted a natural-ish birth and I wanted to see what my body would do all on it's own. I wanted to be able to get up and walk around, shower, pace, shower, etc at will and not hooked up to an IV. My doctor was on board though he thought that I would end up with pitocin in the morning and pushing out a baby by mid to late afternoon. Whatever. I wanted to take it one step at a time. MY next step was to eat dinner with TB and continue contracting- with no change in my cervix. Stupid cervix. At 10pm I was given oral pain meds and ambien. I posted the most awesome post EVAR and prepared to sleep as much as possible...

Waking Up

On January 19, 2009 I woke up at eleven in the morning, 39 weeks and one day pregnant and I knew that I was in labor. There was no neon sign plastered on the wall blinking, "It's Time!" but I still knew. My contractions, a constant companion for weeks, were regular and four minutes apart. I took a shower and counted three contractions while enjoying the hot water. It was time to figure out how to proceed with this birthing thing.

Chicken was at my in-laws house, I had planned to pick him up, take him to his friend's house, and then go to my OB appointment at three o' clock. I was thinking that I could hang out at Target for a while before my appointment if I had extra time. I knew that I should finish packing my bag and bring it with me, but I was afraid of jinxing the whole affair. I was able to convince myself that bringing some things to do while I waited in the doctor's office was a middle ground that wouldn't guarantee me another week of pregnancy. I brought Thank You cards and a few other things to occupy my time and headed to pick up my boy.

The contractions got stronger as I drove to get Chicken, and I decided to go inside and pee while I was there. I sat down, went pee a bit and felt something go PLOP out of me and into the water. For a second I thought of those women that somehow don't know they are pregnant and sit on the toilet and give birth. I looked down and saw my mucus plug and a bunch of blood. My third full term pregnancy and the first time I had seen this fabled thing. I called out to my sister-in-law and asked her for a pad. She brought one and I attempted to use it. It was the size of a queen bed and as thick as a sturdy piece of paper. No can do. I am a pad snob and this shit wasn't happening. I had Chicken run out to the car and grab me a pad.

You might be wondering why I had a pad in the car. You see, I've read a blog or twelve hundred where the pregnant/newly postpartum woman declares, "I didn't have a single pad in the house" to contain her bleeding, water breaking, peeing her pants, etc. So I was prepared, damn it. Pad properly stowed inside my panties, Chicken and I headed to the car when another contraction hit me. I looked down, way down to where the driveway met the road. Fuck.

TB's father and step-mother live on the top of a small hill. Their driveway is just wide enough to meet the requirements of emergency response vehicles. It is steep and curvy. I was having contractions every three minutes. I got in the car, waited for another contraction and drove as soon as it ended. The contractions weren't bad, but I wasn't taking any chances. Halfway to Chicken's friends house I saw a sign for the freeway. Get on the freeway to head to my doctor (and the hospital) or continue to the friend's house? I worried that Chicken would be stuck with his friend for an extended period of time, and I was all about keeping my anxiety to a minimum. I hopped on the freeway and hoped the traffic into Fallbrook wouldn't suck.

Wait A Fucking Minute

This post has been rattling around my mostly empty brain for months and I just cannot let it disturb my beauty sleep for one more fucking night. My GAWD I just keep thinking and thinking when it isn't even the most interesting or important topic to anyone. Fuck. Then I figure that I am about to irritate all 2.7 of my readers with this crap so I don't write it. Then I go to bed and think about it some more. Therefore, I fucking give up. I am writing this shit and getting it over with right the fuck now.

May I introduce: My Weight, The Slightly Shorter Version But Still Entirely Too Damn Long

I started out my pregnancy with Egg at 135 pounds. By four weeks along, also known as when I missed my period, I weighed 140 pounds. This is REALLY BIG for me, in case you were wondering. I'm 5'4" when I stand up really tall and I am small boned. By 8 weeks into my pregnancy I was back at 135 pounds. At 37 weeks (or so) I was at 147 pounds. I got sick and dropped back down to 145 pounds. The day I went into labor I weighed 145 pounds. (Yes, there is a labor and delivery story in my head bugging me, too. You'll get it. Just be patient.)

So! 145 pound Sam delivers a 7 pound 7 ounce baby plus whatever else comes out of my cooterus during my hospital stay. I come home about 30 hours after delivering Egg and smugly step on the scale because I AM A FUCKING IDIOT. Also? Who lets a one day postpartum woman step on a fucking scale? Stupid fucking idiots, that's who. Wanna guess how much I weighed? Exactly the same. THE SAME. I pushed a 7lb 7oz baby out of my fucking hoo haw and probably a placenta or twelve and I FUCKING WEIGHED THE SAME. What. The. Fuckity. Fuck?! It boggles the tiny little mind I posess to this day.

Now, I understand that medication blah blah IV blah blah bloating etc. but really? The same weight? Not a pound less or more. The same. It kills me. Then I started producing milk like some dairy cow all hopped up on hormones, Egg drinks like a champ and within two weeks I was at 128lbs. The breastfeeding hunger consumed me and my attitude about food changed completely. You see, by the end of my pregnancy I hated food. I looked at fat people and thought, "How the fuck did you get so damn fat? Food is nasty shit and you ate so much you got fat." After two weeks of not being pregnant this attitude had changed and I was starting to wonder how any of us don't weight 650lbs because fuck me food is good shit.

My total hatred of chocolate disappeared within hours of giving birth. I had TB raiding the snack machines at the hospital because I couldn't wait for my first breakfast after popping out Egg at 6am. I was so damn hungry. Today, at five months and change post partum, I'm hanging out at 131 pounds. Still more than I should weigh for my build, but I have massive titties and a baby to feed. I'm still hungry, but it isn't an all-consuming need at this point. Egg now weighs about 17 pounds and as long as he continues to nurse I could give a shit about what I weigh. I'll worry about that when Egg is weaned and I'm not trying to provide calories for two people.

The End

P.S. You do realize the titties from the sunburned post are only that big because I'm nursing Egg, right?

Lickin' Mah Ass

Yesterday I shaved my legs for the second time since Egg was born. Just in case you think that I am neglecting you but accomplishing everything else. Ho ho! I am not. On the up side, I have only missed one shower thus far in new parenthood, if you calculate the necessary amount as one shower per day. I usually prefer more, but I'm not greedy. Much. Do you know how much I missed you? I just paused Private Practice to write this post. I am giving up a chance to watch television without a small person grousing at me just to update you-my bloggy peeps. Le sigh.

Let's start with a fun topic, shall we? Depression!! Wheeee! I'm pretty sure that I was depressed during my pregnancy. If you've been depressed, you know what I'm talking about when I say that looking back I am thinking to myself, "Self-what the fuckity fuck?" It is like looking down into a deep black hole and wondering how the fuck I got in there and very thankful that I got out. The reason that I am thinking this is that life is feeling very fabulous right now. Showers? Great! Food? AWESOME! Life? Fan-fucking-tastic!! Chocolate? I could fucking eat my weight in chocolate within hours of popping Egg out of my cooterus. I cannot believe how much better I am feeling.

How's the fibro? Pretty much wonderful compared to the last few years. I don't know how long this goodness will last but I am going to milk it for all it is fucking worth. I have energy, I am sleeping great (three hours at a time) and my pain is manageble. Go me!

Breastfeeding. Ug. And YAY! And ug. So far the journey looks like this:

• Tired baby leads to poor latch initially
• Leads to cracked and fucked up nipples
• Leads to breast infection in righty
• Prescribed antibiotics
• Leads to yeast in nipples and Egg's mouth
• Leads to OMFG ouch
• Leads to much interaction with vinegar, nystatin, diflucan, etc.
• Kills yeast (knock on wood)

Things are going well on the latch/infection/yeast front at the moment. Yippee! Except! Now I am battling serious oversupply. Here's what oversupply looks like (with a bonus of nursing in public and being judged):

1. Baby grouses due to hunger
2. I put Egg to my breast
3. Egg nurses
4. Milk lets down like a fucking fire hose
5. Egg coughs, sputters, swallows air
6. We are both coated in milk
7. Egg hollers because he is drownding in milk
8. Egg hollers because he is still hungry
9. Egg hollers because he needs to burp up the air he swallowed and he HATES it
10. My milk stops flowing finally
11. I'm sad
12. Egg is crying
13. People are thinking, "WTF is she doing with her titty to that baby?"
14. I feel like a failure and want to hide under my bed
15. Egg is pissed and hates the titty

I've done some research and we are working on the oversupply issue. I'm nursing on one side for 6-8 hours at a time to tell my body to STOP FUCKING MAKING SO MUCH DAMN MILK ALREADY. At home I nurse on my side in bed whenever possible. I pull Egg off during the initial let down to keep him from being overwhelmed. We're working on it. But FUCK ME I really want this nursing thing to be easier. Please?

On the funny (in my mind) side, one of my mother's friends made a comment to me about nursing the other day. "If you keep nursing you'll lose all the baby weight!" Um...yeah. I already lost all the baby weight. Any other real or imagined extra weight is all mine. Thanks, though.

Last but not least, we took care of the excess cock situation. TB posted an ad on Craig's List and a lady responded. She had two egg-laying hens that she was willing to trade for Peck and George. She is going to breed Peck to some Wyandotte hens that she already owns. George is going to be the main man for her mixed breed hens-he gets to use his cock, too! I don't have pictures of the new hens yet, but they do have names: Oreo and Maynard. Oreo named for her black, white, black coloring and Maynard after the lead singer of Tool. Chicken named them both, and I am very amused.

I have learned something valuable about chickens: roosters crow and hens lay eggs! Amazing, huh? Oreo and Maynard are teaching Beck about making nests and laying eggs, all the womanly arts of henhood. The three are getting along famously although the new girls ignored Beck initially. Beck walked into the house a few days ago like she lived here, and then when TB noticed her she hopped up onto the bar. What the fuck, chicken?

So, that's all the energy I have right now. I am reading a few posts a day, but I usually don't have two hands to type comments. I'm around, I'll be here and there and will post more often as Egg allows. Take care of yourselves!

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.

I Big Fluffy Heart Drugs

I've been given my night meds in an attempt to allow me to sleep through the night. I received fentanyl and demerol for pain, and ambien for sleep. The fentanyl and demerol were delivered via a needle in the meat of my ass cheek. I barely even registered the pain on that one. I am now totally high but lovin' it to pieces. Drugs are my BFF. My goal is to chill all night, snore like a fucking goat, and be ready to rock n roll in the AM. Does this post make any more sense to you than it does to me? Probably not. I'll be reporting in the morning unless something FUN and EXCITING happens, then you'll hear from The Diva of the Redneck. Or me because I'm having fun being loaded and want to share it will all of my peeps.

Did I mention that I LOVE being high? Is so awesome. You must try it sometime. AND!! I am seriously overjoyed that I brought pads to the hospital because I am rockin' my very own undies with my very own favorite pads. WIN.

I am loving my husband very much, and actually the whole wide world right now. You peeps make my high heart happy. I'll check in later if there are any changes or if I'm feeling lucid enough to type. Right now I am having some serious issues typing and getting correct words and shit to come out. GAH! Kids-don't do drugs. They are wasted on you. I want them all for ME ME ME.

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?

Grumble

Still knocked up.

Doctor's appointment at 3:45pm today.

Will update later.

How To Tell...

...when you are really, really pregnant. Aside from the obvious discomfort of a fetus attempting to sit on your right breast from the cozy location of your uterus. I swear that kid is going to succeed one day if I don't push him out into the world. Back to my point. I am sitting on the couch (I know! Out of bed! WOW!) and I notice a dirty napkin on a tv tray in the living room. The napkin looks like someone wearing lipstick was using it. I think the last time I wore lipstick was January 3rd, for my baby shower. So, the napkin doesn't belong to me. I see two options:

1. The napkin belongs to a female that is NOT me.
2. The napkin has juice or something else on it that is not lipstick.

Which brings me back to "How To Tell When You are Really, Really Pregnant" because I am just not getting off my ass and walking the additional five feet to inspect the napkin. I am too fucking apathetic to care.

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.

38 Weeks

Still pregnant. Still sick. Tired of contractions. Update on Egg's blog. If you comment over there, be sure NOT to mention any other blogs (like this one?) or I can't publish your comment. My family does not know about Sam's Stories and I like it that way.

In other business, I got carded at the grocery store the other day. TB was purchasing some alcohol and she asked to see my ID. HA HA HA. That was awesome.

The anniversary of my dad's death was yesterday. It has been three years. What the fuck, Dad? I miss you.

I'm going back to bed.

Baby Stuff And Douche Canoes

I suppose at this point it is obvious to even me that I am going to have a baby here in a few weeks. After waiting a decade for this event it hasn't seemed real and I have just finally started to buy things for Egg. As things arrive I've been looking at them and wondering when it all will just go POOF! into the night. Luckily I have a few good friends that have handed things down to me (like clothes, a swing, a bouncy seat, a car seat), because otherwise this kid would be naked and bored. Although I suppose there are worse things to endure than naked boredom. Like being fucking sick and hugely pregnant.

That's right, my peeps. I have a fucking cold. I blame it on myself for thinking poorly of those bloggers that have in recently been felled by one foul illness or another. You see, although I have fibro, fucked off allergies, and asthma I rarely get sick now that I don't smoke. So when I read about this blogger or that getting sick for the five thousandth time I think, "What the fuck sicky sick person?" I used to get bronchitis at least once a year and occasionally throw in pneumonia for good measure. I spent the winter months hacking my lungs up every year. Stupid fucking smoker. But now, I don't get sick very often. I FEEL sick because the fibro likes to imitate the flu, with body aches, fatigue and general but I'm not ACTUALLY sick. But now I am. Actually sick that is. And I don't like it one bit. Chicken is here, Egg is almost here, and I have shit to do, yo.

Which brings me to the purpose of this post. I think. Maybe. Or not. I'd like to talk about parenting decisions that one makes before bringing a baby into the world because I sometimes forget that you all don't live in my head. I must actually communicate through the written word my craziness or you miss out and shit. So! Let's talk about stuff Sam is planning on doing after Egg comes into the world:

I am NOT circumsizing Egg. Dear Lord please do not chop off foreskins just because other people do it. Come on now. Back away from the penis. If your son wants to be circumsized he can do it when he grows up and makes the decision for himself. If you are curious to learn more about the decision, I recommend going here and taking a look at Monkey's collection of links. By the way, Chicken is not circumsized. If you have any questions about the topic, let me know.

I am using cloth diapers. I purchased them here as recommended by several friends and I can't wait to start using cloth. I want to use cloth for both environmental and health reasons. Fewer chemicals on Egg and fewer chemicals in the landfills seem like a WIN-WIN choice to me. I will be washing them myself in my super awesome new HE washer.

If my boobs cooperate I will be exclusively breastfeeding. When Chicken was an infant I could have fed him and the rest of the local population easily. The porker gained TWO FUCKING POUNDS between birth and his two week checkup. Yes, that is the appointment where they want to see the baby back at their birth weight. Not Chicken. He weighed 9 1/2 lbs at his first doctor appointment. My nipples were cracked and bloody for those first two weeks but dammit the kid wasn't going hungry. How long will I breastfeed? I have no clue. As long as it works for me and Egg I suppose. I'd like to go a full year and figure it out from there I suppose.

On the weight front, I'm up to 11-12 pounds gained. Food still sucks and I'm still drinking Ensure to keep up my caloric intake. I can't wait until food sounds yummy again. By the time Egg arrives I'm not going to have any body fat left. Which would be nice except for the whole breastfeeding thing which I think requires a bit of fat storage, right? Teddy Bear says that I look like an orange with straws sticking out for arms and legs. Thanks, honey. I'm really feeling the sexy now.

As far as the douche canoe goes, try visiting this link for more information. I'd go with definitions numbered 1 and 3 myself, however number 10 which says it is "a piece of feces, frozen then used as a dildo" is pretty awesome. I've never even THOUGHT of freezing shit and then using it in that manner. Obviously I am much too conservative and I need to work on dirtying myself up. One douche canoe at a time.

Fucking Douche Canoe

I went to the doctor today: No change whatsoever. Fucking over competent cervix. I haven't talked much about birthin' previous babies, but this is fairly typical for me. Chicken was induced. He came eleven damn days late. Labor was 15 hours with a shit-ton of pitocin. My first son was three days late, my water broke and then nothing so I was induced. Labor was 25 hours, ended with sky high blood pressure (mine), floundering heart rate (baby), and then an episiotomy from hell and a forceps delivery to avoid an emergency C-section. My pussy hurts just thinking about it. My cervix does not like to dilate. It is a prim flower of modesty.

I would give a more flowery birth story but right now I'm thinking that I will be pregnant forEVER. And I'm fucking tired and cranky and I want to see my kid, dammit. Also? Chicken talks more than any human being on the face of the earth. He talked to me for nine hours straight today. My brain hurts. Send reinforcements.

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.

One of Sam's Friendly Letters

Dear Uterus,

You're doing a great job thus far! You are keeping Egg cozy and warm and for that I am appreciative. I assume he is well-nourished as well as provided ample space for kicking and shoving. I know you take a lot of abuse from him, especially during his active times of the day and night.

Normally, I would call this a job well done and leave it at that. However, I have a small issue that I'd like to address with you. Maybe we can come to some sort of agreement just between the two of us? How about this: I will try my hardest to avoid having a doctor cut into you in order to remove Egg from your grasp. You, in turn, will SHUT THE FUCK UP UNTIL I'M IN REAL, ACTIVE LABOR YOU STUPID WHORE. Because really, who wants to have contractions on and off ALL FUCKING DAY LONG, HUH? NOT FUCKING ME. I am over this shit. Either dilate my cervix all the way and let me push Egg out or chill the fuck out. Okay?

It's not that I don't like you. It's more like you are fucking annoying and it is hard to have a decent conversation with my husband when I am paying attention to the rock that my abdomen has briefly become. It's a little bit uncomfortable and I'm sure Egg is tired of having his poor nads squeezed half to death. Stop it. Also, I'm not ready to give birth yet. Tomorrow I am packing my bag and fixing my hair, but tonight? Not so much with the hair or even clean underwear (beyond the pair I am wearing). So fuck off. Give me a little more time to prepare for this shit.

Also? My baby shower is going to be on Saturday. And Chicken is flying into town on that day, too. I'd like to attend both events with my cooterus intact, thank you very much. No swollen labia, new baby, and bloody cooterus for this weekend. How about Monday? Monday is good for me.

Love,

Sam

Sidenote: TB says that currently my nipples remind him of Whoppers Malted Milk Balls but without the chocolate coating. I have no fucking clue what that means.

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?

Half-Nekkid Oh Baby!

33 weeks and 4 days into this crazy journey and what I wonder the most is why Teddy Bear didn't tell me that I was smooshing the shit out of my boob in every shot. For the mathematically challenged, I am 7 1/2 months along. I can't fucking believe it. I've gained 11 pounds thus far, and I'm fairly sure that 10.5 pounds of that is directly in front of me. Holy fuck how big is my belly going to get?

Merry Christmas

Chicken hasn't been to Virginia to visit his father, step-mom, step-sisters (12ish &14ish), and half-sister (4ish) since the summer of 2007. That was the summer that I decided I was no longer going to hold H1's hand and make all the arrangements every time Chicken visited. The visit involved lots of crying phone calls (Chicken calling me, not me calling him crying) and I was just fucking over all of it. I figured that if he wanted to see his kid, he could damn well figure out his schedule and buy a fucking plane ticket. Remember how H1 told Chicken that he had a half brother that I gave up for adoption that visit? Yeah. Good times I say.

As a result, this Friday will be the first time Chicken has flow back to Virginia in a year and a half. I'm still stunned that his father got his shit together and managed to buy a ticket for less then eleventy thousand dollars. He bought it YESTERDAY. Chicken will be in Virginia until January 3rd. What does this mean to me? Well, I'm going to throw a big fucking party that will consist of me sleeping in the morning, fucking off in the afternoon, and taking liberal naps whenever I fucking feel like it. I'm going to miss my kid, but fuck me if I don't need a break from all the TALKING. Talk talk talk talk OMG KID STOP TALKING.

The other side effect of Chicken leaving for VA this week is that it effectively cancels Christmas here in Sam's abode. Yippee! For many years, the holidays have been more about which parents/in-laws are going to be pissed because we can't spend the amount of time with them that they desire than anything else. For me, Christmas currently equals stress, traffic, stupid Christmas music, not enough money to buy everyone presents, and not much fun. The only good part is celebrating with Chicken. Now that he is 12, there isn't the joy of Santa Claus and the wonder of decorations and blah blah blah. So it isn't as much fun as it used to be, and without Chicken here I just try to ignore all of it.

This year, I plan on blaming it all on being pregnant. "Oops, sorry! Too preggo to do XYZ!" Since December 20th marks 8 months for me, I feel fairly certain that I can get away with this strategy. No one wants to fuck with someone THAT pregnant, right? Next year, Egg will be almost 1 and I'm sure I'll be excited to share in some of the simpler wonders of the season with him. This year? Fuck it. Don't bother me.

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!"

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.

Chicken's Party

Dude. I am totally knocked up, huh? More to come...

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.

Is Being A Moron Genetic?

I don't like to bash my husband, because he is a kind and loving man. That being said, am I about to (in two months or so) give birth to a fucking moron? Because Teddy Bear just brought up spending the day at the race track next month, when I will be just about 8 months pregnant. This will entail a 3+ hour drive each way, and then hours in between spent in a SPEEDING FUCKING CAR ON A RACE TRACK. He was concerned about my hips being too uncomfortable to sit in a car all day. Here is where I say: "ARE YOU FUCKING SERIOUS??!!"

Please tell me, am I being pregnant and fussy or is he out of his fucking mind? If it is the latter option, how about leaving comments that I can use to explain to him the TOTAL FUCKING INSANITY that he is contemplating. He doesn't see how it is any different than having a child in the car while on the track. To which I say: "OMFG no KIDS IN THE CAR AT THE RACETRACK!!!" I need a drink. Or twelve. Deep breaths, Sam. Deep breaths.

Update: TB found this onesie at ThinkGeek. Awwwww...how cute. I'll keep him. For now.

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.

Chicken Update And FAIL

Monkey and SisB bugged me on Twitter about the chickens, so I took a few pictures and now you all are subject to my chicken insanity.
Here are the three stooges perched on the edge of their baby chicken coop. Most of the day they are tucked safely inside, however we let them perch up here and discuss politics for part of the day.

Pecker, AKA Peck is obsessed with the freckle on the back of my right hand. That fucker pecks it every time I put my hand near him. He also loves to eat crickets.

George is the largest by size but the least developed in the adult feather area. I loves him. He is sooo cute. I really hope he is a she.

Beck has amazing feathers already! I believe the extra energy she saves by being pathologically stupid she has channeled into feather growth.


This is the baby coop. It gets cleaned out every day but OMFG can chickens shit up a shit-storm. Eventually this will be turned on its side and become the egg-laying area with three nests for the chickens if they all turn out to have va-jay-jays. *crosses fingers* The coop has a heat light that we are currently using only at night but originally was on 24/7 to keep them warm. Chickens in the "wild" would stay with their mommies for 6-8 weeks. The coop will stay in my laundry room until the chickens are big enough to live in their big girl coop in the backyard. No, we haven't built the big coop yet. My laundry room has a door on it to keep curious cats from midnight snacking.

Ever seen a chicken's comb as it grows in on their heads? Me either. It's very cute.

Beck is totally unaware that fear and danger lurk behind her. Reina is afraid of the chickens and yet is biologically programmed to want them in her mouth. The fear is currently winning out, and fairly soon they will be big enough to chase her around the house and yard. The chickens are curious but completely unafraid. How do chickens show curiousity? By pecking at things. Reina does not appreciate this at all. It cracks me up. I am easily amused.

Look at how big my George is already. Remember a few weeks ago when I could hold him inside one hand? They grow up so fast.

Have you ever heard about grain-fed free range chickens? How they only eat wholesome grains and get to run around outside all day? I call total bullshit because chickens? Are NOT vegetarians. Those fuckers will eat a bug so fast your fucking head will spin. We are giving them crickets as treats and they run and trample each other for joy of munching down on crunchy goodness. Except for Beck. She will watch Peck and George run and catch and eat the crickets while she scratches her head and attempts to figure out what the fuck is going on with her sisters. We have to hold the other two, give her a cricket and wait patiently until she manages to eat it. She would starve in the great outdoors but we love her anyway.

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Wondering about the FAIL in the title? I sort of failed my gestational diabetes glucose test. The cut-off in my doctor's office is 140 and I scored 146. I almost cried when he told me today. Fuuuuuck. More on that later when I feel less sorry for myself.

I Suck And I Don't Even Finish You Off

Have you ever been in a relationship where you know the guy/gal is an asshole/cuntface but you hang in there because you think you might be overreacting/PMSing/etc until one day your best friend says, "Friend, your other half is an asshole cuntface and you need to get the fuck outta there." All of a sudden it hits you that AssholeCuntface is truly a crappy person and even though you KNEW this all along it still stings a bit? That is where I am right now. Except instead of AssholeCuntface I have The Body of Lameness.

I went to my chiropractor last week for the usual massage/adjustment, hobbling in and hobbling out. I don't tend to bitch to my Chiro unless he asks in his subtle way: "WTF happened to you?!" although it is always kind and humorous and with out the word FUCK because he is LDS (Mormon) all the way, yo. This time he asks me how I am doing and I laughed and said that TB was talking about the NEXT baby and I was laughing ho ho ha ha and Dr. Chiro says, "Um, you might want to give your body a rest. If you want another baby I'd look into adoption." This coming from someone that knows my body and is totally pro-baby was like the best friend saying, "Leave AssholeCuntface NOWS."

I know that my body is fuct. I know that every step (literally) hurts. But to have someone say to me "don't do this again" hurts and I'm still reeling from it. When the fibromyalgia hit in 2000 and continued to kick my ass year after year one thing I clung to was my reproductive system. Sure, I wasn't actually using it or anything but SOME DAY! I would carry a baby and it would be grand. My two previous pregnancies were easy and delightful. This one? Not so much. The baby that I've wanted for ten years is hanging out in my cooterus and I am in so much pain. I hate this. I hate that my body is so fucking lame. I am holding onto the fact that in three months I will have a baby. It is the only thing that helps me hobble out of bed in the morning.

Preggo My Eggo

Yes, I am going to bitch. Live with it and I shall reward you at the end with a picture from the pumpkin patch yesterday.

Yesterday I hit a new milestone: The Dreaded and yet Highly Anticipated Third Trimester. According to one website, the honeymoon phase of my pregnancy is over. To which I reply: HA HA HA HA HA and FUCK YOU. This shit sucks and I am so glad that I have waited a decade for this pregnancy. Otherwise I'd be royally pissed off at myself and TB for his part in the whole mess. The Egg is doing splendidly, and technically my health is peachy-keen. I do object, however, to the never-ending fucked-up pain in my hips that requires me to ride the electric carts at retail shops many days because fuck me if I'm going to walk around Home Depot or Lowes for an hour or ten minutes. The rash on my face that arrived at month two or three? Still grimly hanging on and ugly as voting Yes on Prop. 8.

My appetite still sucks donkey balls and prevents me from enjoying things like chocolate and caffeine free Coke. I'm on the cusp of gaining a whopping total of TEN pounds, people. WHAT THE FUCK?! Anyone remember how I gained 13 pounds in October of 2006 simply by eating wheat? And now I'm just a tad over 6 months months pregnant and I have yet to hit the ten pound mark. I would LOVE to sit and eat like a fucking goat but NO the body says. (And I just ended a week and a half of wheat binging in a futile attempt to gain more weight. Guess what? I just feel like MOAR SHIT.) You know what else the body says? Let's see how much fun hypersensitive skin can be!! YAY! When I touch things (like my CAT or GRASS or AIR) I itch and if I don't wash it immediately I end up with little bitty itchy as FUCKALL rashy bumpies on me. Thanks skin! Because the disfiguring facial rash isn't enough, right? SIGH.

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Since Corinna punched me, I have to do this damn meme thing. Plus! I have a website to tell you about. And an awesome Etsy site or two. Later today or tomorrow, I promise. And no, these aren't sites that paid me or give me free shit. Just things I think you ought to know about because I care or some shit. And because I totally care about my readers, I shall leave you with the number one sign that you are too fucking old to ride in a wheelbarrow at the pumpkin patch:

Teddy Bear runs him around the patch at top speed while he screams with joy. It's my favorite part of fall.

Half Nekkid Six Months

My name is Sam and I think I swallowed watermelon.For more half-nekkidness, visit the King Of Nekkid, Osbasso.

Vote No on Proposition 8

Today I am six months pregnant. Do you know what is more important than that? Voting NO on proposition 8 if you live in California. Because everyone deserves to get married. If you can't vote, give.

Image from Looky Daddy.

Half-Nekkid 22 Weeks

I haven't done a proper Half-Nekkid Thursday celebration in a very long time. I needed something to keep my mind off of escrow woes and housing irritations. Don't worry, I'm not leaving this blog! This picture was taken at 22 weeks and 3 days gestation. For those of you are that are mathtards, that is just a hair over 5 months knocked-upedness. Yes, I am making up words as I go tonight. Thus far I have gained 7 pounds and I'm in a hot contest to gain 5 more before Teddy Bear can lose 5 more. For more sexy, odd, and mundane half-nekkidness, visit Osbasso, the King of Nekkid.

Boobage

After I posted a letter to Lefty, there was instant cooperation for about a week. Then she began again, with renewed vigor. Monkey told me that wearing a sports bra might help and holy fuck it worked. The only flaw in the plan is that when in the wee hours of the morning you get tired of wearing a damn bra and throw it to the floor it is less effective. The sports bra has to actually be worn on the body and not just in the general vicinity of the boobage to curb leaking.

This morning I got up and Lefty felt a bit damp. I pulled back the covers and took a peak. Sure enough, a great big drop of milkishness was sitting there just daring me to move. Until this point I had yet to see any leakage directly from the source. Lefty preferred to leak on the sly, dampening shirts and sheets but never getting caught in the act. I stared in amazement and then the drop rolled onto the Great White Expanse that is my breast, immediately followed by another drop appearing on the horizon. Panicking (what? I just woke up from not very many hours of craptastic sleep!) I asked Teddy Bear to get me something to staunch the flow.

He returned with tissue, dried off my breast and then put the tissue over my nipple with thumb and forefinger as if he was blowing a nose. He looked at me expectantly until I made the appropriate nose-blowing sound and then he was satisfied. If it helps the visualization of me blowing my nipple, I have provided this picture (NOT my nipple) to illustrate the fact that my nipple was in fact erect at the time. I am sure this lent itself to the nipple-blowing process.

Now I have a dumb question: What, exactly is Lefty leaking? Would it be considered colostrum or milk or something else entirely? Maybe unleaded gas? Because that would rock.

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

Gmail Chat on Mortgages

TB: countrywide is 6.375% for the same FHA loan

Sam: nice

TB: plus they throw in $500 into the mix

Sam: for hookers and blow?

TB: for something

Sam: I WANT HOOKERS AND BLOW DAMMIT

BABY NEEDS LOVIN

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

Some Serious Shit

Some of my dear readers have wondered what the fuck is wrong with my ass. Although I have posted all about killing bathrooms hither and yon, I don't believe I have explained the issue satisfactorily. I have battled poop for longer than I can remember. When I was six months old I attempted to take a poop and wound up with twin scars from a double hernia. The post that explains the situation in a little more detail (with pictures!) is here. No, my belly does not look like that anymore, and hasn't for a few years. That is what I looked like at 115-120 lbs.

I believe I suffer from Irritable Bowel Syndrome (IBS). I spoke with my doctor about it at one point maybe six or seven years ago and he slapped the diagnosis on me along with a hearty, "Sorry, can't do anything for you." At the time, there were medications for IBS sufferers on either end of the spectrum, the chronic constipation and the chronic diarrhea. In my case they had nothing. What was wrong with my bowels, you ask? I get constipated until at some point my body says, "Fuck this shit!" and I have massive diarrhea. Occasionally the cramps that accompany the diarrhea are so bad that I start throwing up, likely a combination of pain and my body being so fed up with the pollution that any usable exit is utilized.

My symptons have been mostly under control for the past five years with my gluten-free diet. The magnesium that I have been taking has combatted the effects of medication that make a normal person constipated and I have been fairly happy with my ass. I expected that going off all the medication and getting pregnant would mean a reduction in the amount of magnesium needed and happier bowels all around. Nope. I had conveniently forgotten that the most horrific bowel issues in my life (excepting the double hernia incident) have been while pregnant.

The cycle length of "no poop- OMG poop!" has been helped by the magnesium, however I am still struggling. At this point it looks like the cycle is lasting about a week. Just about the time where I am thinking, "I haven't been shitting enough lately" I am starting to notice an unpleasant feeling in my bowels and then running to the bathroom for an extended visit. I am afraid of taking too much magnesium and spending every day in the bathroom, so at this point it is a trial and error clusterfuck of guesswork.

Why am I writing about my ass in lurid detail? Two reasons:

1. Someone might read this and say, "Hey! That sounds like my ass! Maybe I shall seek help/eliminate an allergen from my diet/cry a little for our twin bowel issues."

2. Someone might read this and say. "Hey! That sounds like XYZ and I have THE CURE. You should do ABC and you will have a happy ass forevermore."

Because, at the end of the day, no one wants their life to be ruled by an asshole.

Gmail Chat

Teddy Bear and I are currently working on our respective weights. I'm trying to gain a decent amount of weight and he is trying to lose some weight. In case you were wondering, I am 5'4" and small boned, TB is 6'3" and big boned with more muscle than a video game playing computer geek should rightly possess. This post isn't so much about weight as it is the funny little man that I married.

Sam: this mornings weight: 137.2

Teddy Bear: i weighed 157.8 this mornin

Sam: awesome
you = right direction
...
um, honey
did you remove a leg this morning?
or both legs?

Teddy Bear: hehe
257.8 then
whoops

Sam: yeah

Teddy Bear: had teh penis on the counter ;)

Sam: LMAO

Inappropriate and Involving Poop (Again!)

Alternate title: What happens when Sam attempts to be sensitive regarding IVF.

Today Chicken and I went to the local mall to acquire a new prescription and pair of glasses for me. I had an appointment time of 12:20pm, I was there the requested ten minutes early and everything was going to be just fine. As I wandered through Lenscrafters I started to feel a little weird, nothing specific but just a little not good. I made it through the paperwork section of the appointment and began the technician lead initial eye tests when my stomach decided to let me know that a bathroom was required. I waited, started to sweat and cramp and then pocketed my pride. I asked to use the bathroom, citing unhappy pregnancy tummy. In other words, I totally fucking lied.

The bathroom was an employee only room, and the technician waited OUTSIDE the door for me. My stomach rolled and rebelled but did not cooperate. I gave up, told her that I needed to reschedule and thought that I might make it to the public restrooms where I could crap anonymously. Uh, not so much. I had to request the restroom a second time and although I met with more success I am slightly embarrassed with the manner in which the paint fucking peeled off the walls as I shit my ever-loving brains out. After five (or six) flushes I opened the door and realized that I was standing in the break room where an employee was just sitting down to lunch less than ten feet away from the scene of the crime. Oops.

I rescheduled my appointment and fled to the bathrooms of JC Penneys, where I spent much time trapped on the toilet texting poor Chicken. Apparently he was warning innocents as they approached the bathroom, but to no avail. I cannot count how many people decided to park themselves in the stalls on either side of me, but if you were one of those poor people I offer my condolences.

Time passed, as it is wont to do, and Chicken and I eventually ate lunch and returned to the scene of the original crime. This is where I proved that I not only kill bathrooms with reckless disregard for lunch time or human life, but say the most ridiculous things. I am still a bit embarrassed to talk about being pregnant in front of strangers, but it is relevant at an eye exam so I mustered up the courage. When the technician asked if I had a recent physical I indicated that I had, and mumbled something about getting pregnant. She asked, "Oh, did you do IVF?" and then my brain came to a full stop.

I stammered out a "no" but I was not content there, no sir. I attempted to explain that we had not utilized any sort of medical help/intervention/etc. but it just wouldn't come out properly. I was worried about saying that we did it "naturally" because I didn't want to offend or imply that anything was unnatural. I blurted out "we did the whole penis in vagina thing" and then wished for instant death.

The technician looked at poor Chicken sitting there and my boy did not bat an eye. Go Chicken! Then she muttered something about him already having sex education to which I heartily agreed and then we went on with the exam. Five minutes later I exclaimed, "Gee I suppose I could have said that we did it the old-fashioned way and it would have been a bit more appropriate." The technician seemed to agree.

Later, much later, I realized that maybe asking if we used IVF wasn't a little more information than was necessary and likely none of her business. I suppose that my "penis in vagina" comment may have helped her along the path of minding her own fucking business. In the mean time I amused and embarrassed myself all at the same time.

Notes From Sam

Two things I need to tell you all. One, there is a contest going on at Problem Girl. The prize is a gift card for a maternity store. If you're not interested in the gift card you can always ebay or use it to pick locks. To enter you need to leave a comment telling about a really shitty gift that you received. The comments are awesome. Especially mine. I need to win or I will be naked soon. In case you need a bad gift story to help you get into the groove, there is one posted here. This post also talks about baby stuff-you've been duly warned. If that doesn't bother you I really recommend you read it.

The other item of business is that I am finally going on vacation. I forgot to blog about it, but Chicken has been on a houseboat since Saturday with Teddy Bear's dad, step-mom, and sister. We were supposed to go as well, but as it is located seven hours north the air quality was too shitty for me to safely be there. Yay for fucked-off lungs! (There were 1400 fires in central/northern California at the time.) Now the air in the area is comparable to San Diego so off we go for a few days. While we are in the area we will be visiting Teddy Bear's mother to tell her about the bun in the oven. Wish me luck.

Lastly, there is a chance that drama will erupt in the general area of this blog. I haven't decided whether to talk about it at this point. I'd prefer to keep it out of the blogosphere but I don't have control over what other people chose to do.

Pretty Is As Pretty Does

Today I injured myself while I was trying to pick my underwear out of my ass. In the crazy twisting of putting my arm behind my back and down toward my ass crack I pulled the muscles in my lower abdomen. For a moment, as I walked to the door of a neighbor's house I was doubled over in pain. From trying to pick a wedgie.

Some of you will realize that it was simply a matter of all the muscles in my pelvic region being all loosey goosey from the pregnancy. In a matter of seconds the pain was gone, but the embarrassment of seeing my neighbor and saying, "Hi. I just hurt myself picking my ass," will live on for minutes. Maybe even hours. You might be tempted to say, "But Sam there was no reason to tell your neighbor." But NAY! I am the Queen of Overshare.

In other exciting How Can I Stand Being This Cool news, I just got back from the grocery store where I purchased regular sized marshmallows for no particular reason. Other than the fact that my hormones screamed for them and I almost ripped the bag open in the store and stuffed them into my face. I am not an eating in the grocery store as I shop kind of girl.

Speaking of the type of girl I am, I was thinking lately that most of you only know the blog side of me. There are things that I don't think to talk most of the time because I'm too busy taking pictures of Dude to post for your consumption. (More Dude coming soon, including the flag I made for his tail and his shameful eating disorder!) Anyway, today I realized that I haven't worn makeup much lately. When I say "much" I mean "not at all" except for things like weddings and fancy TB work dinners. I've never worn makeup every day, and sometimes I look around me and think, "Self, there are people that dedicate time EVERY DAY to the application of makeup." And I just don't giving a flying fucking pig about it.

My mother has an hour long routine every morning involving moisturizing, shaving, plucking, powdering, and various other girly things not necessarily in that order. She does NOT just get up and leave the house. Ever. Now maybe I'm a total slacker but I like being able to say, "Well I just woke up but I can be out the door in five minutes." It is not like I don't brush my teeth or shower every day. I just want to spend my time on this planet living as opposed to primping. The fibro has only exacerbated this, because who wants to use up the day's supply of energy getting ready only to be too tired to leave the house? Exactly.

Speaking of my mother, something interesting happened today. My mother's youngest sister called me and congratulated me on my pregnancy. She was EXCITED. I did not see that coming at all. I mentioned to her that my mother did not see especially thrilled that I was pregnant, she laughed and we talked for a bit. Apparently my mother called up and said, "I have some news," in the tone of voice reserved for death, disease, and divorce. My aunt braced herself for the worst when my mother exclaimed, "My daughter is PREGNANT!!" Imagine, if you will, a pissed off mother talking about her stupid child winding up in jail. AGAIN. That's the message that was conveyed.

However, my aunt called me and did the OMGWTFBBQ!!!! YAY A BABY!!! and I was very happy. She even said, "Pretend I'm your mother," and then said it again for me. We talked a little about the crazy that is my mom, and she mentioned that when she told my mother that she was getting remarried my mother said something rude and hung up on her. I recommended that she break "good" news to my mother in the future with my godmother in attendance. She laughed and it was good. I don't trust this aunt completely because HELLO!? I'm related to her and we have some special history but it was very nice to hear someone be happy for me. YAY ME!! And to Jen who kindly offered to be excited every day for me, THANK YOU. You rock.

Well Shit

Severe lack of sleep plus reducing my Celexa from 40mg per day to 10mg every other day equals fussy and needing to vent Sam. I'm exhausted and frustrated but it is getting better and I am mostly keeping a positive outlook. Please allow me to let off steam without judging too harshly. I would most likely be much happier back on a full dosage of Celexa but I am trying to wean off of it for the health of my unborn child. If my anxiety and depression is too much to function as a person I will increase the medication to a dosage where the cost/benefit analysis makes sense. So bear with me please, I am struggling.

I told my mother today that I am pregnant, and boy was I ever glad that my godmother was there to curb her reaction. My mother's face contorted into the most amazing configurations while she struggled with her reaction to the news. She brought up a few points for me to think about, being that I just woke up one day and realized that SEX CAN MAKE BABIES and ZOMG I'm knocked up and I didn't think about it at all ahead of time. She is concerned about my housing situation and school.

I guess the fact that I just told her that we were purchasing a larger house this year fell out of her brain, so I gently reminded her that we are buying a house this year. Hey! Guess what? We are buying a house this year! Currently we live in a two-bedroom house, and even if we stayed here for a few months after the baby is born it is not as if the baby would sleep in its own room at that point.

As far as the school situation, my mother knows that I barely finished this past semester due to the fibromyalgia and have already seriously considered not returning in the fall for multiple reasons. One of those reasons is that I might home school Chicken for the next two years. I know that I am not physically able to teach full-time at this point, and may never be healthy enough to do so. In addition, I am not going to work full-time with an infant/small child at home. I would not be having another child if our financial situation dictated that I work full-time. Does this mean that we budget like motherfuckers? Hell yeah. Does this mean that my disposable income is really tiny? Yeah. But it is worth it to stay at home and take care of my family.

Speaking of family, after I got home today I realized that I have no more family to tell about my pregnancy. My mother will tell her siblings and they will tell their children but that's about it, folks. No ZOMGWTFBBQ I'm pregnant calls to my family. No OMG CONGRATS WOOT YAY A BABY!! I miss my dad. I miss my Celexa. It does a great job of taking the edge off of shit that hurts.

So Yeah And Then There Was The Penis Pump

I said in a previous post that I no longer feel like death. Technically, this is true. However, I feel like complete shit most of the time. I am one of those ungrateful bitches that whines about how horrible pregnancy is and blah blah blah. I suppose when my previous pregnancies were pretty fucking fantastic this whole difficulty with eating and drinking EVERYTHING plus having a shit-ton of trouble sleeping is making me fussy. Today Chicken informed me that I should get fixed after having this baby because I am a whiny bitch when pregnant and he is not interested in going through another one with me. One would be shocked and appalled but FUCK ME if he isn't right. I can't believe that Teddy Bear hasn't said, "Fuck this" and left yet. I would leave me if I could. I suck.

---

In other news, I ignored the whole preggo thing when I went to the fair with my mom, Chicken, and Jesus the other day. Then I got home and read the comment/listened to voice mail from Eliza and realized that twisted minds think alike. Tomorrow I am having lunch with her and my godmother (for their June bdays) and part of me wants to tell then. She won't be as visibly pissed in front of the godmother.

I received a voice mail from my mother yesterday. Apparently H2's stepfather passed away. The man was abusive (to his wife, mentally) and an asshole behind closed doors. I am not sad. I am happy that H2's mother is finally free of him. My mom recommended I attend the service this week and I have no urge to do so.

In other people dying news, my father's best friend passed away last week. I can't believe they are both gone now. They were a terrible twosome, best friends for 30+ years. He leaves two daughters (my age), and six grandchildren with one on the way. He wasn't even sixty years old.

Happy Belated Blogoversary

I just realized that I missed my third anniversary of blogging. I think I was too stressed about the doctor's appointment on Wednesday to pay attention to silly things like the date on Tuesday. Three years, people. THREE YEARS.

And here is where I delve into pregnancy weirdness so you might want to leave/heave/go find Steve:

I have NO mojo thus far in my pregnancy. One could blame it on me hating Teddy Bear, however I don't even want to do with my myself. Pitiful. Sweets = blech. This poses a problem when you take into consideration that I LOVE Coke. I've been drinking the caffeine free variety but now it is too sweet. Diet Coke tastes like dirty ass. Therefore, no Coke for me. What the fuck body?

I love chocolate a whole fucking lot. Since I got sperminated? Not so much. Couldn't care less about it in fact. Candy? Nope. Other sweets not yet specifically mentioned? Nope. Green vegetables? YUMMY. Say what? Luckily water is back on the menu because WTF why did plain water make me want to hurl? I am trying to be grateful on this one. Feeling of vomit? Much better. Boobies hurting like a mofo? Much better. Fatigue? A little better. Fibro pain in the morning? Better but not gone. I'll take it! Fruit? Gross excepting pinapple.

I no longer feel like death, and I am super fucking happy about that, indeed. Speaking of super fucking happy, I was driving home from the ultrasound and thought about Adrienne Stephanie's heart rate of 169. I snickered and thought to myself, "Self, that is your child." Erin mentioned the same thing in the comments. Yes, I am a dirty girl. As for the heart rate fortelling gender, I did a moment of research and gladly it is an old wives' tale. At this point I am rooting for a penis. More on that later.

It's Alive

Holy shit I am actually pregnant with a real live embryo. One that comes complete with a heart rate of 169. Teddy Bear showed up at the last minute a bit frantic and worried and WE MADE A BABY AND IT IS IN MY UTERUS. Holy Fuck. I am pregnant.

Back Away From The Cervix

I finally went to the doctor today and had my first appointment. I can't tell you how much I missed having not only my hoo-ha invaded by metal, my cervix scraped with something that resembles a fucking RAKE and then a couple of fingers groping around. GAH! The doctor said that my ute feels at least as pregnant as I say I am, and maybe ahead a little bit. Considering the specifically timed nookie either she's a nutjob, the damn thing is ALREADY big like TB, or there is more than one occupant. I vote for nutjob because the other two options suck ass. I did wrangle a referral to the ultrasound place and later called and made an appointment for Friday. I will feel much better after seeing a heartbeat.

The pukey feeling is still much milder than it was, but the fatigue is brutal. The fibro pain is bad when I wake up (which is often), but not horrible during the day. It is managable. Tomorrow I am going to the Del Mar Fair (shut up I will never call it the San Diego Fair, that is bullshit). I am going with my mother, Chicken, and Jesus. Chicken's best friend's name is really Jesus. We call him the Son of God sometimes. We're a little immature. Jesus calls Chicken a derivative of his real name, but with a girly twist. They're an excellent match and have a shitload of fun together.

I'm nervous about spending the day with my mother. One, because it's my mother. Two, because my mom doesn't know that I'm knocked up and I REALLY don't want to tell her. I have no idea what her reaction will be, but based on previous conversations I am not counting on it being good. After I had Chicken my mom strongly recommended that I get my tubes tied. What doctor is going to do that when I had one child at home and I was only 22?

Several times over the years she has either talked to me about the tubal OR getting a hysterectomy. The hysterectomy because I have crappy periods that tend to be painful. Not like endometriosis, just a little miserable. So take out my uterus, right? CRAZY. She got a hysterectomy when I was six months old. According to her it was because the doctor told her not to have any more children. According to my secret source, it was because she wanted to be damn sure never to have any more children. She didn't want anymore-when I was six months old. Can you imagine? No baggage here people!!

My mother loves Chicken, but she has issues. I know better than to expect her to be excited about this pregnancy but it always hurts a little when she reacts crappily. Some of you are probably asking, "Why do you want to tell her now?" The answer is that I am getting to the point where I am having trouble hiding it for long periods of time. My lower abdomen is all fat, my boobs are bigger and eating is a chore. The only reason that I am going tomorrow (instead of letting Chicken go without me) is that I have never been to the Del Mar Fair with him and next year I will hopefully have a sixth month old baby. Not a recipe for a day of fun with a fucking zillion people.

I loved the Del Mar Fair as a child. LOVED IT. I want to share the experience with my favoritist Chicken in the world. I hope that tomorrow is fun and I can tune out any negative energy spewing from my mother. Maybe she'll be happy for me? HA HA HA.

My Body is Lame But in a Good Way

I feel like pregnant shit and my fibromyalgia is again somewhat quiet. YAY! I'm going to wait until Wednesday (my regularly scheduled 1st ob appt) to find out if things are still...alive and such. Until then I am putting my damn head in the sand, clicking my heels together and chanting, "There's no place like home, there's no place like home, there's..."

Update, Now With Moar Pussy

(see previsou post if you are thinking to yourself, "what the fuck?")

TB called the doctor's office (because I chickened the fuck out) and spoke with the nurse. She poo pooed my concerns which I am sure only helps my not looking like a crazed pregnant woman, right? They couldn't get me in today and the nearest Urgent Care doesn't have the capability to do an ultrasound. I am NOT hanging out in the ER today. Do you want to know the really helpful comment that the nurse made to my husband? "Well, it is not that uncommon to see a reduction in symptoms during a heat wave when the hormonally crazed pregnant woman becomes a little dehydrated."

So don't worry! EXCEPT I would have no fucking idea if we are having a heat wave because I've been at home on my ass for days and it isn't hot in here. Also? We have plenty of liquids in the house because we're super awesome like that. Therefore, the super helpful nurse advice is a great big fucking non-example. SUPER.

Teddy Bear isn't worried because no bleeding = perfectly fine, right? Ha ha ha. Also, something of interest to those in the know...TB commented last night that the pregnancy book for guys that he is reading (which is a piece of shit in my opinion) doesn't have a section for helping your mate deal with miscarriage. Or anything about miscarriage. Really? Books ignoring miscarriage? NO?!?

So that's that. Oh wait! A funny for you. Chicken had a comment about Riverside County and Temecula that made me cackle. I need me some cackle, people.

"Temecula is the pussy of Riverside County. It's the only good part."