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 to not be a total cunt. 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 homeschool 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 a total cunt 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 wtih my mother. One, because it's my mother and that is a fucking chore in itself. 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 recommneded 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 hapy 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."

What The Shit

I will be eight weeks on Sunday. How's it going, you ask? Well, here is a breakdown:

Pregnancy symptoms: gone
Fibromyalgia: back in full swing

Tell me this is perfectly normal and that I don't need to freak the fuck out. Oh, nevermind. I have already done the freaking the fuck out. I will be calling the doctor in the morning and politely requesting verification of live and appropriately sized embryo immediately. I just don't feel right, and waiting until next week to go to my regularly scheduled appointment is NOT going to happen. I can't bring Teddy Bear to the first appointment to see a dead baby. I just can't.

Names And Insufferable Cuteness

*pregnancy post warning for those visiting from NCLM*

My current last name starts with the letter S and for simplicities sake I'll just say that it is Smith. I specify current last name because I've had, oh let's see...FOUR freakin' last names in my lifetime. Currently my name looks like this: Sam, Maiden Name, Teddy Bear's last name. I replaced my former middle name with my maiden name due to my issues with losing my dad and blah blah baggage.

This is a typical, long-winded patented Sam way of starting a little story about names. When Teddy Bear was in his mommy's tummy, all ten plus fucking pounds of him, (don't even get me started on his family history of birthing HUGE babies) his parents wanted to name him something that started with an A, then an S, then his last name that we'll call Smith. Do you see the problem? Yeah, no one wants to have their initials spell ASS.

Unless, of course, you are a sixth-grade boy and your mother is pregnant and you have the opportunity to nickname the grain of rice residing in her stomach. I really wanted to use the reader suggestion of Egg on my blog, just to answer the question of what came first for once and all, but the Chicken's nickname kicks ass. No pun intended. He nicknamed it Adrienne Stephanie Smith.

He talks about Adrienne Stephanie a lot, anything to get the name in because sixth-graders are all about beating a fucking horse to death. I'm just immature enough to still be amused every time. Until today when I was on my ass in bed and he asked where my uterus currently was and then got close and TALKED to Adrienne Stephanie. He said he'd kiss "her" but she was too close to my parts at this point and GROSS. Which I totally agree with, but I was too busy trying my damndest not to cry to think about anything. It was so damn cute.

Newbies

For those of you that are newish to Sam's Stories, I thought I'd clear a thing or two up that I noticed in the comments. First, the miscarriage happened 13 years and two husbands ago. Yep, I get around. Second, I can't fucking remember what the second thing was...shit. I do have a complaint, however. I am pissed at Blogger for sucking huge donkey dick when it comes to uploading pictures lately. I have a post completely written, just waiting for your amusement. However, Blogger does not think that I need pictures. Fucker.

*minor pregnant bitching below*

I've been feeling crappy lately and having the most difficult time explaining the hauntingly familiar feeling. Until yesterday when I realized that I feel hung over. Not the ZOMG barf-festival, but the feeling dehydrated, wanting to drink a lot of water but having it not settle well, tired and cranky. I've been hungry but nothing sounds good and only limited quantities of food make my stomach happy. My pain level from the fibromyalgia is much better, not in the realm of "hey I'm a normal fucking person" but livable. I have done some research and apparently the hormone relaxin is increased by tenfold during pregnancy and this hormone is responsible for a host of really awesome things. Like the super cool preggo nails and hair, relaxed muscles, and better sleep.

My sleeping has gone from bad to worse, partially a result of removing sleeping pills from my diet and also general preggo stuff. If I wasn't pregnant the lack of sleep would have ramped up my pain levels to the point where I wouldn't be getting out a bed at all. So, you win some, you lose some. According to the innernets, relaxin has been used to treat fibromyalgia. I'm going to ask my specialist when I see him this week because that would rock.

As soon as Blogger allows me to upload pictures I will publish the post in which I get my ass kicked by a Toyota Camry in The (speedy little convertible with a new door handle) Car.

PS My word for the week is PenisLicker. I use it in lieu of someone's given name. Gender or orientation does not matter when one is a PenisLicker. For example, "Hey PenisLicker, whatcha doin?"

New Label For Your Consumption

I've decided to add a new label to the mix, preggo. I do this for a few reasons:

1. Some readers do not want to hear about pregnancy because it bores them.
2. Some readers do not want to hear about pregnancy because it is painful for them.
3. I want to be able to find preggo posts easily and I am totally selfish that way.

SO! If you see a post and want to weed out the preggo/baby shit, look at the label, stupid. Now, onward and upward. I read in many places that women will mash their breasts to determine relative soreness and a potential pregnancy symptom. Guess what? If you have to TOUCH them to see if they are sore, you're not pregnant. Because OMFG my tits hurt. They are like two hurty things attached to my chest wall. Don't even look at them because I might cut you.

The uterus? She's not a shrinking violet, that one. The ute is actively cramping on and off, and has been since implantation. It's not the horrible miscarriage cramping where you want to die, or even the miserable period cramping. Just a "hey, I'm working down here, dammit! Can you hold the noise?" from the good ole ute.

I have experienced no morning sickness to date (in any pregnancy ever) and my only tummy issue is the occasional "Oh I need to stop eating RIGHT NOW or I might barf at some point" and if I wait a few minutes I am fine to resume eating. Those of you that turn super bulimic during pregnancy hate me right now. Sorry! Did I mention that my tits hurt like a motherfucker?

My nose has been replaced with the bloodhound version. The other night I had to get out of bed and sleep on the couch because the sheets were SO nasty that I couldn't sleep. They hadn't been changed in a week and we both shower before bedtime. Teddy Bear thinks I'm crazy(er). The litter box makes me want to hurl and of course I can't change it myself. So I have to barter with the man or the boy to get some olfactory relief. Thank goodness my shit smells like roses.

My first ob appointment is a month away. I am debating on whether or not that is good. On one hand, it is not like they would do anything if I miscarried at this point. On the other hand, it would be nice to have a doctor's confirmation of the pregnancy. On the third hand (I'm using someone else's hands at this point), I know I'm pregnant so what's the point? If you have any arguments in favor of seeking a doctor sooner as opposed to later, let me know. I have been taking prenatal Rx pills since before I got pregnant, I'm not drinking, smoking, or eating cat feces so I think I'm fine. Unless you beg to differ. That's all for now. Super exciting, huh?