All that for nuttin'

yeah--- so I went for the sonogram today.


long story short--- they didn't tell me diddly-squat.


the 'tech' was not allowed to guess what the monster's weight was, as then I could hold her liable to that number and sue her ass if she's wrong. Not really my style, but given the world we live in, I suppose it's plausible.

SO now I have to wait til thursday, when my doc can look at things and tell me what's going on in his small head. (Not that he's stupid... I just think his head is a little small for his body....)


the good news is, I actually saw Monster's face. it's FAT. I mean... this kid has a set of cheeks on it that would make the good humor man set up camp next to us at the beach.

But still--- it was MY little fuzzy black and white chubby-cheeked monster that I was looking at, and that alone was pretty darn cool.

We tried to get a picture... actually had a snapshot of it's face.... but then my hair started getting hot, the room began to spin, and I almost passed out again. In the frenzy of trying to get my bloodpressure back up and keep me from puking my guts out, (and thus cure my ghost-white skin complexion) the tech forgot to print out the kid's face.

oh well.... this too shall pass. So thursday it is.... Maybe then we'll have an idea of when and how this kid will be making its debut. No sense me stressing over it... the kid is what it is... and an extra piece of anniversary cake isn't going to change the kid's weight too drastically, so I may as well enjoy myself.

more tea, anyone??? I do have a fresh pot brewing......

The size of things

Some people say that size matters.


I'm one of 'em.



So.... I had my 38 week appointment yesterday. Typical appointment.... pee in a cup, step on the scale (up another pound, BTW), take the blood pressure, drop the pants, and dig up the cooch.


I'm not going to get into the whole cold-sweat thing I experienced when I actually LOOKED at the scale this week. True, I'm up a pound, which is good.... which makes my gain like 11 or 12 pounds... also good. what's not-so-good is realizing that if I've only gained 11 or 12 pounds for this pregnancy.... eeeeek!!!! how big WAS I before I got knocked up???? but again.... I'm not going to get into that. the past is out of my reach, and pictures proving my former bigness are well hidden, so forward march!!!!!


yes... what clicks my door opener this week is what the doc said after he inspected the inner sanctum of baby-land. After fiddling on my monster's head for a minute, he took off the gloves and started palming my stomach like he was Spreewell on a free throw line. After a few hmmmm's and huh's, gropes and squishes, he sat me up and said I needed an ultrasound.

Ever the glutton for punishment, I asked why.

He said he wanted the techs to do a fetal weight check. yeah...... annnnnnd?


well, he *could* be wrong, but he's thinking that the babe in said toyland is rapidly approaching, or possibly already AT the nine pound range.


excuse me, I'm sorry... I was distracted by the paper sticking to my bare ass..... did you just say NINE POUNDS?????????


obviously, being naked from the hips down removed my option of running screaming from the room... or at least waddling away as fast as a woman with 90 year old hips can manage.....

I impressed myself by not screaming, but I do believe my jaw dropped and a squeak came out.


He must have seen my eyes triple in size, cause he then began to say that it COULD be that I was having a contraction when he was feeling the monster, which would make him over-estimate the size of the intended vaginal projectile.

Through the dull ringing of the words 'nine pounds' being repeated in my head like the Brady Bunch episode where the kids remembered only too late that mom always said not to play ball in the house.... yes....through the the ringing I heard something to the effect of him being wrong with tall girls, but since I'm neither tall nor comfortable with a nine pound child, I really couldn't tell you what he said.


nine pounds. good gravy. and it's still got another 2 weeks to grow!!!!!


So I go on Tuesday to get this kid sized up. what all of this ultimately means, I have no idea. There was talk that if the kid is indeed that big, it may have a problem coming through the chute, so to speak. maybe they'll induce me and get it out sooner---- maybe I'll have to have it cut out of me.... I dunno.

So I'll continue to sweat it out until Tuesday. My next appointment is on Thursday, so I guess that will be decision time... especially if the kid is a heffer.

think small thoughts in the meantime, kiddies----- I don't even BOWL with a 9 pound ball, ok?

ok... enough on this. me and Baby Huey have to go lay down.

Grass is always greener on the other side of the cervix

yeah.... so maybe not the visual y'all were hoping for, but I was thinking about that today..... you know--- the whole "grass is greener" adage.


By nature I wouldn't call myself a JEALOUS person, per-se. I would say that I'm very aware of my surroundings, and acutely aware of what's going on with other people.


Sometimes this does result in frustrations on my end---- I have too much, I don't have enough... whichever, whatever. But to really soak up and live the word JEALOUS... well, that might be a bit extreme. If something burns my chaps well enough, I'm more likely to get off my butt and make it happen for myself than to piss and moan and vibe ill wills on someone else for having what I want.


But here I am, wanting something that I don't have, (read... baby outside) which could easily and lickity-splitty flip to wanting what I JUST HAD when I no longer have it.

side note--- this does not mean I'm conceding to possibly agreeing with the amazon fatty who said she missed being pregnant. I firmly believe her wanting to be pregnant was out of quests for attention.


Anyways--- what I'm thinking is maybe, just maaaaaybe, I might think it was better when the monster was inside after it comes out. Now, fear not, dear reader--- I promise I will make NO said attempts to get it back inside.... but--- doing the math... I can see the positives for having the devil inside.

less messy.... more quiet..... easy to keep an eye on..... feeding time presently makes BOTH of us happy....


aaaaaaah, but the list seems short. I still think that the kid on the OUTSIDE is the far better scenario.... at the very least more interesting. I may have a different opinion once the beast actually learns to talk.... but I have a few more months before I need to worry about that. Right now, I need to set the table---- it's time for another tea party.

Dreams of Susan Lucci

ok---- so how is it possible to dream about a person that you don't even know? Well, I have to blame my friend Susie for mentioning something about Susan Lucci looking as good as a 30 year old, even though she's like 79 or something ridiculous like that.


you see... though I've heard the name and have some sub-conscious recollection that she's some actress that it took 50 years to win some soap opera award.... I have NO IDEA who this woman is.



yet--- she plagued my dreams this weekend.


Yes, it was an all-star, all-Susan Lucci weekend, folks.


everything happening in my dreams was either for or about Susan Lucci. Lunch, driving... some movies... I couldn't escape the woman in my sleep. which again, might I add, is weird, cause I don't even know what the woman looks like.


I think at some point last night, her wonder-twin power transformed her into the old lady that's starring in some princess diaries movies. But that (again) provided no comfort, as while I know what THAT woman LOOKS like--- I have no freaking clue what her name is.

There was also a fuzzy moment on Saturday night that I wanted to name the monster Lucciano. I decided on it so we could buy our tickets to go home for the christening... it made sense... it was a family-inspired name, and we could call the kid Lucky if it was a boy, or Lucy for a girl. yeah... OH-KAY..... now I'm ITALIAN in my dreams????

Life (or my dreams, at the very least) were much simpler when I was younger. All I had to worry about back then were the alligators next door that wrestled me when my brother and I played kick-ball. But alas--- my days of hanging out with reptilians seem to be over. I've moved on to dinosaurs of the human kind.

SO I dunno--- who woulda thunk it. Susan Lucci. I finally looked her up this morning on the net. She is old---- they wouldn't even list her birth-year on any of the websites I looked up. She's probably got more plastic in her face than I had in my wallet in college. But I'll give her credit--- she does look good.

Sad thing, though--- I've already forgotten what she looks like. I just hope I can forget about her altogether by tonight.... or at least move on to some other old woman like Angela Lansbury or something.

Stopped Watch

so my husband got me a new toy...... I guess he figured I needed SOMETHING to play with, seeings how this kid doesn't want to come out and play.


he got me a stopwatch.


I know it's so I can time the times between screwdriver manias, but I've found it quite useful for doing other things.


like timing how long it takes me to go down the stairs (18.3-something seconds)

or get up off the couch (30 something embarrassing seconds)


it's well over three minutes to get a new steaming cup of non-labor inducing raspberry tea if the kettle is full

and another 35.28 seconds to get UP the stairs with aforementioned cup of non-labor inducing raspberry tea.


but I digress.


I kind of feel like a cross between a fat Flavor-Flav and an olympic coach, but my accent at best is only central jersey, so I think I'm more akin to an early 90's rapper. I DO like the way it swings from one side of my belly to the other... even funnier when the monster moves it. I truly am stylin' and profilin'.


I'm sure I'll find plenty of uses for this watch well after my own personal labor day--- Diaper changes will take on a whole new self-improvement regime.... new personal bests for leaving the house (penalty minutes for forgetting the kid, of course).... then when the kid is older.... forget about it! I can't WAIT to bust it out 16 years from now when the kid comes in after curfew!!! moo-haa-haa-haa


well, until *I* become my child's public enemy #1, I will continue to annoy the living hell out of anyone that lets me time them doing things.

One is the loneliest number

well--- it's been a week of raspberry tea, uterine bribing, and subliminal downward rubbing on my belly hoping the monster will take the hint, but no luck.


I'm still big, and very much still carrying the extra load.


I would have posted sooner, but was too busy peeing every two seconds from all the extra tea.


I ALMOST thought we would have had something going this weekend--- the hip pains had gotten much worse, and I had a new pain to occupy my brain. this one was akin to a screwdriver being shoved up my crotch. every three to four hours.


Now, I know this sounds a bit harsh, and you're wondering how I would know about the screwdriver. Truth is, I wouldn't, so I'll say it was more like a dry tampon being ripped out of me, which indeed I HAVE experienced in my 20+ years of the joys of womanhood.


anyways--- long story short... I spent the majority of sunday in bed, thinking the laying down would help subside the pariah of pain that was going on inside of me. Come Monday morning, I was still feeling like a blindman's toolbelt, so I called the doc.

I was instructed to go to the hospital for monitoring... just in case.

well.... everything is just dandy. I can't say my hopes weren't up just a TEEEEEENY bit--- I mean... all the peeing from raspberry tea... the cramping--- maybe just maybe God DID want us to have a leo???


nope. Monster's perfectly comfortable where it's at.

The good news is that I did find out that what I WAS experiencing were actual contractions.... there's just not enough, and they're not synchronized with each other for this to be considered true labor. But hey--- at least if my cooch is going to feel violated every few hours, I know it's an eventually step to the final picture.

The other thing I found out is that I've started to dilate. again, I say this is good... cause it means we're heading in the right direction, right? bad news is I'm only 1cm. now, I can't remember if I've ranted about just how big 10 centimeters is, and the astonishing realization that my hole has to GET THAT BIG..... sweat, panic, fear!!!!

I digress.

I'm only 1/10th of the way there. comforting again, that I've finally begun, but being that there's no hard and fast rule to how long it TAKES said pregnant woman to get from point A to point B, and given the high propensity to get distracted very easily, I'm thinking it may be some time before I find myself pushing, or at the very least--- in drug land, which happens somewhere around 4-6 cm???


the other critical factor here is something I'm trying to not think about, which invariably cause me to think about it even more. the thing is this---- if ONE centimeter feels like a snap-on tool convention, what in hell is TEN centimeters going to feel like????

Well, HELLO, Madhatter!

Just call me Carrie in Wonderland.

I admit it--- I've fallen prey to the legend of some old wives' tales. One of my online girls suggested that drinking raspberry leaf tea will help induce labor. Since this particular tale does not involve jumping off of chairs or ingesting frighteningly spicy food, I figured what the hell.


Let's just say that last night I celebrated the monster's very first un-birthday.


now the trouble with maternal urban legends like this tea party I've joined is that it makes no mention of how much or at what time. SO just in case raspberry works better in the daylight hours, I'm having a cup with my plate-o-Murry's. I'll probably have another cup tonight before I go to bed, too---- at the very least, it'll give me something to do every 2 hours as I get up to pee.


I'm sure this is all crap, and it started back in England one season about 9 months after some shitty weather and the onset of a good crop of raspberries.... but again, I say what the hell. I'm down to a 30 day count-down, which by all means isn't bad, but let's face it..... It's hot, the kid is getting heavy, and I want it out.

so a very happy unbirthday to you, little monster!

can someone pass the sugar?

A Class Act

so as of today, my husband and I should be ready to be parents. Or at the very least, give birth.

the key word there is should, but I digress.

Today, we attended a day-long class that was sponsored by the hospital that our little monster will enter into this world at. This class was FAR better than the milk-nazi class I attended earlier this week, but I'm not sure I know too much more now than I did last night at this time.


well, ok--- I did find out which hospital doors are open from what time til when... but already I'm having trouble remembering what those critical hours are. I DO remember the one that's open 24 hours, so I guess that counts for something.


I learned the early signs of labor, and all sorts of info and checklists as to when to actually call the hospital. The problem I have with this is that the two main indicators they list of when to call/go to the hospital are when 1- my water breaks, or 2- when my contractions are 3-5 minutes apart.

The water thing I can understand. If suddenly I find that I'm uncontrollably pissing myself (or what FEELS like such) --- I think I would go to the hospital, regardless of being pregnant or not. Unless, of course, I'm not pregnant, horribly drunk, AND at some bar, in which case it's time to pay my tab and get my ass home. Ultimately--- pissing yourself is cause to go SOMEWHERE, so that sign I think I can handle, even in the midst of realization that the monster is starting to come out of me.


This contraction thing, though---- I'm a little sketchy about this. If I don't know what a contraction is, HOW am I going to know when they are coming 3-5 minutes apart??? I've never admitted it, but I'm jealous as all hell of my online girls I chat with who know when they're having these braxton hicks contractions. These, of course, are the same girls who knew when their babies were moving and kicking at like, oh I dunno--- their third week of pregnancy???? Well, maybe not THAT soon, but still---- while I was trying to differentiate between whether I need to fart or hit the toilet really hard, they were all bubbly in their new joy of uterine movement. Eventually I caught on, but being Polish, it wasn't until I saw my whole stomach moving at the same time I felt the need to fart. I figured my intestines were in bad shape, but they weren't so far gone that they could make my whole stomach move.

But back to contractions. like I said--- I have no idea what a contraction feels like--- real, fake, or whatever. My stomach FEELS rock hard sometimes, but it could just be the monster's ass for all I know. As for pain--- well, when the little bugger starts doing karate, yeah, I can feel some sharp pains.... but I was also told that this is my uterus stretching to grow for the kid.

they say when it happens, you'll know. Well, I hope that's true. actually, I'm really hoping that my ignorance might pay off in the sense that I won't know how long I'll REALLY be in labor. I mean, if I don't catch drift of things until things are obvious to even ME, then maybe it'll be a shorter time from realization to birth. One can only hope.......

Why Babies Are Like Tomato Sauce

This blog may be a far stretch for some to handle, but anyone that really knows me also knows that I can relate just about anything and everything to food.


so off we go, shall we?


SO my theory. Babies and Tomato Sauce. The one thing that everyone can without a doubt agree on is that in order to have either, there is one crucial ingredient. Since I'm related to a lot of Polish folk, I'll spell it out---- regardless of size, color, shape, etc--- every pregnancy/baby needs a fertilized egg, and every tomato sauce needs tomatoes to make it official. Can we agree on this?



In my opinion, that's about the only sure thing for either situation. The chemical makeup, the cook time, the texture, the flavor---- they're all different for each sauce out there. Everyone has their opinion as to how it should be done, and everyone's a critic with the final result. Some are seedy, some are tart---- others runny, and others rich. I'd say no two are alike, but once you get a recipe, you can pretty much stabilize your results. Even so, though, the only time you get TRULY identical results is when the sauce comes from the same batch.


Call it hunger, call it boredom, but I couldn't help but think about this last night while I sat in the nipple hell I shall refer to as my breastfeeding class. Not that the woman teaching this class was scary or anything, but she had the intimidation factor of a little old Italian woman with a stray curly hair sticking out of her chin. That is, a little old woman with a stray curly hair sticking out of her chin trying to teach your culture-less ass how to make a good tomato sauce.

This woman spouted on for 2 hours about how anything OTHER than breast milk was bad for babies, and a mother should respond to her crying child the minute it makes noise and stuff a breast in its mouth.... Imagining this woman's hurken breasts stuffed into a child's mouth was disconcerting enough, but then she put a video on, and I got more than my share of unpleasantries.

I've openly said before I'm going to try to breast feed, which is all fine and dandy. Being subjected to 2 hours of women massaging their engorged boobs til drops of milk comes out on video was a little too much for me, though. It was like Skinamax hired a teenager to do their latest showcase movie. Yes, I still hear the lambs crying, Hannibal!


So the point of my ramblings today is that despite the over-exposure to nipples last night, and 2 hours of fearing the Milk Reaper teaching the class, I think I've learned something. Everyone has their own style for breastfeeding, raising children, or even making a nice sauce---- and will most likely swear by it. For a newcomer like me, I think the best thing I can do is listen to everyone, filter out most of the garbage, experiment in my comfort zone, and keep testing til it looks, feels and tastes right.

now THAT'S Italian!

Limitless

My husband is the best.

There are way too many reasons why he's the best for me to list at this point, but I had to take a minute and say out loud how much I love my husband, and how fortunate I feel to have him in my life.


He is my friend, my soulmate, my partner. ( Let's just say my team would suck real bad if he wasn't on it.)


Every time I think I've got him figured out, he goes beyond my expectations. Don't get me wrong--- sometimes this isn't a good thing..... but mostly it IS on the good side of things. He really is, in my opinion..... limitless.


My month-early anniversary present is what prompted me to do this tribute to Troy, but the more I think of him and our relationship, the more I realize that he should be lauded for his everyday behavior. No--- not for the farting or monkey-like behavior..... but for the way he treats me. the way he looks at me and makes me feel like I'm the only woman in the world that matters. every day.

so in case I don't say it enough.... I am madly in love with Troy Johnson.