So I always knew there would be little sleep happening once the baby was born. What I was not prepared for was that the restful sleep I had enjoyed all of my life would stop almost 6 weeks before she was born. At that time, I started waking up at like 2 in the morning and would lay (or is it lie?) in bed arguing with myself to go back to sleep. Typically, I lost the argument as I lay there in bed trying to figure out how to occupy my time. It usually went something like this, "DAMN!!! I need to go to sleep! Maybe I'll turn on the t.v. If I do that, I'll wake up Nicole. Tough crap, I should wake her up. Why should she get to sleep while I'm awake...ok, that's mean. I'd be upset if she woke me up just because. Maybe I could read. No, the light will still wake her up" and on and on my head would go. Now, if any of you are like me, you have lots of things in your room that light up (e.g. digital clock, cell phone) and what I came to realize is that those electronics give off lots of light. So, as I lay there looking at the various shadows that were created by my clock and cell phone, I started making shadow puppets. First, I started with your basic puppet of the bird flying and then moved on to the dog. Then, I started getting a bit more creative and made a rabbit (which looked like it escaped a zoo surrounded by a nuclear reactor), a wolf (which is really just the dog. No, really, still the dog...no changes in shape at all, just changes in the sound effects I make...well, not really much in the way of changes there either, but believe me, it's a wolf), and a human face. The face I came upon purely by accident, but once I realized I could do it, I started having a great time. The person interacted with the bird and the dog. I didn't think it was a great idea for the guy to do something with the wolf because wild animals can become quite unpredictable. Then, I started making snakes, but they were like giant snakes, so it became like a science fiction thriller from the '50s with some larger than life animal begins attacking the now diminuitive humans (Insert evil laugh here). I was quite enjoying my crazy Creature Features (anyone? anyone? bad Saturday afternoon matinee from the '70s? No? Nobody? K) when I realized that I could make smaller snakes...and that's when it happened. Being that my mind often travels in the gutter, I began making shadow puppet porn theater. Granted, most of the action was quite repetitive, but aren't most porns that way? And, at least there was no cheesy music or bad acting to go into this one. The music was first rate and the actors...well, it was like they already knew what to do without me having to direct them. It was pure NC17 shadowtainment. For those of you reading this and thinking, "She is a total pervert", all I have to say is stop being such a prude. Each and every one of you knows that, at some point in time, whether you want to admit it or not, you have watched a porn and know exactly what I'm talking about. I bet that some of you have even uttered the movie line of "There are porn movies that start this way". For example, many years ago when I lived in an apartment in Manchester with my friend, Sara, we were preparing to host a bachelorette party for my dear, dear friend Cristina. To celebrate the occasion, we cut out pictures of nake guys from Playgirl and posted them, along with various other sexualized images, all over our apartment. Sara had also just finished decorating a penis shaped cake and had it out on the counter ready for the festivities. It was right about this time that we got a call from our landlord stating the gas company needed to check something out in our apartment and that they would be up in a couple of minutes. As the reality of his statement began to settle into my head, I told Sara what was happening and I believe that's when one of us blurted out, "You know, there are porn movies that start this way". With that, there was a knock at the door and the poor, unsuspecting gas guy walked into what must have looked like a psychotic nymphomaniac's apartment. At first, he looked horrified and I was willing to let him sit with that horror for a bit longer, but Sara explained what was happening and slowly this creepy smile came over his face and he then...wait for it, wait for it...he then offered to be the stripper for the evening. Now, this would have been an offer that I could have possibly considered if the guy had not been in his late 50s, balding, had a beer gut, and, I'm pretty sure, was missing some of his teeth. So, needless to say, he did what he needed to do, left, and Sara and I had a pretty good laugh about it. But once again, I have digressed....
I had started talking about sleeping or the lack thereof and, sadly, the sleeping has not improved since the little munchkin was born. I was able to take 10 weeks of maternity leave, thankfully, and, during that time, she was getting up about 2x a night at the beginning and once a night toward the end. For that time, I didn't want to wake Nicole because she had to go to work, so I would get up, feed her, change her, and try to get some more sleep before getting up and doing it all over again. So, as it got closer to my returning to work, I began to revel in the fact that Nicole would be the one getting up with her at night while I got to sleep through it. While that was a great plan, there were a couple of flaws in that thinking: 1) this line of thought assumes that Nicole would hear her crying and get up to take care of it. This, sadly, is not the case. Nicole could sleep through the USC marching band going through the house in the dead of night, so the little noises that come from across the hall are not enough to cut it. Translation, I still have to get up to wake Nicole up to have her take care of the baby. Could I just do it myself since I'm already up, sure, but what fun would that be? 2) this line of thought also assumes that my little darling would continue to wake up in the middle of the night. I'm beginning to think that Nicole may be slipping something into her evening bottle because, my first week back to work, and this little punk has decided she is going to sleep until about 6:30 or 7:30 each morning. I'm pretty sure she is doing this just to make me crazy and, I hate to admit it, it's working. I sometimes just want to poke Nicole to make her wake up as a form of vengeful payback, but I don't have the heart to do it...most of the time. So, now I am finally able to sleep a good stretch through the night, but I am also having to get up earlier than I have ever had to in my life in order to get myself ready and get enough boob juice bottled to have her make it through the day while I'm at work. It's a darn good thing that she's as cute as she is. And, on that note, time for me to go tap the ta-tas for more boob juice. I feel like a human kegerator. It's like Happy Hour when I get home from work when my bae-bay gets to be a sloppy milk drunk, but that's a story for another time.
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
Thursday, April 15, 2010
I'm baaaaaaack! (plus one)
Hello, everyone! After a very long hiatus, I have returned to my formerly abandoned blog to catch everyone up on all the things that have been clogging up my brain since December. It's quite a bit and I'm going to try and break things up into more manageable chunks to make it easier to organize my ramblings. So, since I have not blogged since December, there is much to catch everyone up on. I'm not sure where to begin, but I guess I'll start with the little reason this whole blog was created in the first place, Shankapottamus.
As most of you know, Shank, aka monkey, sweet pea, doodle, cutie pie...(I should stop there before I embarrass either me or Shanky any more than I already have) was born on February 4th, 2010 at 1:06 pm. What many of you may not know is the story that goes along with Shank's big reveal. So, here's the story: Nicole and I went to the doctor on Wednesday, February 3, for our weekly appointment. At that time, we started discussing an inducement date and set it up for the following Monday. After that, the doc decided to check me out to see how things were progressing. So, I ever so gracefully put my legs in the stirrups and assumed that ever so sexy position of legs in the air with socks and that lovely 5 o'clock shadow on my calves (of course I shaved in the morning, but I'm a chop so, yes, I had hair on my legs by 3 pm. Don't hate). That's a hot image so far, isn't it? Yeah. I know. So, the doc ducs his head down and more of his limbs disappear beneath the sheet than I am comfortable with and his head suddenly pops up with this look of anxiety and confusion. You know that look, head slightly tilted to the side, eyes appearing perplexed, brows slightly furrowed...yeah, that look. So he says, "Hm. Does anything hurt?"
" No, I'm good. Why?"
"Well, you're 5 centimeters dilated and fully effaced. Do you live close by?"
"Yep"
"Ok, good. Sooooo, if you feel anything when you go home, don't call, just come in. Ok?"
"Yeah, sure".
So, Nicole and I head home and I started doing some stuff around the house when I start to feel a little weird. "Hm. Ok, probably nothing. I'm going to keep...Hm. That's weird. Maybe I should start timing these". So, I grab some paper, a pen, my watch and go back to folding laundry. Well, it didn't take me too long to figure out that these contractions were different from all the other contractions I had been having for the weeks leading up to this day (Remind me to update you all about that in another post if anyone wants to hear about it). Now, I decided not to tell Nicole about this immediately because I wasn't sure how she would initially react and I wanted her to clean up around the house a little more and I knew if I told her what was going on, we would have been done in that department. Therefore, like a crazy, emotionally unstable, psycho with a ponch, I start yelling at her to do different things in the house. Understandably, she did not respond to my demeanor very well, but assumed I was just cranky, and started in on the things I asked her to do. As my contractions went from 10 minutes apart to 4 minutes apart in less than 30 minutes, I got more worked up and screamed at her even more. Finally, she yelled back, "What the hell is the matter with you?!?!?"
"I'm in labor, damn it! My contractions are like 4 minutes apart and my back is freaking killing me!!! That's the problem! Now, MOVE IT!"
At that, the color drained from her face, she went, "Oh!" and ran into the other room. I decided to change into more comfortabe clothing and have something to eat, so I heated up some leftovers (Indian food...way bad choice) and sat down to eat. By this time, I had been having contractions for about 2 hours and my body said, "You know, um, they have drugs at the hospital".
"Nicole, I think we should go".
At that, we jumped in the car and headed to UCONN. As soon as we got there, we stopped in to my doctor's office and the nurse kind of looked at me and said, "Uh, yeah. The doctor is in with someone right now. If you want, you can wait, buuuut, I think you could probably head downstairs and he'll meet you there". As soon as we got downstairs to the unit, the nurses were ready for me and had me in a room and changed into a gown within 10 minutes. My nurse, Jackie (who was AWESOME) asked, "Now, do you have a birth plan in mind? Do you want to deliver naturally or..." Before she could finish, I basically told her the only natural thing I was wanting to do was to have an epidural as quickly as possible, naturally. I also then asked her if it would be possible to have an IV of whiskey. She laughed and told me she was Irish and saide she would LOVE to give me the IV whiskey but she hadn't figured out a way to do that yet, which was particularly sad for her because she is Irish.
A few minutes later, the anesthesiologist (and his intern) come in to the room and I find out that the intern is going to "do me" but the anesthesiologist is going to supervise (little comfort, but the contractions really kind of put that into perspective). The nurse says, hang your legs off the bed and rest them on this bench...Now, that request would be fine, if I weren't Portuguese and only 5'2" (5'3" on a particularly bad hair day), so she pulls up a chair and the intern goes to work...and misses the spot. DAMN!!!! I hear his supervisor mumbling to him "Yeah, that's not right. Do it again". Exsqueeze me?!?!? So, after a few more minutes, SUCCESS! Ah, sweet, sweet epidural.
The next 17 hours are a bit of a blur, but if this were a movie, this would be where the screen gets fuzzy, maybe has a little tilt, and there is a bad 60's song playing in the background indicating how stoned I actually was. Periodically, the doctors and nurses would come in, check my progress, and reassure me that I would have a baby by 4am, 6 am the latest. Somewhere around 6:30, Jackie came in and told me her shift was over and she would be leaving, but that she was going to make sure I got hooked up with a good nurse. "WAIT! What happened to a baby by 6?!?!?! You did mean today, didn't you?" And with that, Jackie was gone.
A few minutes later, my new nurese, Joanne came in. At first, I was a bit apprehensive because I so enjoyed Jackie, but Joanne soon proved that she was the best nurse for the job and she had me in stitches (I mean laughing, the other stitches come later) within minutes. A few more hours went by, my epidural being my constant companion and best friend, and soon it was lunch time. Oh wait, no luch for me. So what if it's been 19 hours since I've eaten and I puked up what I did eat. No problem. I'M ONLY PUSHING OUT A PERSON THROUGH AN AREA THAT USUALLY ONLY HANDLES LIQUIDS!!!!!!!!!!! SOMEONE GET ME A FREAKING CHEESEBURG
ER!!!! And by the way, for any males readers out there, it is a crock of crap that passing a kidney stone is equivalent to giving birth. Who came up with that analogy, anyway?!?! Some guy trying to minimize what the hell happened to his wife's va-jay-jay? Let me tell you something, HE'S LYING!! I think if a guy wants to know what it's like to give birth to something the size of a watermelon, perhaps he should pass a softball through his weiner and then we'll talk. Yeah...yeah...
Sorry, got a little carried away. Let me get back to where I was...lunch time. As I said, it had been about 19 hours in labor at that point and I wasn't really getting to where I needed to be to have this baby come out. My water had already been broken and I was maxed out on pitocin, so there wasn't much left to do to help Shank make an appearance. Finally, my doctor came in and started talking about an emergency c section if something didn't happen within the next hour. Now, in epidural land, that didn't sound so bad b/c I figured I wouldn't have to push this kid out of a very small opening, but, alas, Shanky had other ideas. No sooner had the doc left the room, when I started to have a very strange cramp in my left butt cheek. Having never had a baby before, I thought, "Maybe I should mention this b/c this is weird." "Uh, Joanne, I don't know if this is relevant or not, but my left butt cheek is cramping up something fierce."
"Really? Ok. Let me take a look." She takes a peek and says, "Yep. Time to push. Someone go get the doc."
"Time to push?!?!? You got that from a cramp in my ass?!?!" I couldn't believe that the pain in my ass was my kid getting ready to meet me.
Not 45 minutes later, Shank appeared and in grand style. Shank not only took a crap on the way out, but took a crap so big it created a slip and slide effect and shot poo way across the room. You know it's bad when even the medical staff goes, "Whoa". Now, the plan had been to hand me Shank right out of the shoot, but since there was enough poop to power a small factory, they rushed Shank over to a table to start working and cleaning. The crying started pretty soon after that, but still no one told me if I had a boy or a girl. Finally, Nicole, tears in her eyes and in full sob, said, "it's a girl!" Huh?!?!? Really? A girl? Are you sure? I don't want anyone to take that reaction the wrong way b/c I was ABSOLUTELY THRILLED BEYOND WORDS to have a daughter, but I had been absolutely CONVINCED that I was having a boy.
I was wrong. Instead, Nicole and I were blessed with an absolutely gorgeous, perfect little girl. She was born on February 4, 2010 at 1:06 pm. She weighed 7 lbs 12 oz and was 20" long. And did I mention that she is perfect.
As most of you know, Shank, aka monkey, sweet pea, doodle, cutie pie...(I should stop there before I embarrass either me or Shanky any more than I already have) was born on February 4th, 2010 at 1:06 pm. What many of you may not know is the story that goes along with Shank's big reveal. So, here's the story: Nicole and I went to the doctor on Wednesday, February 3, for our weekly appointment. At that time, we started discussing an inducement date and set it up for the following Monday. After that, the doc decided to check me out to see how things were progressing. So, I ever so gracefully put my legs in the stirrups and assumed that ever so sexy position of legs in the air with socks and that lovely 5 o'clock shadow on my calves (of course I shaved in the morning, but I'm a chop so, yes, I had hair on my legs by 3 pm. Don't hate). That's a hot image so far, isn't it? Yeah. I know. So, the doc ducs his head down and more of his limbs disappear beneath the sheet than I am comfortable with and his head suddenly pops up with this look of anxiety and confusion. You know that look, head slightly tilted to the side, eyes appearing perplexed, brows slightly furrowed...yeah, that look. So he says, "Hm. Does anything hurt?"
" No, I'm good. Why?"
"Well, you're 5 centimeters dilated and fully effaced. Do you live close by?"
"Yep"
"Ok, good. Sooooo, if you feel anything when you go home, don't call, just come in. Ok?"
"Yeah, sure".
So, Nicole and I head home and I started doing some stuff around the house when I start to feel a little weird. "Hm. Ok, probably nothing. I'm going to keep...Hm. That's weird. Maybe I should start timing these". So, I grab some paper, a pen, my watch and go back to folding laundry. Well, it didn't take me too long to figure out that these contractions were different from all the other contractions I had been having for the weeks leading up to this day (Remind me to update you all about that in another post if anyone wants to hear about it). Now, I decided not to tell Nicole about this immediately because I wasn't sure how she would initially react and I wanted her to clean up around the house a little more and I knew if I told her what was going on, we would have been done in that department. Therefore, like a crazy, emotionally unstable, psycho with a ponch, I start yelling at her to do different things in the house. Understandably, she did not respond to my demeanor very well, but assumed I was just cranky, and started in on the things I asked her to do. As my contractions went from 10 minutes apart to 4 minutes apart in less than 30 minutes, I got more worked up and screamed at her even more. Finally, she yelled back, "What the hell is the matter with you?!?!?"
"I'm in labor, damn it! My contractions are like 4 minutes apart and my back is freaking killing me!!! That's the problem! Now, MOVE IT!"
At that, the color drained from her face, she went, "Oh!" and ran into the other room. I decided to change into more comfortabe clothing and have something to eat, so I heated up some leftovers (Indian food...way bad choice) and sat down to eat. By this time, I had been having contractions for about 2 hours and my body said, "You know, um, they have drugs at the hospital".
"Nicole, I think we should go".
At that, we jumped in the car and headed to UCONN. As soon as we got there, we stopped in to my doctor's office and the nurse kind of looked at me and said, "Uh, yeah. The doctor is in with someone right now. If you want, you can wait, buuuut, I think you could probably head downstairs and he'll meet you there". As soon as we got downstairs to the unit, the nurses were ready for me and had me in a room and changed into a gown within 10 minutes. My nurse, Jackie (who was AWESOME) asked, "Now, do you have a birth plan in mind? Do you want to deliver naturally or..." Before she could finish, I basically told her the only natural thing I was wanting to do was to have an epidural as quickly as possible, naturally. I also then asked her if it would be possible to have an IV of whiskey. She laughed and told me she was Irish and saide she would LOVE to give me the IV whiskey but she hadn't figured out a way to do that yet, which was particularly sad for her because she is Irish.
A few minutes later, the anesthesiologist (and his intern) come in to the room and I find out that the intern is going to "do me" but the anesthesiologist is going to supervise (little comfort, but the contractions really kind of put that into perspective). The nurse says, hang your legs off the bed and rest them on this bench...Now, that request would be fine, if I weren't Portuguese and only 5'2" (5'3" on a particularly bad hair day), so she pulls up a chair and the intern goes to work...and misses the spot. DAMN!!!! I hear his supervisor mumbling to him "Yeah, that's not right. Do it again". Exsqueeze me?!?!? So, after a few more minutes, SUCCESS! Ah, sweet, sweet epidural.
The next 17 hours are a bit of a blur, but if this were a movie, this would be where the screen gets fuzzy, maybe has a little tilt, and there is a bad 60's song playing in the background indicating how stoned I actually was. Periodically, the doctors and nurses would come in, check my progress, and reassure me that I would have a baby by 4am, 6 am the latest. Somewhere around 6:30, Jackie came in and told me her shift was over and she would be leaving, but that she was going to make sure I got hooked up with a good nurse. "WAIT! What happened to a baby by 6?!?!?! You did mean today, didn't you?" And with that, Jackie was gone.
A few minutes later, my new nurese, Joanne came in. At first, I was a bit apprehensive because I so enjoyed Jackie, but Joanne soon proved that she was the best nurse for the job and she had me in stitches (I mean laughing, the other stitches come later) within minutes. A few more hours went by, my epidural being my constant companion and best friend, and soon it was lunch time. Oh wait, no luch for me. So what if it's been 19 hours since I've eaten and I puked up what I did eat. No problem. I'M ONLY PUSHING OUT A PERSON THROUGH AN AREA THAT USUALLY ONLY HANDLES LIQUIDS!!!!!!!!!!! SOMEONE GET ME A FREAKING CHEESEBURG
ER!!!! And by the way, for any males readers out there, it is a crock of crap that passing a kidney stone is equivalent to giving birth. Who came up with that analogy, anyway?!?! Some guy trying to minimize what the hell happened to his wife's va-jay-jay? Let me tell you something, HE'S LYING!! I think if a guy wants to know what it's like to give birth to something the size of a watermelon, perhaps he should pass a softball through his weiner and then we'll talk. Yeah...yeah...
Sorry, got a little carried away. Let me get back to where I was...lunch time. As I said, it had been about 19 hours in labor at that point and I wasn't really getting to where I needed to be to have this baby come out. My water had already been broken and I was maxed out on pitocin, so there wasn't much left to do to help Shank make an appearance. Finally, my doctor came in and started talking about an emergency c section if something didn't happen within the next hour. Now, in epidural land, that didn't sound so bad b/c I figured I wouldn't have to push this kid out of a very small opening, but, alas, Shanky had other ideas. No sooner had the doc left the room, when I started to have a very strange cramp in my left butt cheek. Having never had a baby before, I thought, "Maybe I should mention this b/c this is weird." "Uh, Joanne, I don't know if this is relevant or not, but my left butt cheek is cramping up something fierce."
"Really? Ok. Let me take a look." She takes a peek and says, "Yep. Time to push. Someone go get the doc."
"Time to push?!?!? You got that from a cramp in my ass?!?!" I couldn't believe that the pain in my ass was my kid getting ready to meet me.
Not 45 minutes later, Shank appeared and in grand style. Shank not only took a crap on the way out, but took a crap so big it created a slip and slide effect and shot poo way across the room. You know it's bad when even the medical staff goes, "Whoa". Now, the plan had been to hand me Shank right out of the shoot, but since there was enough poop to power a small factory, they rushed Shank over to a table to start working and cleaning. The crying started pretty soon after that, but still no one told me if I had a boy or a girl. Finally, Nicole, tears in her eyes and in full sob, said, "it's a girl!" Huh?!?!? Really? A girl? Are you sure? I don't want anyone to take that reaction the wrong way b/c I was ABSOLUTELY THRILLED BEYOND WORDS to have a daughter, but I had been absolutely CONVINCED that I was having a boy.
I was wrong. Instead, Nicole and I were blessed with an absolutely gorgeous, perfect little girl. She was born on February 4, 2010 at 1:06 pm. She weighed 7 lbs 12 oz and was 20" long. And did I mention that she is perfect.
Sunday, December 20, 2009
Ain't that a kick in the pants!
So, Shankapottamus (that is what Nicole and I have been calling the squatter. I guess I should explain that. We were at the doctor's one night and I called the baby "it" and I thought the doctor was going to take my head off. She insisted that we come up with a name to call the baby until we knew if it was a boy or girl. So, then we had to figure out what to call mini-me and we were watching t.v. when one of those E-trade commercials came on with the talking baby. I love those commercials! Anyway, it was the one where the baby is in a locker room with an older gentleman after a round of golf and the baby starts telling the guy about the rules of golf and that he should stop his complaining and then he calls him Shankapottamus. That's where the name came from and it stuck. Sorry, kid, but that's really the story. But I have already digressed...again, sorry). Where was I? Oh yes, So, Shankapottamus is in there, growing away and attempting to knock down more walls to make an even bigger space for him/herself. At this rate, the kid is going to have more square footage available in my uterus than we have in the house! Anyway, Shank has been kicking things up to the point where you can occasionally see my clothing move while I'm just sitting there hanging out and making the case for me to start thinking about soccer scholarships for colleges.
Well, earlier in the week, Shank wasn't moving as much as normal for a few days in a row and the doctors had told me to give them a call if something like that happens, so I did and I spoke with a receptionist who took down some information and put me on hold. After a few minutes, she came back, asked me a few more questions, and put me on hold again. Then she comes back on and says, "You need to go to Labor and Delivery right now." Now, seeing that I was at work, I said, "Wait, right now?" And her reply, with a tone of disbelief was, "Uh, yes. Right now". Ok, so normally, I try not to overreact, but the fact that I was being ordered to Labor and Delivery by a receptionist was a bit more than I was ready for at 10 am on a Monday morning. So, with rising panic in my voice, I call Nicole's classroom from my office and explain that the doctor wants us to go to the hospital ASAP. Within minutes, we were out the front door and being shuttled to our car in the employee lot by Nicole's supervisor as the two of them start discussing the best way to get to the hospital (my thought is let's go by car and drive as fast as we can). Anyway, long story short, we get to UConn, we immediately get taken in and hooked up to fetal monitors to hear the heartbeat (which was fine). After about 45 minutes of that, the doctors decide to do an ultrasound to check for movement and there, sucking a thumb, is Shank. We can see the heartbeat, watch the breathing, and we can now see that Shank is no longer in the breach position. While it was nice to see Shank, the doctor starts talking about how she is looking for certain markers and Shank has achieved a score of 6 out of 10, but she wants to go for the whole 10 which requires Shank to move a bit. So, reminiscent of an earlier ultrasound, the doctor starts punching and poking my belly to get Shank to move and...nothing. Still just sitting there sucking a thumb. A little more poking, some verbal encouragement from the doc and...still nothing. Being a persistent professional, the doc keeps working to help Shank get a perfect 10, so she keeps poking and we finally get to see some movement. Anyone want to venture a guess as to what that may have been. I'll give you a hint...it was very similar to the other ultrasound story I told....don't remember? Ok, Shank, while sitting there every so freaking cute, decides to give a slight ass wiggle to the doc and go back to just hanging out. "Well, that's enough for me!" the doc chuckles and tells me to go home and rest. No problem.
So, I go home, call out for the rest of the day, call out of my other job, and relax on the couch. Well, I guess Shank had just been spending a few days chilling out to save up energy because now, for the next several days in a row and usually mostly during the time when I would normally be sleeping, Shank is up practicing bicycle kicks and using the new Soloflex system that was delivered in the middle of the night. Now, seeing as Shank has moved into position quite nicely, he/she has more accessibility to the area immediately surrounding my bladder. What this translates into is that at certain times of the day, I am overcome with an urgent need to pee which lasts about 1 second before passing. Usually, I can handle this without a problem, but one morning, at work, Shank kicked the bejesus out of my bladder and I was ABSOLUTELY convinced that I was going to piss myself right there in the mail room in front of about 3 co-workers. "HOLY CRAP" I shouted as those around me looked at me with concern only to have me explain, "Sorry. Thought I was going to piss my pants". Thankfully, the women in the room could relate and didn't look at me as if I had been using some of the students' meds without permission. Then, later that night, Shank must have gotten mad at me for revoking his building permits and turned to face my backside. As I lay there trying to go to sleep and being super hypervigilant about trying to feel for movement, Shank literally starts KICKING ME IN THE ASS!!! Can you believe the punk?!?!? I swear. You all mark my words, once this kid is born and the doctor turns to me and says, "It's a ????? Do you want to hold your ?????" My response is going to be, "First, Shank has to do a 5 minute time out for kicking my ass!" And, I hope Shank enjoyed the opportunity to kick my butt, because that will be the LAST time it happens without me returning the favor. Do you hear me kid?!?!? I'm not kidding!!!
Well, earlier in the week, Shank wasn't moving as much as normal for a few days in a row and the doctors had told me to give them a call if something like that happens, so I did and I spoke with a receptionist who took down some information and put me on hold. After a few minutes, she came back, asked me a few more questions, and put me on hold again. Then she comes back on and says, "You need to go to Labor and Delivery right now." Now, seeing that I was at work, I said, "Wait, right now?" And her reply, with a tone of disbelief was, "Uh, yes. Right now". Ok, so normally, I try not to overreact, but the fact that I was being ordered to Labor and Delivery by a receptionist was a bit more than I was ready for at 10 am on a Monday morning. So, with rising panic in my voice, I call Nicole's classroom from my office and explain that the doctor wants us to go to the hospital ASAP. Within minutes, we were out the front door and being shuttled to our car in the employee lot by Nicole's supervisor as the two of them start discussing the best way to get to the hospital (my thought is let's go by car and drive as fast as we can). Anyway, long story short, we get to UConn, we immediately get taken in and hooked up to fetal monitors to hear the heartbeat (which was fine). After about 45 minutes of that, the doctors decide to do an ultrasound to check for movement and there, sucking a thumb, is Shank. We can see the heartbeat, watch the breathing, and we can now see that Shank is no longer in the breach position. While it was nice to see Shank, the doctor starts talking about how she is looking for certain markers and Shank has achieved a score of 6 out of 10, but she wants to go for the whole 10 which requires Shank to move a bit. So, reminiscent of an earlier ultrasound, the doctor starts punching and poking my belly to get Shank to move and...nothing. Still just sitting there sucking a thumb. A little more poking, some verbal encouragement from the doc and...still nothing. Being a persistent professional, the doc keeps working to help Shank get a perfect 10, so she keeps poking and we finally get to see some movement. Anyone want to venture a guess as to what that may have been. I'll give you a hint...it was very similar to the other ultrasound story I told....don't remember? Ok, Shank, while sitting there every so freaking cute, decides to give a slight ass wiggle to the doc and go back to just hanging out. "Well, that's enough for me!" the doc chuckles and tells me to go home and rest. No problem.
So, I go home, call out for the rest of the day, call out of my other job, and relax on the couch. Well, I guess Shank had just been spending a few days chilling out to save up energy because now, for the next several days in a row and usually mostly during the time when I would normally be sleeping, Shank is up practicing bicycle kicks and using the new Soloflex system that was delivered in the middle of the night. Now, seeing as Shank has moved into position quite nicely, he/she has more accessibility to the area immediately surrounding my bladder. What this translates into is that at certain times of the day, I am overcome with an urgent need to pee which lasts about 1 second before passing. Usually, I can handle this without a problem, but one morning, at work, Shank kicked the bejesus out of my bladder and I was ABSOLUTELY convinced that I was going to piss myself right there in the mail room in front of about 3 co-workers. "HOLY CRAP" I shouted as those around me looked at me with concern only to have me explain, "Sorry. Thought I was going to piss my pants". Thankfully, the women in the room could relate and didn't look at me as if I had been using some of the students' meds without permission. Then, later that night, Shank must have gotten mad at me for revoking his building permits and turned to face my backside. As I lay there trying to go to sleep and being super hypervigilant about trying to feel for movement, Shank literally starts KICKING ME IN THE ASS!!! Can you believe the punk?!?!? I swear. You all mark my words, once this kid is born and the doctor turns to me and says, "It's a ????? Do you want to hold your ?????" My response is going to be, "First, Shank has to do a 5 minute time out for kicking my ass!" And, I hope Shank enjoyed the opportunity to kick my butt, because that will be the LAST time it happens without me returning the favor. Do you hear me kid?!?!? I'm not kidding!!!
Saturday, December 19, 2009
Surprise!
Ok, so the weekend after Thanksgiving weekend, Nicole's family and my family got together and threw a baby shower for us. Now, some people have been speculating that I knew about the shower ahead of time, and to some extent, that is correct. I knew there was a shower coming, but I didn't know when or where it was going to be. Now, I was absolutely CONVINCED that I had figured out that the shower was going to be on a Sunday afternoon. "How?" you ask. Well, Nicole has never been that great at keeping secrets, or least keeping surprises. She's the kind of person who gets so excited over gifts she has bought people that she gets this ridiculous Cheshire Cat grin that begs the question, "What the hell is she hiding?" Anyway, that is the rationale behind why I did not let her seek the ultrasound to find out if it was a boy or a girl. There's NO WAY that secret would have been kept until d-day (aka delivery day).
Sorry, I strayed for a bit. Let me get back to the story. So, I started suspecting that the shower was going to be on Sunday early on the week before because of one question that Nicole asked me. Now, before I tell you what the question was, I will tell you that it was a harmless question in and of itself and may not have triggered a whole lot of red flags in another context, but, for me, it was as if all the red flags, bells, and whistles in the world all got set off at the same time. "What was the question?" you ask (and tough if you didn't ask, because I'm going to tell you what it was anyway). The question was, "Do you want to go to brunch on Sunday?" DING. (Bell one). First of all, she asked me this on a Tuesday. That is far too far in advance for us to be making plans to do anything unless it involves more than just me and her. "Brunch?" "Yeah, sure. Brunch will be fun!" DING (that's number two). Why would that be bell two? Well, a couple of reasons. One, we have never, in the whole time we have been together, ever gone to brunch with the exception of when her family took everyone out to celebrate her getting her masters degree. Two, brunches are often done in a buffet format and, as much as I enjoy a buffet (even more so now that I'm pregnant), Nicole absolutely hates buffets. And then there was the question of, "So, what are you going to where to Brunch on Sunday?" DING! DING! DING! This was a crazy amount of bells and whistles and flags happening in my head now which almost made it difficult for me to think. First of all, we had no idea where we going to go to brunch, so how in the hell am I going to know what I'm wearing. Secondly, brunch is still several days away. Now, while I love Nicole immensely, planning things in advance is typically not one of her strong suits. Finally, Nicole is fully aware, as I'm sure most of you are as well, that I have absolutely NO CLUE what I am going to wear from one day to the next (probably because I'm such a slave to fashion. HAH! That one even made me laugh!), never mind what I'm going to wear to "brunch" five days from now.
So, with the evidence mounting against Sunday, I started to get really cocky and started making smart ass comments to her about Sunday's "brunch". With each question, I would chuckle a little to myself and a little out loud and Nicole would make this pouty face as if to say, "Oh crap. Did I let that slip?" Now, the reality of the situation is that the shower was not on Sunday at all, but on Saturday. That day, I was expecting to go to a friend's baby shower as she is due 4 weeks after me and the invite said the shower was going to be at the same place where her bridal shower had been, so it made perfect sense in my head. So, when we got to the hall where CARA'S shower was supposed to be, we started walking down the hall and I spotted Nicole's best friend from college, Meredith, who was sitting next to her mother. At that, I turned to Nicole and said, "You son of a bitch" in the most loving way possible. As we turned the corner, I saw my mother standing there next to my sister-in-law and niece and again turned to Nicole and said, "You really are a son of a bitch" (again in the most loving way possible). The rest of that day is a bit of a blur, but I do know there was an open bar AND I WASN'T EVEN ABLE TO ENJOY IT!!!! OH THE HUMANITY OF IT ALL!!! Anyway, for those of you who might be interested, my brother compiled a video of that day and has posted it on you tube. Just search, "Jen's baby shower" and "chrisa65" and it should pull it up. Oh, and for an added bonus, you'll be able to see the exact reason why I am not able to put on my socks without assistance anymore.
Sorry, I strayed for a bit. Let me get back to the story. So, I started suspecting that the shower was going to be on Sunday early on the week before because of one question that Nicole asked me. Now, before I tell you what the question was, I will tell you that it was a harmless question in and of itself and may not have triggered a whole lot of red flags in another context, but, for me, it was as if all the red flags, bells, and whistles in the world all got set off at the same time. "What was the question?" you ask (and tough if you didn't ask, because I'm going to tell you what it was anyway). The question was, "Do you want to go to brunch on Sunday?" DING. (Bell one). First of all, she asked me this on a Tuesday. That is far too far in advance for us to be making plans to do anything unless it involves more than just me and her. "Brunch?" "Yeah, sure. Brunch will be fun!" DING (that's number two). Why would that be bell two? Well, a couple of reasons. One, we have never, in the whole time we have been together, ever gone to brunch with the exception of when her family took everyone out to celebrate her getting her masters degree. Two, brunches are often done in a buffet format and, as much as I enjoy a buffet (even more so now that I'm pregnant), Nicole absolutely hates buffets. And then there was the question of, "So, what are you going to where to Brunch on Sunday?" DING! DING! DING! This was a crazy amount of bells and whistles and flags happening in my head now which almost made it difficult for me to think. First of all, we had no idea where we going to go to brunch, so how in the hell am I going to know what I'm wearing. Secondly, brunch is still several days away. Now, while I love Nicole immensely, planning things in advance is typically not one of her strong suits. Finally, Nicole is fully aware, as I'm sure most of you are as well, that I have absolutely NO CLUE what I am going to wear from one day to the next (probably because I'm such a slave to fashion. HAH! That one even made me laugh!), never mind what I'm going to wear to "brunch" five days from now.
So, with the evidence mounting against Sunday, I started to get really cocky and started making smart ass comments to her about Sunday's "brunch". With each question, I would chuckle a little to myself and a little out loud and Nicole would make this pouty face as if to say, "Oh crap. Did I let that slip?" Now, the reality of the situation is that the shower was not on Sunday at all, but on Saturday. That day, I was expecting to go to a friend's baby shower as she is due 4 weeks after me and the invite said the shower was going to be at the same place where her bridal shower had been, so it made perfect sense in my head. So, when we got to the hall where CARA'S shower was supposed to be, we started walking down the hall and I spotted Nicole's best friend from college, Meredith, who was sitting next to her mother. At that, I turned to Nicole and said, "You son of a bitch" in the most loving way possible. As we turned the corner, I saw my mother standing there next to my sister-in-law and niece and again turned to Nicole and said, "You really are a son of a bitch" (again in the most loving way possible). The rest of that day is a bit of a blur, but I do know there was an open bar AND I WASN'T EVEN ABLE TO ENJOY IT!!!! OH THE HUMANITY OF IT ALL!!! Anyway, for those of you who might be interested, my brother compiled a video of that day and has posted it on you tube. Just search, "Jen's baby shower" and "chrisa65" and it should pull it up. Oh, and for an added bonus, you'll be able to see the exact reason why I am not able to put on my socks without assistance anymore.
Pop! Part two
So, I haven't written for a while and I do apologize for that, but now I have quite a few things that I need to write about, so there will probably be a few posts coming up in relatively quick succession.
Ok, so let me start with the first thing that has been on my mind. First of all, I know I have written before about people guessing if I am going to be having a boy or a girl. I still say that it's a boy, but whatever. Anyway, there are all kinds of old wives tales out there that are supposed to help you predict what you're having. There's my favorite - the one about stealing the mother's beauty, which I've already addressed as some people have already commented to me about that...bastards. Then, there's the other one about spread. I know I have already written about spread in an earlier post, but apparently, I am continuing to spread quite readily because more and more people at work have been coming up to me either telling me that they are CONVINCED I'm having a girl (hmmmppphhh) or that they think I am going to deliver early. Now, I don't know how you guys interpret that latter comment about delivering early, but I tend to interpret it as, "My, your ass is getting bigger by the day!" Along with that have been more comments such as, "Wow! You're even bigger this week" and the all time favorite of "I think you've dropped" which translates into "Holy crap. How much bigger can you really get before that kid pops out?!?!"
Now, I had been thinking that I was doing pretty well. My maternity pants have continued to fit (after that debacle of the shrinking pair that didn't fit my butt after a week), my weight is relatively stable with only the weight gain the baby should have, and I am still able to wear some of my shirts that I have had all along (granted, they are not able to cover the gut as well as they used to, but THEY FIT, DAMN IT!) I think I finally had to come to the realization that I was, in fact, growing into only a house, not a whole housing complex, when I got up one morning and went to take the dogs out and dropped one of the leashes. This, in and of itself, was harmless, but I knew there was a problem when I couldn't reach all they way to the ground to pick it up without bending at the knees. "Oh My God! I think I just became an 80 year old man!" To make matters worse, later in that SAME week, I wanted to put my socks on and couldn't do it without grunting, rolling backwards onto the bed, and shamefully whining for Nicole to come and help me get them on. Then, to make matters even worse yet (yes, they get even worse yet) I had my first experience of having difficulty getting off the couch without grabbing on to things or having someone help me up. This is becoming a bit ridiculous. I think it all became readily apparent to me how bad things were when, earlier this week, I was sitting on the floor talking to one of my students who was having a particularly bad day, when it was time for both of us to get up and leave the area we were talking in. Only problem? Yeah, you guessed it, couldn't get up from the floor. I pathetically looked at the kid and said, "Ok, now that you're feeling better, I need you to do me a favor". With that, the kid, who's about 9, quickly stood up and said, "I'm on it!" and reached out his hands to help me get up from the floor. Pathetic. Oh, and I need to make a correction from an earlier statement. Apparently, I am NOT an 80 year old man, but rather an 80 year old with a fake hip and two artificial knees. And the scary thing is that I still have quite a few weeks to go. Oh boy...or girl.
Ok, so let me start with the first thing that has been on my mind. First of all, I know I have written before about people guessing if I am going to be having a boy or a girl. I still say that it's a boy, but whatever. Anyway, there are all kinds of old wives tales out there that are supposed to help you predict what you're having. There's my favorite - the one about stealing the mother's beauty, which I've already addressed as some people have already commented to me about that...bastards. Then, there's the other one about spread. I know I have already written about spread in an earlier post, but apparently, I am continuing to spread quite readily because more and more people at work have been coming up to me either telling me that they are CONVINCED I'm having a girl (hmmmppphhh) or that they think I am going to deliver early. Now, I don't know how you guys interpret that latter comment about delivering early, but I tend to interpret it as, "My, your ass is getting bigger by the day!" Along with that have been more comments such as, "Wow! You're even bigger this week" and the all time favorite of "I think you've dropped" which translates into "Holy crap. How much bigger can you really get before that kid pops out?!?!"
Now, I had been thinking that I was doing pretty well. My maternity pants have continued to fit (after that debacle of the shrinking pair that didn't fit my butt after a week), my weight is relatively stable with only the weight gain the baby should have, and I am still able to wear some of my shirts that I have had all along (granted, they are not able to cover the gut as well as they used to, but THEY FIT, DAMN IT!) I think I finally had to come to the realization that I was, in fact, growing into only a house, not a whole housing complex, when I got up one morning and went to take the dogs out and dropped one of the leashes. This, in and of itself, was harmless, but I knew there was a problem when I couldn't reach all they way to the ground to pick it up without bending at the knees. "Oh My God! I think I just became an 80 year old man!" To make matters worse, later in that SAME week, I wanted to put my socks on and couldn't do it without grunting, rolling backwards onto the bed, and shamefully whining for Nicole to come and help me get them on. Then, to make matters even worse yet (yes, they get even worse yet) I had my first experience of having difficulty getting off the couch without grabbing on to things or having someone help me up. This is becoming a bit ridiculous. I think it all became readily apparent to me how bad things were when, earlier this week, I was sitting on the floor talking to one of my students who was having a particularly bad day, when it was time for both of us to get up and leave the area we were talking in. Only problem? Yeah, you guessed it, couldn't get up from the floor. I pathetically looked at the kid and said, "Ok, now that you're feeling better, I need you to do me a favor". With that, the kid, who's about 9, quickly stood up and said, "I'm on it!" and reached out his hands to help me get up from the floor. Pathetic. Oh, and I need to make a correction from an earlier statement. Apparently, I am NOT an 80 year old man, but rather an 80 year old with a fake hip and two artificial knees. And the scary thing is that I still have quite a few weeks to go. Oh boy...or girl.
Sunday, November 15, 2009
My Spidey Sense is tingling
So, all through my pregnancy people have been asking me how I have been feeling. At this point, I feel pretty good, but I am also entering my final trimester at this point and understand that things will go down hill from here. First of all, I want to say one thing about all those people who talk about pregnant women glowing. That's a freaking JOKE!!! People don't glow. I think that "glow" is actually a look similar to something like jaundice which comes from feeling like utter crap for such a long period of time. I even asked my doctor about the whole glowing thing and she agreed with me that statement is a freaking farce! Secondly, a bunch of people had been telling me that my second trimester would be great and that I will feel the best I have ever felt during those months. Again, that's a freaking LIE! Why are all these people lying to pregnant people?!?! Granted, I feel better now, but is this the best I've ever felt?!?! HELL TO THE NO!!! Can I eat without booting every 10 seconds? Yes. Can I stay awake and functioning for more than 8 hours? Yes, barely. Is this the best I have ever felt? Uh, no. I would have to say I felt better, um, maybe 21 POUNDS AGO!!! I am slowing approach the point of needing a crane to get up off of the couch and having my own gravitational pull for any objects that happen to be orbiting me. Of course, this includes Kit Kat bars which may help account for the 21 pounds, but we'll just overlook that fact for a moment if you don't mind.
The thing which has been happening to my body as of late which is more annoying than anything else is that my sense of smell has significantly heightened. Normally, this might be kind of cool, but let me remind you of a few things. First, I work in a school and, as we all know, kids are smelly. So, lucky me, I get to smell them that much more intensely than I did before. WOOHOO!!! Second, I have two small dogs and while I bathe them regularly, they do have a tendency to stink and to pass the most amazingly disgusting odors from their bodies that I have ever experienced. I mean, if pregnancy was going to come with the ability to heighten my senses and give me super powers, why couldn't I have some cool powers like x-ray vision, super human speed or strength, or the ability to fly or something? Why the sense of smell? And if that isn't enough, with the sense of super smell also comes the increasing frequency and intensity of my own ability to pass gas. Yes, that's right. The irony of the super sense of smell comes the fact that my body will now produce the most grotesque odors it has ever produced and I am forced to experience them in a way that only those around me should have to experience. It's sheer and utter cruelty I tell you. I still wish I could cash in for a different super power. Maybe something like the ability to eat as many Kit Kat bars as I want without gaining weight. THAT would be spectacular!!!
The thing which has been happening to my body as of late which is more annoying than anything else is that my sense of smell has significantly heightened. Normally, this might be kind of cool, but let me remind you of a few things. First, I work in a school and, as we all know, kids are smelly. So, lucky me, I get to smell them that much more intensely than I did before. WOOHOO!!! Second, I have two small dogs and while I bathe them regularly, they do have a tendency to stink and to pass the most amazingly disgusting odors from their bodies that I have ever experienced. I mean, if pregnancy was going to come with the ability to heighten my senses and give me super powers, why couldn't I have some cool powers like x-ray vision, super human speed or strength, or the ability to fly or something? Why the sense of smell? And if that isn't enough, with the sense of super smell also comes the increasing frequency and intensity of my own ability to pass gas. Yes, that's right. The irony of the super sense of smell comes the fact that my body will now produce the most grotesque odors it has ever produced and I am forced to experience them in a way that only those around me should have to experience. It's sheer and utter cruelty I tell you. I still wish I could cash in for a different super power. Maybe something like the ability to eat as many Kit Kat bars as I want without gaining weight. THAT would be spectacular!!!
Hi! I'm Tom!......Hi! I'm Tom!
Have you ever seen the movie 50 First Dates starring Drew Barrymore and Adam Sandler? If you've seen it, I apologize for this little intro, but for those of you who have not seen it, here's a little synopsis. Drew Barrymore is a woman has a car accident and, as a result, suffers a head injury which does not allow her to form any new memories. One of the other people she meets during the course of her treatment is a guy whose memory only lasts about 10 seconds before he's back to square one, Ten Second Tom. So, today's post is inspired by Tom because I think I am suffering from some type of brain injury which is affecting my memory...no, wait. I guess that is not a brain injury messing with my head, but more of a uterine user. Now, I don't know why everyone says this is supposed to happen, but apparently the memory of a pregnant woman is something that disappears quite rapidly...along with my waistline, my beauty (apparently), and any semblance of being able to sleep for more than 3 hours at a time (I am even worried that 3 hours might be overshooting it a bit...Damn).
Ok, back to what I was talking about...what was I talking about again? Oh right, my memory. Now, as some of you may know, I already have the memory of a 70 year old who has had too much to drink...for the past 50 years. I already need to have my life down to a routine in order to function. I keep my wallet in the same place, all of my cards in my wallet in the same order, my phone, car keys, work items, etc. in the same place. If something is not in the place where I keep it normally, then I have absolutely no idea as to where I should be looking for it as I have no idea as to where the hell I may have put it. At work, this means I keep my schedule in my pocket, I ask people to page me if I'm not in the right place at the right time, and I should buy stock in post it notes. Now, with this pregnancy, I am suffering from early onset dementia and, as far as I understand it, things only get worse from here. I am afraid that by the time the baby is born, Nicole is going to have to be bathing and feeding both of us as I will have no freaking clue how to do those things, never mind even figure out where the hell it is that I live!!! I swear this kid better be incredibly intelligent because I have lost about 50 IQ points already which is why this last blog entry has been so long in coming. Really. I mean it. I have had a lot of ideas of things that I have wanted to blog about but, shockingly, I can't freaking remember what it is that I have wanted to blog about when I sit down to write it. So, with that being said, I am going to be making notes about the things I want to blog about. The only thing I will have to do is remember where I put those notes once I write them. Hi! I'm Tom.
Ok, back to what I was talking about...what was I talking about again? Oh right, my memory. Now, as some of you may know, I already have the memory of a 70 year old who has had too much to drink...for the past 50 years. I already need to have my life down to a routine in order to function. I keep my wallet in the same place, all of my cards in my wallet in the same order, my phone, car keys, work items, etc. in the same place. If something is not in the place where I keep it normally, then I have absolutely no idea as to where I should be looking for it as I have no idea as to where the hell I may have put it. At work, this means I keep my schedule in my pocket, I ask people to page me if I'm not in the right place at the right time, and I should buy stock in post it notes. Now, with this pregnancy, I am suffering from early onset dementia and, as far as I understand it, things only get worse from here. I am afraid that by the time the baby is born, Nicole is going to have to be bathing and feeding both of us as I will have no freaking clue how to do those things, never mind even figure out where the hell it is that I live!!! I swear this kid better be incredibly intelligent because I have lost about 50 IQ points already which is why this last blog entry has been so long in coming. Really. I mean it. I have had a lot of ideas of things that I have wanted to blog about but, shockingly, I can't freaking remember what it is that I have wanted to blog about when I sit down to write it. So, with that being said, I am going to be making notes about the things I want to blog about. The only thing I will have to do is remember where I put those notes once I write them. Hi! I'm Tom.
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