The moral of the story is.... YOU CAN’T FIT AN ORANGE THROUGH A KEY HOLE.

I know everybody has been patiently waiting for what is sure to be my entertaining birth story and I only hope that despite my sleep deprivation and sore who ha that I can live up to your expectations.

So here we go.

Last Wednesday, July 15th, I had a doctor’s appointment in the morning. I went, thinking they would check me out down there... and then they didn’t.... So as I waited for the resident doctor to come back to tell me my strep B results I began to cry. I wanted to have this baby and I wanted her now (and at the very least I wanted to know if she was even making her way)... Upon his return the intern became slightly uncomfortable by the waterfalls coming from my eyes and got my OB to come up and do the check (the OB didn’t even want to check but b/c I played the emotional pregnant woman card he obliged)....

Delightfully surprised, my OB found that I was already 2-3 cm dilated and he swept away some icky stuff... I was so happy and then really scared. The OB said that it was highly unlikely that I would be attending my next appointment with him 

So there I was at 10ish am excited and terrified, texting and making calls like it was my job. I went about my day, attributing my increasing crampiness to the humongous amounts of red raspberry leaf tea that I had been drinking, in the high hopes that it would make things move along....

My dearest old friend from back home was visiting with me and at 5 pm we headed over to #2’s for dinner. It was then that I realized that my cramps might be a bit something more... But again I shrugged it off. Labour pains were supposed to hurt, right?

Thank goodness mama bear was on her way.

At 11 pm that night I began to time the frequency of the cramps and realized that low and behold I was indeed experiencing them regularly. I called my midwife and was told to go to sleep. I tried. The cramps got worse.

Despite taking a gravol the pains kept me awake and at 1 am, I called #2. I was in labour and it freaking hurt....

With both mama bear and #2 looking after me I hung out in my tub for a few hours and watched the Sex in the City movie twice before calling the midwife again at 5 am with an update on my contractions (this is when I started to question if it really was possible for them to get worse). The midwife told me it was time to head to the hospital.

Arriving at the hospital I was 5 cm.... this lasted forever! I was there for what seems like forever when they checked me again only to tell me I was only 5.5 cm. I was pissed! Four hours and only half a cm, seriously?

So I moved positions, and #2 went out for some food, while the midwife rubbed my legs. The OB came in and checked me and I was between 6 and 7. That’s when hell officially began. I really thought I had been in pain before, but no....

They broke my water and I cried like a little baby. The fluid gushing out of my body onto my bed made me feel so dirty. I continued to cry until #2 was called to come back to the hospital and to get my mom there as well.

I think this is where things got a little crazy. Within a very short period of time I lost all of my inhibitions, dignity and will power. I no longer cared if I pooped on the bed in front of everyone or who saw my who ha. I no longer wanted to be natural. I wanted drugs and strong ones!

Trying the gas I quickly had an anxiety attack and found myself panting like a dog on the floor. I didn’t like the feeling on my face and I swear I was going to die from the pain. I begged for the epidural, but because of my stupid ability to be over prepared everyone reminded me that in my birth plan I said I didn’t want it. I didn’t care. I had changed my mind... However, they convinced me to try a narcotic, one that starts with an F. I was told it would only last a half hour and would have no effect on the baby. It might even let me get some ZZZZZ’s.

WRONG AGAIN! The narcotic made me dizzy and with my bare ass hanging out as I bent over the bed doggy style in pain I began to fall over, but yet couldn’t move... OOOOO and did I mention that hours before this I had up chucked my cookies into a bed pan (which are totally poorly designed, as it splashed and went everywhere, including on my pillow I brought in from home that I continued to use for several days).....

I’m not sure if this is the point where I decided that clothes would no longer due, but at some point I began ripping off my Johnny shirt. Again, I no longer had my dignity. I felt like Freddy Kruger was trying to escape from my stomach, while Jason hacked at my back.

When it came time to push I was so excited. My midwife told me that in order for the baby to come out my bowels would need to be cleared, so I pushed with all my might for 1.5 hours trying to void my bowels of anything in there. That was my goal – poop in front of everyone.....

I continuously cried and begged every person that came in the room to “help me.” No one did. They pretty much ignored my requests for assistance and each time I said something wasn’t right I was reassured that it was, that this indeed was labour... So my question is, why the hell do people do this twice or more? And drug free? Agh!

So I was pretty much done for. It was the afternoon, I had been in labour for an eternity and was more tired than when I use to party for days on end.

This is when I found out that indeed a body coming out of ones vagina isn’t always a natural process and that sometimes things really don’t fit. I was so far gone and in so much pain that I no longer cared that I planned an unassisted delivery. I wanted, no I needed her out.

Then out came the scissors and the doctor snipped away enough room to hook the vaccum up and oooops, first try vaccum fell off and my bird sucked her back in...
But if at first you don’t succeed – and then boom baby was there. HOLY CRAP! A human being just came out of my body! WOW.

The surreal feeling still hasn’t worn off. We now have our little Isabella Marie Crosby, born at 2:25 pm on July 16th, 7 lbs and 19 inches long 

It is now nearly two weeks since she arrived and the 13 days have blended into what only feels like a few. Exhaustion has taken on a whole new meaning, but I no longer mind it. It is part of the new role and I am loving every minute of it.

Where do babies come from?

I have officially solved why there are so many teenage and unprepared mothers out there – and it isn’t their fault. It is their parents!

You see, the issue is that while boys get to play with GI Joes and Tonka trucks, young girls are conditioned at a very young age to be maternal. Unlike the boys, little girls are not given toys that represent careers and lifestyles that will likely never be. Girls get given dolls (knocked up is something that surely the majority of us can do with little training).

The receipt of these dolls is followed by the question, “where do babies come from?” To which parents lie! The stork, the cabbage patch, magic! HA!

It is this eternal lie that screws so many of us over. If only we were told the truth from the start then I bet we would put our dolly’s down and go play with big brother’s GI Joes.... Many parents could probably also use this as an early opportunity to instil fears about intercourse.... Think about it for just a minute. When you are kid you are told babies are created out of love between mommies and daddies and then the stork drops off a baby on your door step....

Now think about what the truth would be.... “(insert child’s name here) babies come from a hole in mommy’s body that is usually the size of a pin hole, but then after hours and hours of pain like you wouldn’t believe - way worse than when you fell on your face and had to get ten stitches... the hole expands bigger than a football and then you have to push really, really, really, hard, most likely making you poop in your bed and then the doctor helps pull the baby out. There is lots of blood and baby is covered in icky stuff and doesn’t look pretty at all and lots of mommy’s need to get stitches in their vaginas after.” ...

Can you tell that maybe I am starting to have anxieties about how this baby is going to make her entrance into the world?

So, so, so, so close

I hate being pregnant. This is no surprise to those of you have been faithful blog followers. Those of you that have been in contact with me on a regular basis probably also hope that pregnancy doesn’t inflict me again, for your sanity and mine, for a very long time.

And with only a few days to go before I reach the 37 week mark (when it is officially safe for her to come), I have not been reluctant to tell everyone and their dog how much I am looking forward to finally feeling like my body isn’t an alien boarding house.

However, yesterday, in a race to beat the water breaking time clock, my wonderful friends threw me a surprise baby shower (which was totally thoughtful and fabulous).

Upon coming home, the impending reality kinda slapped me in the face a little and I realized that despite all of the horrid things that come with pregnancy (and despite the fact that I really don’t want to be pregnant for a very, very, very long time - if ever again), there have been things that I have actually enjoyed about being pregnant (some I might even miss)… So here is my list:

- Since little miss started moving around I have loved the daily reminder that I am responsible for growing someone who was totally created out of love and will be a mish mash of me and my favourite person. This is one advantage to being the carrier of life.

- Being pregnant has (despite everything) reminded me that miracles really do happen.

- Despite being terrified that something might be wrong with our little bean when we found out she had cysts on her brain, it was nonetheless a great reminder of how lucky we really are (I was once again reminded today of how lucky we are when the following link was posted on my baby group website http://www.oprah.com/media/20081001_tows_99balloons. The clip is of a child who had Trisomy 18, which is one of the things that the cysts are a marker for.)

- I have loved indulging myself in the consumption of high quantities of chocolate just because I am pregnant .

- Being pregnant is often the best excuse for anything and everything (too emotional one day? It’s my hormones… Too tired? It’s because I’m pregnant…. Double chins? I can’t help it, I’m pregnant… want to eat/not eat something? It’s because I’m pregnant)… Pretty soon I am going to have to go back to sucking things up a little more often….

- OOO having a great excuse for not shaving my legs for days on end has been pretty much amazing to.


Of course, I quickly snapped out of it and created a list in my head of all the wonderful (selfish) things I am looking forward to:

- My body… I can’t wait to see my va-J-J again… or my feet, or for that matter to be able to bend over without making a horrid grunting noise.

- I can’t wait to be able to hug my hubby so that my bountiful bosom touches him before my belly.

- HIGH HEEL SHOES, and I am not talking kittens, I’m talking high, smooth, sleek stilletoe’s….. ooooooo.

- Control over my flatulence.

- Sleeping on my tummy!

- Skinny jeans.

- Tanning beds.

- And drumroll please……………. Wine….. mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

So is it time?

I'm so efffffffffing pregnant!

In the winter people took pity on me for having to be a preggo during the summer. Nevertheless, I was given countless reminders that at least I wouldn’t be carrying her the whole summer.

For the most part I shrugged all of this off. Often thinking to myself that it would actually be more of a pain in the ass to have to lug around a new born, diaper bag, dog and the left over pregnancy pounds during the hot months... Ladies who got to give birth in the fall were the lucky ones.... Or so I thought.

I figured I like the summer. This won’t be too bad. I can spend the hot months in cute dresses that show off my bump and enjoy enormous amount of guiltless ice cream eating... not to mention pedicures whenever I want (not only is the foot massage great, but it really takes all of my will to paint my toes myself and I don’t see anyone volunteering to do it)... I think the ice cream eating has become part of my problem.

We had a rainy May, but June has been pretty much amazing. It has been super hot and great weather. Up until yesterday I thought that despite the swelling I could totally handle this being pregnant in the heat thing. Like I said ICE CREAM mmmmmmmm.

Then there was yesterday.

So today I say Effffff you to being pregnant in the summer. I now take back every time I have reassured friends and family that being pregnant in the summer isn’t that bad. It sucks – no matter what time of the year it is.

At the beginning of June my rings became nearly impossible to dislodge from my fingers... no problem. I sent them off to get some much needed repair work (great excuse to get it done)...

Week two of June: I was able to manage the copious amounts of sweat appearing on nearly every part of my body (think sweaty jock working out in the middle of the day, only I don’t need to move that much to get the same result). Again, I handled this and decided that this provided me with an official excuse to change my clothes at least four times a day and take as many showers as I wanted (I’m pregnant so this left DH with no means to complain about the lack of hot water in the house)....

Week three of June saw the appearance of elephant feet (I’ve attached a picture for your pleasure... and cankles (who knew my chicken legs would get cankles). This sucked, but I have been handling it quite well.

Then there was yesterday. My swassy, swollen, sexy self accompanied #2 to an outdoor wedding. I managed to keep my feet up in the morning long enough to be able to fit them into my zebra print stiletto’s and I put on a black cotton dressed – convinced that I could handle the shoes and the heat... the shoes came off right after the wedding (that took place in 30+ degree weather)... and #2 and I checked each other at appropriate moments to make sure that sweat marks didn’t make themselves visible in gossip worthy places. After all was said and done (including chowing down on an amazing buffet), I made my way home.

Arriving home, I put on my comfy clothes and did the evening routine, noticing though that my thighs were itchy. After lugging myself out of the shower I positioned myself so that I could catch a glimpse of what might be causing my discomfort and there it was – heat rash! I am officially so huge that my thighs rubbed together enough to create a medical condition!

This incident brought me to the conclusion of why pregnant women in the summer waddle a little more than those in the winter. You see, at nearly 8 months pregnant I am already walking like a duck, but now, in order to avoid this unfortunate incident again I am going to walk like some of those little punk kids that look like they shat themselves so that I can avoid the itchy irritation of being a fat chick....

I have now concluded that I am officially very, very, very pregnant. I have gained over 30 pounds, am literally bursting at the seams (Google is going to take a picture of my tummy and use it for a map to the cake shop), and now my thighs rub together with enough friction to cause itchy irritation... Where the eff is my pregnancy glow?

FYI – Rash was gone by today... probably because I am now walking like I a gun slinger from the wild west.

Pregnancy is pretty – pretty gross that is

It feels like forever since I gave everyone an update on how my pregnancy was going and unfortunately today, I was painfully reminded of how long it had actually been. So to speak, it was a pain in the ass that reminded me.

For weeks now I have intended to let everyone know the gruesomeness that is my pregnancy but have had better things to do. Now though, with the heat of summer kicking in (and I will never complain about sunshine), I find myself avoiding activities that make me sweat – which is anything that involves moving (seriously, I am like a 250 lbs man playing football on a hot day).

As far as updates go I think I will start out with my shitty day and then work my way backwards (a pun on a pun). Warning! If you don’t want to get to know me very well then I suggest you stop reading now. This blog is totally TMI (too much information).

Today I came to the conclusion that labour is really the worst thing that will ever happen to a woman. Why? Well, labour stories are the only really gross stories that pervious pregnant women pass on to current ones. They pass on lots of stories of aches, pains and cravings and then it is all labour horror – you know the ones where you hear about pooping on the table, people making comments about your lack of weed wacking and the rips and stitches. While I fully agree and believe that labour will by far be the worst and grossest experience ever I feel, it is my civic duty to report a few things that anyone who is pregnant or might get pregnant, or know someone who is pregnant should know.

Since I was not treated gently today, I feel no need to sugar coat things for you. So to put it bluntly, today I had a Q-tip put up my bum... Really... It was part of the Strep B swab, which I thought was exactly that – a swab, not a jab, poke or anything else. Swab sounds comfortable, or at the very least bearable.

The short of the long is that I went to meet the doctor that will be delivering my baby today and while I was there I got this test done. The nurse told me to drop my drawers around my ankles. Unlike a pap I was not draped in a sheet or given a Johnny gown. So I took my skort and undies off and hopped up on the table where she proceeded to swab my who ha and then followed with the poking of the dark dungeon... I didn’t even get to have a smoke afterwards (as is appropriate anytime you have been violated)... The nurse even had the audacity to make a comment about how it was uncomfortable... um hello! Way uncomfortable – a Q-tip in my bum for a longer period of time then it took her to say that is uncomfortable and from where I sat wayyyyyyyyyyyyy too long.

I followed my doctor’s visit with a little bit of retail therapy – I think I really needed a shrink. Although, retail therapy really isn’t what it use to be. I use to spend hours shopping for unnecessary, yet pretty things for myself. Today, I found myself in Walmart buying a blender, followed by a stop at Shopper’s for the super duper pads that I need to pack in my hospital bag (I’m sure I will talk about them more when I tell you about my personal labour story).

Okay so I have covered my swass as well ass in this blog. There is only one more gross thing to tell you about. I will call it my sniffling vag... wait maybe I can think of something cuter to call it??? Um nope... It is pretty icky. For those of you with children you will understand this, but for those of you without them, please take this as my way of giving you a heads up that a day will come when you will wonder if your who ha has a cold.

One night I found myself in the bathroom and after my business the TP got stuck... yes stuck. It stuck to something... I am not a dirty person, so I was a little bit freaked out. It wasn’t like a little got stuck, like the wad got stuck... So I peeled it back and found that my who ha appeared to have a goober... It was actually mucus... EWWWWW.... So I touched it and it stuck to my finger like a big booger that you get at the end of a cold.... a long, thick, sticky one.

Quickly, I went to the bedroom and ripped out my What to Expect When You’re Expecting, looked in the index and found the word MUCUS, it was followed by the word PLUG... So I read it and was sort of reassured that this was supposed to happen...
Meanwhile, I lay in bed next to a sleeping DH, contemplating the situation “the book says it’s normal, but how can THAT be normal?” Too late to call mama bear, or anyone else that I can freely divulge and ask TMI questions, I woke up DH. Poor guy was, among other things, completely disgusted and concerned, asking me if I had cleaned up properly, followed by “so are you in labour now?” to which I responded “no....... I don’t think so.”

The next morning I called a friend who I knew would be awake with her wee one and she reassured me that this is normal (how can it freaking be normal to have a goober coming out of your who ha? Ugh!)... I then left a message for my midwife so that she could call and reassure me again that it was in fact normal, which she kindly did...
Seriously women, do every other woman a favour and when you get pregnant please tell all of those people that have never been pregnant about what pregnancy is really like. I had heard of a mucus plug, but I didn’t understand what it meant... I also did not even imagine that a swab would involve becoming overly acquainted with my new boyfriend, Q-tip. 

And this is how the placenta comes out...

Last Saturday, the first bright and sunny day that we were blessed with in what feels like weeks (although it was only days), DH and our other preggo couple, found ourselves locked inside for a whole day of prenatal training.

While most of it seemed redundant to be learning at this point in the growth of our little one (um, I am pretty sure by now that I know how babies are made... and what do you mean I should eat healthy during my pregnancy and not consume alcohol? - seriously!) there were a few tidbits of information that caused giggles and jaws to hang to the floor.

I had been informed early in my pregnancy that the placenta did not just disappear, but that it actually had to be delivered. I knew this, but I didn't grasp the reality of the situation... and then we were shown a video.

Not only do you have to spend what could be hours pushing something out of your mustn't touch that doesn't mathematically make sense (after seeing the video I can now officially compare it to shitting out a large watermelon), but then after that work is done, your body continues it's work and you are forced to actually give birth to the placenta (seriously feeling bad for those women who have twins). Although not as difficult or as large I really feel that it is highly unnecessary and that the inventor of the female body should have drafted better plans for this.

Unfortunately for everyone else in the class, although the furthest along pregnancy wise, my maturity level had not grown with me, and my preggo friend (#2) and I giggled with each other and naively wondered, why can't they just pull on the umbilical cord to get the placenta out? I didn't ask the question and now I will be forced to wait until the second class this weekend to have my question answered.

I'm sure that everyone else in the class is going to be disappointed to see my return this weekend... or maybe the teacher will have assigned seating, separating both myself and DH and myself from #2, as along with my period, I have also lost my ability to hold in my laughter (accompanied by elbow pokes to those around me)... #2 and I spent much of the video on pain management giggling uncontrollably about some of the positions that we will be expected to be in together (she will be my labour couch in DH's absence).

At the end of the class #2 and I came to the conclusion that our friendship will be on a whole different level after we both give birth with the other at our respective side... not to mention that we live in a small town and we will probably be forced to battle rumours about our respective sexuality and relationship with each other (two women, within a few months, giving birth without a father of said respective children in sight... hmmmm)

The week that never was

On Tuesday, I decided that I would write off the events of the previous week and pretend as if the whole week had not occurred. Nobody wants to remember their worst long weekend ever, anyways...Today, I am extending that write-off until I wake up from my nap.

It all started last Friday when something (of which I still can't remember) happened that made me realize that mommydom was creeping up quickly, and although probably more prepared then most (the only think I don't have is my hospital bag packed and the supper thick maxi pads that go with it) I suddenly became keenly aware that not only was I going to have a baby in a couple months, but that my DH was going to be MIA (he'll be away working when the baby is born). The reality of the situation had finally sunk in - not that I have any doubt that I will be able to handle it, it is my job as a military spouse... but how did it come so quick?

Already locked into going out with my husband and his friends that Friday night, my pregnancy emotions took over and I became a blubbery mess. I hadn't really spent any time with my hubby in a while and the cool wife that he had on Thursday (the pregnant one that thought it was fine for him to go out on Friday) quickly disappeared.... Thank goodness for good friends. One of the nearest and dearest whisked me away to enjoy sweet goodness at a locally eatery and all was well (if you have never had to give up alcohol on May long before, then don't under-estimate the power of white chocolate).

I soon found myself with hubby at the local watering hole and was really enjoying myself (think River Side pub), when drunken DH suggested that we go to the local lounge (for you NS ppl, yes it really is like the lounge)... I refused to go and somehow DH didn't get the message that I meant that he wasn't supposed to go either... What is that new song? Blame it on the alcohol?

Needless to say, I went home alone and DH wasn't allowed in bed that night... Then once again pregnancy emotions took over and I decided to go on strike. I didn't get out of bed until 6 pm, when DH served me a good steak dinner... and DH still suffered for the rest of the evening by hearing my constant "you hurt my feelings" speech.

Then later that evening, my computer got a virus and by the next day it wouldn't even log on... A virus got me and it got me good. Thank goodness that we didn't get rid of our dinosaur laptops.

Sunday, although much better, found DH and I putting together countless items - the new futon, playpen and baby swing.... and just in case you haven't read the previous blogs, DH and I should not be allowed to put things together... yet at the end of the day we were still married and everything functioned properly (YAY)...

Then Monday came and although I love my dear cousin to bits and pieces, when I see her name appear on my phone I usually dread it... She only calls when bad things happen and of course the long weekend that I wanted to forget was made worse. My Aunt Donna, the matriarch of the family had passed away that morning :(

I then spent the majority of this week trying to figure out how I was going to make it home to be with my family. You see, this was the 4th person on my dad's side of the family to die in just a little over a year. Our growth rate is def not keeping up... Sad for me, I knew that with my ever increasing problems with my sciatic (not sure if that is spelled right) nerve, that the only way for me to travel was on a direct flight... and due to the fact that I will be a kept woman very soon, I realized that I could not afford to go:(... so here I sit today at home alone while the rest of my family once again joins together to celebrate the life of my aunt.

So, after the passing of my aunt I figured, okay so the rest of the long weekend wasn't that bad and the rest of the week can only get better (sometimes we need something really bad to happen to appreciate the other stuff)...

Nonetheless, when I realized Tuesday night that the itchy spot on my belly was actually a stretch mark, surrounded by 4 other of it's stretch mark brothers and sisters I had enough... Not that I thought I would make the whole pregnancy without any, but why do they have to be itchy and sore?... I also have a black cloud over my head that understands that there will be plenty more before this over... one of those, it will get worse before it gets better situations.

So pre-stretch mark findings, I decided that Wednesday things would be better and for the most part they were. Of course I had to deal with the never ending confusion of being a military wife and trying to schedule things around a schedule that never really seems to exist (I have rescheduled a bank appointment 3 times in the past month and a half).

The the beautiful weather of Thursday (still without my computer fixed) came and I was productive and even found time to study in the sun... but then something new happened. My body was reacting very different to the heat. Sweat was coming from area's that sweat should not come from on a lady... okay fine... I can deal with swassyness.... no problem... and I continued to say fooey to all of those people that play pity on women who carry babies through the summer... and then it got dark.

Yes, it got dark and in my non-air conditioned home I soon realized why all those people played pity on me for being pregnant in the summer. It was hot, and not just a little hot, really hot... and my body is a furnace...

So being hot, I drank more water (and so did the dog)... and with a baby on your bladder it is not good to drink more water before bed... and it was windy so the blind was making lots of noise... so between the blind, the puppy's 3 potty breaks (which coincided somewhere with my 5) and the fact that it was just too bloody hot to sleep, I am sure that I am running on fumes today and am doubtful that any sleep really did occur.

To top it off, I could have slept in today, but the carpenters had an appointment with me to come fix my window's at 8 am... by 8:30 am, they still weren't here and upon calling the company I was casually told "the guys must have forgot.".... Grrrrrrrrrrr... Well I didn't forget and if they do decide to show up on Monday I will make sure they remember that they forgot about me.

So now, while I wait for the computer place to call and tell me that I can get the disk that has my nearest and dearest documents on it (as they still don't have my computer fixed), I think that I will once again try to go get some extra sleep and when I wake up I will pretend like the past week never was (maybe if I do this I can also pretend like my horrendous, hormonally charged, mood swings aren't back either).