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).

She has what?... on her brain? A tad more serious blog and a tad long.

First, before I even get started, let me inform you that everything is now fine and Ella has been given a clean bill of health… However, for several weeks DH (Dear Husband) and I were left in healthy little one limbo.

Here we go. After waiting for several weeks for what we could only assume would be positive ultra sound results DH and I went to our midwife appointment. Of course the results had yet to be sent in, but the midwife scurried out of the room in hopes that she would get them before the end of our appointment. In the meantime, she poked at my uterus, checked the heart beat and gave me the news that I had really low blood pressure, and should I feel dizzy should sit down so that I would be closer to the ground – I love practical advice.

Once the results were in, we were given reassurance that everything looked good and that baby was right on target with my due dates – as had been assumed after the reassuring u/s technician had told me that she couldn’t tell me anything, but that I didn’t have anything to worry about… then came the however… However, something had been detected on the u/s, but we shouldn’t worry. Technology has advanced so much that u/s can pick up small things now…

Then we were told that little Ella had bilateral choroid plexus cysts on her brain, a marker for possible chromosomal abnormalities, such is the case with downs syndrome.

The midwife was reassuring, telling us that it happens a lot and that it was up to us as to whether or not we would have another u/s. Of course DH and I decided to have another u/s and the midwife set us up to go to Ottawa in a few weeks time – long enough apart from the previous u/s that the cysts might have “taken care of themselves” and disappeared, as is normal in the majority of cases.

As DH and I left the midwife’s office we both spent the trip home taking turns reassuring each other that the little one would be fine. We both decided at this point that until we knew more we would keep it on the down low so that we would not be plagued by concerned, caring and curious friends and family about the situation and so that we didn’t give anyone else the need to worry until we knew more.

Boiling with curiosity about what the results of this u/s might mean for our new bundle of joy I decided to cancel my plans to travel to Ottawa that evening for dinner with the girls. I called them and explained to them in as little detail as I could why I was cancelling plans for a dinner that we had planned for weeks and that was supposed to take place in only a few hours. I felt like a dick – they understood.

Pen in hand and google open I situated myself in front of the computer and began my hunt for answers. I found both good and bad. For one, the cysts are just one marker for downs, but in order for a child to have downs there are traditionally several markers. I also found out that the cysts are a marker for another abnormality that causes infant death within the first year of life. However, in all cases the cysts just increased our chances (from 1 in 1000 pregnancies to 1 in 300 with those having the marker).

After feeling slightly satisfied that I could now go to my baby shower without blurting out “something is wrong with my baby.” I armed DH with my info and then made the call to my mother bear – the one person that no matter how hard I tried not to let anyone know that I was worried about something would know the second she stepped off the plane… I told her and then I told her that we couldn’t talk about it, leaving her to also worry in silence.

The next morning at 3:00 am I headed into Ottawa to catch my flight for the best baby shower ever! And I had a fabulous time.

Returning back to Petawawa DH and I barely spoke about the upcoming u/s and when we did there was a sense that there was no point of worrying until after the results were in… and we went on reassuring each other that our gut feeling was that she would be fine.

The weeks went on, and on, and on and on.

With DH unable to attend the second u/s with me my mama bear literally flew in to save the day (although one of the girls that I canceled on for my Ottawa dinner did say she would come with me for moral support should I have to attend alone)…

And on Tuesday with mama bear in tow and a very full bladder I got to see my little girl again J I had assumed that the u/s technician would not tell me anything, but to my delight and surprise she told me that the cysts were no longer there!

Immediately, a weight that I didn’t even know existed was removed from my shoulders and I did the happy dance back to the car and sent DH the best news ever! Once again our baby girl was healthy… Of course the u/s technician told us that the results will have to be reviewed by the doctor, but whatever.

The moral of the story is that I have always been a true believer in the idea that everything happens for a reason. Nothing happens by chance.

During the weeks that we waited to find out if something was indeed wrong with our little girl I questioned why we would be put through the stressful curiosity of not having the knowledge but kept the mantra that everything happens for a reason in the back of my head.

Once I was told that everything was fine the machines in my brain clicked and I realized that maybe we were told that something could be wrong so that we could appreciate things a little bit more – appreciate the fact she is now likely to be a healthy baby and not take it for granted (I spent the first few weeks of my pregnancy calling her “retard baby” jokingly because of the copious amounts of alcohol that I assumed prior to knowing about her existence). I don’t think I will do this anymore.

What sound does a moose make?

Whaaa? Mooo? Mowha? I don't know. I have never really heard a moose make a noise before. However, I do know that due to my ever expanding everything that I have graduated from heffer status to moose (does that make me a sow?).

Contrary to what I believed about the lack of weight gain as a result of my eating binge while in NS, it seems that I did manage to gain 10 pounds since my last pre-natal check-up.

My last check-up was the day before my NS food extravaganza. Four weeks ago today. So my days of bragging that I was only gaining a pound a week are officially over and I think it is safe to say that I ate my words... mmmm, are words covered in chocolate? but I still reason that I was weighed this morning pre BM and post breakfast, which should account for a couple of pounds, right? Or maybe my days of cupcakes, perogies, and reece cereal have finally caught up to me... well actually I think they passed me because if they caught up to me some of the weight probably would have went on my rear, and to my despair it has been all frontal... can't I have a bum just once in my life?

However, my midwife was not concerned by my weight gain, telling me that it is nothing to worry about as I still look and feel good... did I somehow forget to mention to her that my back has been killing me? or that I make so many bathroom trips in the night that an eight hour sleep is only accomplished if I actually go to bed at 10 pm and get up for the day at 10 am the next morning?... I think not. Indeed I did tell her these things, but once again "they are normal parts of pregnancy." Boooo-urns.

On that note, if when complaing about my overly frequent urination, I happen to hear "it's just preparation for when baby arrives," one more time, I think I might actually piss in the bed, just to see if I get the same response... because I don't ever remember requiring this much preparation for anything.

Other than the shocking midwife appointment, I have been battling my baby brain that always seems to be getting worse (does it ever get better?) and despite this, have started a new two month course in school. I figured, why not put something else on my plate? In the syllubus it says that a clear memory will help you succeed in this course.... I read this and then quickly sent my professor an e-mail explaining that although a bright and dedicated (so I fudged the truth a little) student, I cannot meet his requirements of having a clear memory, I am toooooo baby brained (didn't he read my blog about my undies?)... although he never responded to this portion of my e-mail request, he didn't comment either, so I guess all I can do is be confident with the fact that I gave him a heads up :)

For my birthday extravaganza weekend I thought it was necessary to go swimming and found my lop-sided belly rather amusing.

A pear on a tooth pick

It's my birthday and I can do what I want... right? So my big wild and crazy birthday decision this year is obviously not to get so drunk that I don't remember coming home, dance on a bar, or any of the other crazy antics that I use to enjoy doing (especially on my birthday, because the "It's my birthday," excuse tends to let you get a way with a lot).

This year my big and wild crazy birthday decision is to crack out the highest pair of shoes that I own and to only look at myself for the entire day from the thighs down and the breasts up. I am determined to start out this new year in my life looking sexy.

Old photo... much sexier today lol

It is also my request on this very special day that everyone else just look at me from behind... not that I have a great ass, but my legs are kinda special and from behind I don't look pregnant :) ... From the front I look like a pear on a tooth pick :)

Reality check - a 'green' baby

At Walmart today I found myself squatting down, uberly excited that I had found the bottles that I wanted and cheaper than what I had priced them out!

Leaving the fact that I was squatting (yes my belly now rests nicely between my legs), I threw the bottles in my basket (along with the most adorable little headbands that were necessary in case she doesn't look like a she), and I headed for the check out with my items and my big bag of reeses pieces (which upon writing this sentence I remembered I still had half a bag in my purse and I had to go get them).

Upon my arrival home, I realized that my plans on having a green/eco friendly pregnancy and baby have been sent with the wind... Not only had I ate a half bag of reeses pieces (not the little bag either) on my way home, but somehow convenience with this child has become more of a priority than being eco friendly. I bought bottles that have the drop in liners so that I don't have to constantly sanitize bottles (the package even includes an adapter so that you can use the liners with a breast pump).

Prior to becoming pregnant I often questioned how some pregant women were not able to: eat right, exercise, quit smoking and not earn the nick name heffer. Further to this , why weren't new mommies sucking it up, breast feeding, using cloth diapers, glass bottles, using organic cotton clothing on their new borns and reusing products that others had so graciously passed down to them?

Ha Ha. Then I got pregnant... My vain hopes of eating all my greens, oranges and omega's were quickly flushed down the toilet along with my morning spew. I had given up alcohol, prime times, and the ability to feel normal in my own body... I was going to eat my chocolate as much as I wanted (and still do) and nobody better say anything about it... Not saying that I eat bad, but my husband does attribute the weight that I have gained more to the cookie and cupcake consumption than to the 2 pound person growing inside of me... and I tend to agree, but since my weight gain is "right on track," I say bring on the hot fudge sundae's!

I also admit that I wasn't pregnant for more than a day before I decided that using cloth diapers was going to be way to much work for this military wife (here's for hoping that she isn't allergic to disposables)... and DH (Dear Husband) and I quickly began stocking up on diapers in a variety of sizes - the last thing we need is me making a homemade diaper out of paper towel and duct tape.

We were eco when we bought our solid wood nursery set second hand, and our travel system (which I later sold because I am a spoiled brat)... but I did get a "new" second hand travel system that was pink and much more worth it... I did want solid wood in the nursery and DH wanted me to go easy on the bank account :) However, I do think this was my last attempt to be eco friendly. Why buy used when there is so much new stuff I can buy?

When the subject of drop in bottle liners was first brought up by a friend, I thought no way! Such a waste... and then I thought about the time that I will save should my ginormous chest not be able to produce milk to breast feed (seriously though, if it doesn't then why did I go through all these months of back pain?)... and today I bought my drop-in liner bottle system, which is sitting in the box right next to the box of disposable boob pads :)

.... Now for more of an update... today marks month number 6 of my pregnancy, only 3 more to go until my due date! I am also officially 27 weeks pregnant which is wayyyyy better than that half way mile stone that people told me about only a few weeks ago... I can now see the end!

I have also realized that I am really, really pregnant. Each week I take a picture of my explanding belly but it wasn't until just this weekend that I realized how fat I really am... Fat in a good way, like phat. I think it is because my bust is growing with my belly and it makes it look much smaller... But then I looked back to my week number six picture and realized that I am a heffer :) a pretty heffer, but a heffer at that :)... On the bright side I now think that my pre-pregnancy belly should have been appreciated more than what it was. It was quite nice :)

Lessons learned on my way to trimester number three

I definitely don't feel as big as I look

So I have not so gracefully made it to my third trimester, where I now feel like a count down can begin. Only 97 days until my due date!

For the most part I know I have been the pregnancy monster, or at least appeared that way to many of my friends, family and the poor telemarketers that get to deal with me, but with trimester number three now beginning I have made a resolution (kind of like a new years resolution) - I'm resolving to be as nice as possible (as nice as possible means that I am allowed slip ups).... No worries to you regular blog readers though, I promise to continue to entertain you with constant gripes about my pregnancy and other raves and rants :)

However, to start out my new trimester resolution I am going to fill you all in on a few things that I have learned... here I go!

I have learned...

- that being pregnant isn't always that bad. It took me a trip to NS to realize this. I have never been fed so well by my friends (deer meat, steak, countless deserts, amazing breakfasts), shown so much love by the women in my life and have never had so many of their men be extremely, over the top nice to me (why yes you can carry my ridiculously large suitcase up the stairs).

- that not all baby showers are lame (when planned by my mama bear and with the help of great friends they actually rock!).

- that unconditional friendship really does exist (a special shout out to my Petawawa friends that had to deal with me during the hell trimester - in case you don't remember hell was trimester 1).

- that no one better try to steal a pregnant woman's food (may I repeat this more clearly. If you are going to take me around people that you like and want to stay friends with, then warn them not to touch my food - I almost stabbed a man at the Mustache in Halifax with my fork when he tried to take my brownie).

- that my DH (dear husband) truly does have thick skin, lots of patience and unconditional love for me (he would have to in order to put up with my never ending emotional roller coaster rides that always ends with me in tears and him wondering why I am crying yet again).

- that I really can't live without my telephone... how else would I get my reminders from my friends with chillins that what I am going through really isn't normal, but it does happen to most pregnant women and the sain ones believe the symptoms are mother natures way of giving us the finger... this is in reference to the mood swings, dry skin, constipation (yes, I am once again saying something that should be shhhh'd), pimples, inability to see body parts, etc.

- that when my daughter gets old enough to even consider having sex that I will not scare her into not having it with talks about STDs or what her father will do to any boy she attempts it with. I will simply sit her down and tell her my version of what can happen if you get pregnant (it's not like getting a cabage patch doll and reading the adoption card - you have to be pregnant first and with that comes.... at this point I will give her all of my blog entries to read).

- that this blog has been better then any therapy I have ever had... bitching and moaning about everything and having people love you for it is great! (how do I make a career out of this?)

- that despite all of the wonderful relationships in my life that chocolate really has become my favourite... what else am I supposed to do when I can't drink, smoke, or bounce on a trampoline (I know this doesn't fit, but I needed a third thing that I couldn't do and frankly I am jelous of the kids on the trampolines)....

And I think that is enough for now.... Love and happy thoughts to all that have put up with me so far.

A vision

Here I thought that my first blog upon returning to Petawawa from the beautiful NS would be about my fabulous shower and fabulous trip. I was even going to be very positive... But then today happened and I decided that I needed a venue to vent my frustrations, thus changing my mind.

Arriving back to Petawawa after a glorious, yet exhausting trip to NS, I was slightly disappointed to find that my pooch had come down with an ear infection - the most likely result of being fed wayyy too much wheat while I was away. What part of "Emma's allergic to wheat," do people not understand? Whatever. I have also been a culprit of giving her way to much of the many things she is not supposed to have. However, it is nonetheless frustrating.

I tried to clean her ears out in the vain hope that I could avoid a trip to the vet, and the unsightly bill ($250), but upon closer inspection realized that her ears were a mess and that a vet visit would be needed sooner than later (I was trying to postpone our next visit to May when I could get her prepped for heart worm (misquito) season....

After realizing that DH had yet to get our leash back after he loaned it out on the weekend (yes this means our dog has not been walked for nearly a week), I had to put the cat leash on the dog... no we don't own a cat, but the thin leash was great when she was small enough to fit in my lap... This thin leash meant no choke collar. Not that I am a fan of choking the brains out of my dog, but it does the job.

Arriving at the vet Emma wouldn't listen to my commands to stay in the car, as I tried to reach around her for my purse. I struggled with one arm to keep her in until invited to come out. Finally, I gave up, let her out of the car and she whipped me around in a full cirlce, stepping on my toe with her ridiculously sharp claws and b-lining it for the steps.

Once inside the vet office, my arm straining from having to hold onto her by her collar because the stupid thin leash kept cutting into my hand, I struggled to hold back my hormonal tears and reached for the phone and did the military wife no no. I called my DH at work and asked for help... but of course he could not leave the office to come and bring me a stronger leash, a choke collar and his mean daddy voice. I knew this before I even dialed. It was a weak moment.

So there I sat waiting, and praying that the doctor would soon come out to take Emma in, with a tight grip and my mean mommy voice saying "Emma sit, Emma stay, Emma stop," every two seconds. When we were finally called into the office Emma did her normal "I'm cute, so love me," act and the doctor looked at me like I was crazy for looking so stressed out.

Once out of the office I took Emma to the car before I payed for the visit... On my return back to the car I had an oh $hit moment... Driving back to my home the vision came, Emma and the vet with the baby. How will this task be completed without an army of dog walkers and baby sitters to assist me?

Then I began to think of what it will be like just to take the baby to the doctor. OH NO. And later a toddler... People will still look at me like I am crazy, DH won't be around to assist me when I have toddler throwing a tantrum, or a colic baby.... and they don't offer choke chains for babies... How many years will it be before I can turn off the mean mommy voice? Is it okay to change my mind about not wanting to be one of those parents who has a child leash? (I am now seeing the logistics in this device).

So like the good wife that I am I realized that it could definitely be worse and most likely will be by this time next year. I then sent a text message to DH apologizing for essentially not following military wife protocol (especially over the dog!).... Oh hormones, how you literally toy with my emotions.

Where are my feet?

It all started a few weeks ago with the underwear. One day I was looking for them and they had disappeared, and it wasn't as if I didn't know where I had put them. Each time I looked over my shoulder I could find them. Actually when I looked behind me they were right where I left them... But when I looked in the usual spot I could not seem to find them - covering up the mustin't touch!... Well no, that is wrong. They were still covering it, but I could no longer see them when I looked down.

What made it even worse was that a few days after I realized that they were MIA, DH (dear husband), asked me "can you even see your underwear when you look down?" Which I now thank goodness that I was in a good mood, because a comment like that is very likely to send me into an ugly cry tirade... but I just laughed and went back in the bedroom to look at myself in the mirror (not only to look at my ever expanding belly, but to confirm that DH wasn't trying to trick me into thinking that I actually had underwear on - maybe I had forgotten that day and had spent our whole morning coversation dressed in nothing but a sports bra and my birthday suit).

So as one should expect, this weekend I noticed that another article of clothing had disappeared... My feet were cold, but they didn't feel unusually dirty (which they often do on weekends because I get too lazy to sweep until Sunday night). The lack of dirt on the bottom led me to believe that I had socks on, but where were they? I couldn't see them, and I couldn't see my toes either! Had a mysterious amputation occurred that I wasn't aware of? Nope. I was just getting fatter... and once again I thank the hormone gods for being nice to me because I was able to laugh at this and figured that maybe it was to make up for having to wear ugly footwear for the next four months (at least I won't have to look at the flat shoes I will be wearing all summer).

Under Construction

When my mom first separated from her dear husband (DH) I was quite content to believe that they just weren't meant to be (or that they their personalities clashed worse then two bulls on an energy drink).... However, after doing my first home reno project with my DH I have realized that I was terribly wrong.

Mom and ex-DH decided to purchase a 'fixer-uper' early in their marriage and for some insane reason thought that this was a good idea.... Now, after painting just one room with my DH, I know that home reno's are the main reason for divorce's in this country.... especially when the female partner is a control freak (some call me anal retentive).

What we believed would be a simple and fun four day paint job turned into a nine day bitch and complain fest... You see, in order to paint Ella's room we had to move the office into the dinning room (as Ella's furniture had filled up our spare room). Therefore, this meant that working from home for me, meant working from dinning room, and our dinning room is ajoined with our living room. For DH this was great. He was able to talk to me while I worked and when I wasn't working he could watch basketball on TV and check the hockey scores at the same time.... Can you say say stress??????

The room reno also took place the week before my debut as an event planner in Pembroke, which meant long hours and thus ear plugs were a must for my work from home days and nights :)

The original plan was to have the reno finished in a long weekend while DH was on March break, but after spending St. Patty's day at a germ filled bar, his green hang over turned into the cold from hell and thus the job didn't get started on the day planned.... Then to top it off, in between getting the ceiling painted and the first coat of easter purple on the walls I was stricken with the super bug and could not help him complete the job and due to my anal rententive nature, did not trust him to finish it on his own - big mistake....

Once my cold was semi flushed from my system, and my big event was finished we decided to tackle that second coat of paint so that I could reclaim my office space.... I tackled it for a whole 10 minutes before DH and I started to throw insults back and forth about our handy person duties and abilities... Then it happened (when will he learn that unless you have something nice to say to your pregnant wife, then don't say anything at all - because even jokes aren't funny when you are pregnant)... I chucked my roller on the floor, got changed, took DH's beer (if he was going to ruin my evening I was certainly going to poke the bear and ruin his - gotta love hockey night in Canada), and left to my prego sanctuary (another prenant woman's house where my irrational complaints and accompanying gas and bloatedness would not be held against me)...

After calming down and laughing at myself for being the bitchest of the bitches, I returned home. DH had the room finished (and after the fact I can admit he did an awesome job)... Now it is up to me to finish the rest of the pink jobs (the reamining wall and window treatments, the pruchasing of the dust ruffle and the rug)... and some day when I am not in the room he will do the last blue job and hang the shelf.... and yes we have blue and pink jobs in our house (ie doggy poop pick-up is soooo a blue job).

In the end we have decided that since we really are great for eachother (pretty much the best couple ever), that the next time we want to do a home reno project that we would pay the extra money to have someone come in and do it... a handy man is cheaper than a divorce lawyer.


*** Note: The doll is to train the pooch and yes the books that are on the change table will eventually go on the shelf that will eventually hang on the wall, and there will eventually be a curtain that we hang in the closet doorway).****

Rubber Ducky You're the One... I'll name ducky hubby

Next to my hubby my bathtub has become my new favourite thing. If it was possible, I would
stay in there all day.

This week, I am suffering from yet my third pregnancy cold :( Booo Urns. Might I add, that it is my third and worse. I am coughing up things that I probably thought as a child were hiding under my bed, my sinus' ache, my back hurts (more than usual), it's hard to swallow and things just pretty much suck... Oh and did I mention that the conference I have been planning for the past nine weeks is this week? Worst possible time to get sick.

However, I have found comfort in my bathtub. It is warm and cozy and makes my body feel a lot lighter than what it really is right now :).... Another thing that has given me relief? Benadryl :) Yes, it is okay to take during pregnancy and yes it is pretty much sleep in a box... and as mentioned in previous posts, I swear that I will never, ever, ever, ever go through a cold again (post pregnancy) without everything single cold remedy on the shelf. Nyquil here I come! But then again, after this pregnancy is over I will have probably caught all of the viruses out there and will not catch a cold for at least five years.... Anyways, back to the tub... It is awesome... If the water would only stay warm!

A speacial shout-out also needs to go out to that dearest husband of mine. After months of pregnancy related complaining, he had the pleasure of listening to my additional gripes this week... The worst being when he found me on the floor crying in the bathroom. While hacking up some monsters, my cough-drop fell into the toilet, causing toilet water back splash onto my face, which thus resulted in ugly cry tears (take a pregnant woman and add and illness and the result is not very pretty)... However, having the wonderful husband that I have, he told me it could be worse (like there could have been poop in the water) and told me it was okay (after I washed my face, the first thing he did was give me a kiss).... That's love.

Well I guess.... My conference is less than 12 hours away and this was my attempt to clear my brain a little so that I could get some sleep (I also think that the Benadryl is kicking in)... until next time :)

My humps, my humps, my lovely lady lumps

If I recall correctly, this time last year I was in the middle of my battle to get rid of the 20 pounds that had not so nicely crept up on me after a summer of eating and drinking on Whyte ave and a fall of appreciating wine and take out.

One year later and the pounds have once again began to pack on and I couldn't be happier. At my midwife appointment yesterday I was told that since my last appointment (five weeks ago), I had gained seven pounds (and my midwife wasn't even going to weigh me lol)... She started by telling me that seven pounds was completely normal and I think I saw a little bit of shock on her face as I began to smile and giggle... Really though, how often does a woman get to gain seven pounds after eating cupcakes and cookies and still blame it on someone else? This is a rare opportunity and I think I will take full advantage and bask in my new plumpness :)

However, these seven pounds do come with a few disadvantages. For example, I got fitted with maternity bra's the other day and I can confidently say that these are probably the most unattractive bras that I have worn since being in a training bra... The sales lady was really helpful though. She told Greg to tell me that they were sexy hehehe.... The bra shopping also came with an added bonus, because who knew that there were strap on bellies in the fitting rooms (no one ever told me how fun this would be!)... So of course I strapped one on and came out to show the hubby, who was a little shocked that he had only left the store for a mere 10 minutes to return and POOF I was really pregnant :)


Shopping has also become wayyy more fun now. Since I can no longer buy cute outfits to myself, because I am not fully out of the muffin top stage, I can offically buy little girl clothes and eeeek aren't they cute! Little Ella shall be a diva :) A diva indeed :)

Introducing you to Ella

So my mommy radar was right. We are having a girl!

Half Way - Fooey

Week 9

Week 19

It's here. Every e-mail and every book has told me that week 19 is the half way point. Although I have yet to find a book or website that says otherwise, I am still in total disagreement. I didn't find out that I was pregnant until I was five weeks and therefore had my normal lifestyle (and pants) until that point, so I guess it is still a few more weeks to go until I am at my personal half way point.... Either way, I am totally excited that things are coming along...

However, please don't be fooled by the above belly pics. I swear it only looks that big when I am naked (clothes just make me look like a tubby person)...

It is only two days until we get to see the little road runner (yes, I am calling it a road runner now for the way that it spins around in my uterus). Hopefully, we will find out what the little thing is and can give it a name..... Although, at this point I am hoping girl solely for the fact that we have changed our mind about the boys name we had picked and can't seem to agree on anything else (I so want to name it Cache [cash] if it is a boy).

Until Friday, ciao my baby blog loving amigos :)

Dealing with sensitivity

Lost: One functioning brain that could judge situations and respond accordingly. If found, look for the pregnant woman, with the stunned look on her face, who is more than likely telling someone how it is (or is crying from just having told someone how it is) and is extremely sensitive.

The above is an ad that I would like to post in a national news paper to see if I can find myself. While I am not completely gone (I've always been a little rough around the edges), I am slightly lost. I have lost my ability to tactically deal with people and find myself mouthing off when I should be shutting up. My husband tells me that I just like hearing the sound of my own voice, but I really think that my constant rambling is an attempt to make sense of even the most simplest of situations.

My "sarcasm radar" is also at an all-time low. It seems that if someone doesn't follow a sarcastic point with the exact words "I was being sarcastic, or that was just a joke," I can be sent into an immediate furry of anger, or tears - either is a horrendous extreme. I just wish I wasn't so sensitive.

This inability to judge or properly deal with the simplest situations is causing me great stress, and by great stress, I mean the kind that results in the consumptions of large amounts of cupcakes. It also goes hand-in-hand with my inability to deal with BS.

While I am a people person (I really do enjoy them for the most part) I have lost my luster for some, particularly everyone. No, not everyone, but I guess this week it is those that think that just because I am pregnant they can comment and pass judgment on everything that I do. Advice is like assholes, everyone has one.

I really don't care if you think that eating three cupcakes in one sitting isn't healthy and isn't good for the baby. They taste good and I like them. I spent four weeks in the fetal position where everything smelt like ass and nothing seemed appetizing. I also don't care if my complaining afterward about the heartburn that the cupcakes gave me annoys you... and I really don't care if I cry because you upset me because I construed "do you really need to have another," into "you are getting fat." I'm pregnant, your not. Deal with it. And yes, I know it was essentially my decision to become pregnant, but I don't care. If you don't want to hear me complain, I hear that the dollar store sells earplugs...and yes I can use the pregnancy as an excuse for the whole time I am growing this human being, for anything that I choose because I do blame the baby for the mood swings, swollen feet, sore back, insomnia, laziness, etc. After the baby arrives I can continue to use the "I grew a child, pushed it through my 'mustin't touch', and am now providing it sustenance from my bodily fluids excuse," for as long as I see fit. Deal with it. I'm hormonal. I'm sensitive and no I don't care who you are, how many kids you have had, or haven't had or what you would do. I am not you and I am damn well going to eat my cupcakes.

I'm allowed to be sensitive. I am pregnant. You may be pregnant to, so in that case we can cry together or complain about all the things we hate about being pregnant (if you are a happy prego person then you probably won't like me very much). If you aren't pregnant, have never been pregnant, are planning to be pregnant, know someone who is pregnant, was pregnant anytime is the near or distant past, then deal with the fact that I am eating cupcakes (or insert any other thing you think that I, as a pregnant should or shouldn't be doing), and keep it to yourself. I have enough on my mind (like trying to accept the fact that there is a person moving around inside of my body).... However, on that note, please understand that I am pregnant, probably love you (or at the very least like you very much) and I am not trying to be mean, but please do not remind me that I didn't want your advice, stories or judgments the day before and am now craving for them today. I am hormonal. It is a good excuse, so please don't be so sensitive.

No more shoes, bigger clothes? Seriously, WTF?

First, for all of you potty mouthed sailors, WTF stands for What The Frig :) I'm going to be a mommy, so along with my act, I've had to clean up my mouth, and apparently now my closet. I'm officially 18 weeks pregnant today, although my tummy still resembles that of someone who needs to have a BM. I admit that I am noticeably bigger, but not pregnancy bigger so much as muffin top bigger. Just in case you don't know what a muffin top is, it is when your jeans don't fit anymore, but you are in total denial, and then walk past a mirror and become suddenly aware that you look like you are a muffin that just came out of the oven, only you were supposed to be a cupcake. Although, I am desperately wanting to get out of this fat falling out over the pants phase, I still have several fat pants that I wore last fall that are baggy on me(the fall following a summer of living in a bachelor apartment in Edmonton, that didn't have air conditioning, with an oven the size of an easy bake - needless to say I gained about 20 pounds in a very, very short time)... However, the lovely weekly e-mail update that I receive to notify me of my ever changing body gave me another rude demand this week. The e-mail came from the same place as the one that got rid of my high heels last week. Last week Mr. Email man invaded my inbox and kicked my high heels out of my home like rotten meat. Now this week he has decided that my shoes weren't enough. First he stripped me of my wine, then my high heels and now he is stripping me! Literally! I quote, "Bigger, more comfortable clothes are a must now. Treat yourself to a new pair of shoes also in a bigger size, your feet will swell along with your body, and pick a low heel for extra stability as your belly grows." This is my WTF moment. You know Mr. Email man, I am not an idiot, nor am I turning into a Fatty Mc Fat Fat yet... Although, I do understand that some clothes are no longer appropriate on me, like the ones that give me a ninja boot (this is the same as the icky camel toe and yes momI know is very inappropriate to post on a blog that my employers, past and present, are probably reading, but it gets my point across lol). I don't think that I have to start wearing moo-moo's and sweat pants everywhere just yet (although the sweat pants are probably more appropriate to wear with the sneaks that Mr. Email man told me to wear last week). I'm wondering if I should reconsider my relationship with Mr. Email man. I think we may need to break up if he soon doesn't send me some good news, like drinking a glass of wine actually helps baby to grow brain cells. So for now, my relationship with Mr. Email man will remain on the rocks... Until next week my friends :)