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)