A Baby Story

     It has been such an eventful week! From the exhilarating T-DAP vaccine (accompanied by a lengthy and painful reaction for this Mama) to my parents coming into town over the weekend for my first baby shower, life has been a whirlwind! It seems that overnight by stomach has grown at the same rate as the Grinch's heart when he finally learned to love Christmas. It feels as if Baby Boy is ready to bust on out of his current home with each punch and roll he makes, and by the end of each day, I feel thoroughly and utterly worn out. But I have to say, family time was just what I needed. My husband and dad stepped up and watched all the ragamuffins that attended the shower so that the mommies were free to enjoy some grown-up time and delicious food. It was so wonderful to feel such a large amount of love that day from family, friends, co-workers, and church members. My lovely friend who hosted the shower had everyone fill out a sheet that let each guest write down their wishes for Baby Boy Costa. And as I read through them later that night, I was filled with such happiness (along with many tears and outright belly laughs) knowing that this baby isn't even here yet and he is loved by so many.
     On Sunday I had to say good-bye to my family, which always leaves me feeling a bit empty inside for a few days. Luckily, I have to work such long shifts now, that I don't have time to think about such things as emptiness, sadness, hunger, or the constant need to urinate. I just go-go-go until my body falls into bed minutes after walking through the door at the end of the night. Thankfully, I had today off of work... which literally just means that I spent the entire day doing work at home that I wasn't able to do over the weekend or on the days I work long shifts, so, naturally, I pushed myself too hard and ended up on the couch this evening, elevating swollen ankles, resting my aching back, and warding off nausea. The kids' homework was done, dinner was cleaned up, and the little ones were actually playing together nicely upstairs for a change. Therefore, I felt justified to take a few moments to catch up on past episodes of A Baby Story that I had recorded earlier.
     Now, let me just say this. I find this show equal parts terrifying and gratifying, and I'm not exactly positive that it's a healthy thing for me to watch, since it causes my worrying mind to go into overdrive. But something about it is just like that car accident that you stop and stare at as you drive by super-slowly.... you wanna look away but it seems impossible to do so all at the same time. Tonight, I was halfway through the second episode when Taylor came downstairs and stopped, just in time to see the mother on t.v. begin her series of pushes. I watched her face, her little eyes as wide as saucers and mouth hanging open. "Oh. My. Goodness," she whispered to herself. I couldn't help but giggle as she watched the mother scream in pain, nurses hustling and bustling every which way. And then as she pushed the baby out and the doctor lifted the little boy onto his Mama's chest, Taylor's face burst into a huge smile. "Oh, wow! It's really a baby!" she said, still glued to the television. She was literally transfixed until the commercial break.... and that's when the questions began.
     "What was all that stuff on the baby? Where is the hole that the baby came out of? I didn't see a hole on the mommy's tummy... will her belly stay that big forever? When is our baby coming???"
     "Ok, ok, ok. First of all, that stuff on the baby was inside the mommy too, and it was keeping the baby nice and warm while he was in there. And there's no hole in the mommy's tummy because the baby came out of her privates. That's why girls have the privates they have, so that babies can come out."
     "Oh... that's just a little bit gross, I think. So, you will be naked when you have our baby?"
     "I won't be able to have pants on, that's right."
     "Oh my goodness.... so dad's gonna see your vagina???" (The shock was priceless.)
     "Uh, yeah. And the doctors."
     "But it's ok for doctors to see us naked, but NOT BOYS, MOM!!!!"
     "It's ok for daddy's to see mommy's naked."
     "Well, if the baby's gonna be naked, then everyone else can be naked too, I guess!"
     "No, not everyone, just me and the baby."
     "So, when's the baby gonna get here? How many more years?"
     "Not years... just about 2 more months. Remember, it's winter now, and the baby will come in the spring. You'll still be in Kindergarten."
     "I'm gonna be in Kindergarten for that many more years?!?!?"
     "No, Taylor, it's winter now. Then in spring I will have the baby. Then in the summer, you will be done with Kindergarten. It's only 2 more months, not years."
     "Are you gonna be old when you have the baby?"
     "No, I'll be 32 in two weeks and that's how old I will be when the baby is born."
     "Yep,  you're still gonna be old..."
     Thankfully, the commercial break ended and the show has fast-forwarded one month, showing the baby at home. I noticed right away that the parents of this particular episode named their little boy the same name that my husband and I have been contemplating. We haven't told the kids this name yet, because of their struggle with fixating on things and not liking change too much, so we've held out until we're certain. However, Taylor looks me square in the eye and tells me, "I like that name. I think we should name our baby that, too!" (And I have to say, I quite agree with her!)
     We decided to watch one more episode just as Cameron comes into the room. He takes one look at the woman on the screen and says, "Hey Mom, she's not even as fat as you and her baby is already coming??" Awesome. Thanks, Cam!! He quickly became just as transfixed as Taylor had, eyes glued to the screen, but with a much more confused look on his face than Taylor had shown.... and then the questions started all over again.
     "She's making weird noises... why is she making those sounds? It gross!"
     "Cam, she's just in pain. Labor hurts, Bud."
     "So she gets to eat ice cubes and drink juice?"
     "Yep, this Mama gets to. She needs it to help her get through the delivery."
     (Enter the tub for the water birth...)
     "You get to go swimming when you have a baby???" Taylor asks excitedly.
     "No, it's not a swimming pool, it's a tub, and some women have their babies in the water."
     "No fair! She gets to eat ice, drink juice, AND take a bath..." Cameron is actually pouting over the "fairness" of labor.
     "Cam, it's not like she's having a party, man, she's in pain, remember??"
     "Cameron, I'm not even going to TELL you why she doesn't have a hole in her tummy!" exclaims Taylor.
     And just then, with the final few pushes, the baby emerges into the water.
     "Hey, where did the baby even come from?" Cam asks, confused.
     "Mom!" Taylor whispers loudly. "Don't tell him the baby came out of the V-A.... Mom, how do you spell vagina?"
     "Taylor, you're so gross! Babies don't come out of there!" Cameron looked at his sister like she was utterly ridiculous.
     "Actually, Cam, they do. That's why mommies have the parts they have. God made us that way."
     He stares at me for a few seconds as if processing the information he's just learned.
     "Well, at least you get to have some juice." That was his final statement before leaving the room, probably to go hunt down some juice. However, at tuck-in tonight, he did ask me if he would be allowed to tie that cord into a bow and make the belly button. He was rather sad when I informed him that doctors went to school for 8 years to learn how to tie that special kind of bow, and that he wouldn't be allowed to do that part. So, as of now, Taylor loves the idea of labor (yikes) and Cameron finds it basically disappointing and unfair. What more could a Mama hope for, really?

Friend or Foe

     I woke up today and was devastated to find that I had mysteriously grown my first stretch mark while I was asleep last night. One deep, red line standing out against the ridiculously pale flesh of my right hip. I traced the line with my fingertip as my brow furrowed and a stabbing pain of ugliness began to nag its way into my mind. As I stood before the mirror, I examined every part of me (well, the parts that I can still see, that is), making sure that my frustratingly bright new mark hadn't brought any friends with him. I was saddened to see the two cysts on my thighs, ingrown hairs in places that can no longer be attended to, dark circles under my eyes, and a new patch of gray hair coming in at my temple. And let's not even dwell too long on the fact that I am much closer to 200 lbs that I am to 100 lbs, a thought that makes me nauseous and, surprisingly hungry, all at the same time. I realized that it's official.... I am now grotesque.
     So, I decided to take my hideous self to the bathroom for a shower, crying stupid tears the entire time. You know the ones I'm talking about. The tears that don't cleanse you or leave you feeling sated... but the ones that are filled with self-pity and nothingness... the ones that are vain and childish and hormonal and that reek of "I know I shouldn't be crying about this, but I just don't care"... the ones that are over a single, red stretch mark. Was there more to my morning than the mark? Sure, there always is. The kids I already have are nuttier than a jar of peanuts, I argued with my husband over something I can't even now remember, and my sweet baby Isaac looked at the dog and said "Mama" with such heart-felt conviction that I nearly had stupid tears all over again! But there was just something about that single stretch mark that pushed me over the edge into mood-swingy blubbering. Not because I pride myself on being something beautiful to behold, now marred forever by this silly line on my side, but because I now feel like a striped hot air balloon... you know, the family-sized kind. I feel fat. I feel ugly. I feel like crying stupid tears all over again because this dumb laptop I'm typing on can't actually fit on my lap anymore because I NO LONGER HAVE A LAP!!!
     What I do have, however, is a liiitttllle bit too many hormones, and tttaaaaddd bit too much sickness, and a wwweeeee bit of a problem getting a decent night's sleep (because apparently growing a stretch mark will just take it right out of a girl!). Yes, I realize that I could have woken up in some third world nation with little to no food or money to my name. I could have woken to find myself at death's door with an incurable illness. Or I simply could not have woken up at all. These things I was aware of as I balled my eyes out in the shower today. And then I remembered that I'm 6 months pregnant and that now is not the time to kick myself for being a blubbering mess and that everyone is allowed to have stupid tears sometimes, especially when they can't see their feet anymore... it's just a right of passage, I think, and I'm going to let myself have the occasional pity party every now and again (while still thanking God that I woke up in my safe, warm bed anyways!).
     What did help, however, was to realize that all these marks and changes are just reminders of the miracle swirling and kicking inside of me; Mere battle scars from this pregnancy war that I'm sure to win in just a few more short months. I know that when my little boy traces his little fingertip on my deep red line, I can choose to feel honored that his life, his very existence, is forever etched on my right hip... my special little tattoo that will always remind me of the months I carried him in my tummy (and my in back, and my rib cage, and bladder, and oh, in my lungs). Will my husband still find me "sexy" when it's time to undress for bed? Will I wear a burka to the pool from now on? Will I be tempted to Jackie Chan the next Mama that tells me, "You shoulda used cocoa butter...." in that sing-songy voice that oozes with I-told-you-so-ness? (Side note: I DO use cocoa butter, twice daily, and look who still has a red line on her side, folks!) And will I cry stupid tears again with the next stretch mark I see? I have no idea. I'm gonna go ahead and say that all of these are likely at this point. But I am going to try to see this new mark as a friend, not a foe... a line of love, not of shame... my special little mark that will forever symbolize my little baby boy.

A Woman Who Found Her Hat

     So, apparently pregnancy makes blogging hard. (Actually, it's probably more like pregnancy, mothering 3 kiddos, working full time, and being a worship leader makes blogging hard... oh, the hats we mothers wear!) As I approach month 6 of this whole child-bearing process, I find myself feeling much more normal than I did the first 4 months (thank GOD!!!). So normal, in fact, that we were able to get Isaac and Baby Bean's new nursery set up (and thus, Taylor's new bedroom, complete with a big girl bed and all!) with the help of my parents, AND I even managed to register for my first baby shower! So what if both events were exhausting and took much longer than anticipated? At least they're done and I can happily say that I survived :)
     Which gets me to my topic.... surviving. I find it necessary to mention that my kids have shown some improvements in the last week (gasp, I know, but it's true). After nearly 7 months of living as if each breath could be my last in Family Land, I am very proud to report that there are small glimmers that make me think that we actually may survive this world afterall. There's still fighting (obviously) and misbehavior (uh, no kidding), and llloooottttsss of crying (to be expected). But there's also less lying (less....), admittance to bad behavior instead of elaborate cover-ups (praise Jesus), and even, dare I say, affection (can I get a Hallelujah??). And to make matters even better, no one has broken ANYTHING of mine (well, at least on purpose) in about a month! Yes, friends, I do believe I see the faint glimmer of survival on the horizon.
     Tonight I witnessed a difference in Cameron when he told me he wanted to "give soccer another try". (Ugh, really? Because crying while standing in the middle of the field was sooo much fun the first season that we have to take another stab at it??) When I reminded him that baseball was a wonderful option to try instead, he said this to me.
     "Weeellll, my friend at school today told me that I was being a real big jerk last year in soccer, and that I could do better if I stopped being a baby. So, I think I'll try it again and do better this time."
     Well. Who can argue with that kind of logic, really? And who would discourage their kid from acting like a non-jerk-baby on a soccer field? I would like to find this friend and thank him for his well-deserved peer pressure and eloquently spoken advice. Had I called Cameron a jerk, he would have sobbed for hours, but a teammate does it and it sparks motivational change.... so yes, we WILL be playing soccer again this spring.
     Despite the efforts being made to survive family life in our home, recently I have found myself feeling insignificant and very much in the shadow of grandparents. My kids are always happy to see them, and they always ask to talk to them or visit them, and they always cry when a grandparent leaves. You wanna know who is always happy to see me, visit me, and cries when I leave? MY DOG. But my children? Eh... I can be taken or left in a heartbeat, and there are days when there are more tears shed at my arrival than at my departure. And in the light of my insignificance, I had a hard time not becoming bitter, frustrated, and just plain sad.
     But I'll fast forward to last night. I came home from work with some rather difficult news regarding changes to my work schedule that are just unavoidable. And we're not talking about a little bit of overtime or switching weekends around. We are looking at a complete and utter upheaval of our daily working hours for me and my fellow co-workers... schedules that will make it impossible for attending all of the evening events I have in my life (which are basically every evening), hours that will drastically limit my time spent with Pat especially (due to our now conflicting work hours), and a schedule that will cause me to have to rely daily on the health and sanity of my mother-in-law, who will now basically live at our home to care for my kids while Pat and I juggle outrageously long shifts. Already feeling overshadowed as it is, I prepared myself for cheers from the little ones at the idea of spending even more time with their beloved elders. But one thing I didn't expect... was the tears.
     Sure, there were initial bouts of happiness about hearing that they would sleep over at grandma and grandpa's house some nights of the week, and of course, over the realization that they will be able to get away with a heck of a lot more than they would if I were home with them every evening like they're used to! But I was able to watch the looks on their faces as the realization set in that there would be many days that they simply wouldn't see me at all, even for several days in a row. Cameron's chin quivered as he told me that he only understands his math when I explain it to him, and that he got the A+ on his spelling test because I helped him learn a song to remember how to spell the tough words. And Taylor burst into tears when she realized that I will miss all of her gymnastics classes and I'll never see her learn to do her bridge kick-over. And now, Cameron's soccer practices will be cheered on by grandparents, and weekends that I have to work, I'll miss most of my time for the entire week with little Isaac... thoughts that turn my stomach and make me cry right along with the kids.
     But even as things in life ebb and flow, I was very grateful for one simple fact: if I wasn't here, my kids would miss me. I may be the source of many spankings, groundings, and the cause of many tears and angry words. But I am also the cheerleader at events and the one who makes homework suck just a little bit less. Are they glamorous hats to wear? Not really. I'd much rather be the "fun one" or the "cuddly one" and I'd even settle for just being the "nice one". Yet, I found myself feeling much more settled knowing that I had any hat to wear at all in the lives of my kids. For so many months I felt hat-less, and now, my head is warm... and I think my heart just may be catching up, too.

It's A _______!!!

     I'm pregnant!!! (Wait.... wrong announcement.) We're having a BOY!!!! (Ah, ok, there we go!) Although many of you already knew what we were having, I felt the need to make it official. Most of you know that I have trouble keeping big news inside, so it may come as a shock to you that we were able to fool our families into thinking that Baby Bean Costa had his/her legs crossed during the ultrasound, making it impossible to get a clear gender reading. Little did we know, Baby Boy Bean almost pranked us with this as well! After an hour and a half of unnerving picture-taking suspense, the little fella FINALLY uncrossed his legs just long enough to get a rump-and-weiner shot... and there was really no doubt about it... this baby is pure boy.
     Was I disappointed? No. Was I shocked? TOTALLY! I spent the prior 5 months convinced that I was carrying a little princess bean, only to find out that I was going to have to drop the double 's' at the end. So, no, I wasn't disappointed... but it was a concept that took some getting used to. Another boy.... Wowza!! To help me adjust to the idea, I made myself find the silver linings to the news: 1) I will never pass on my cracked-out-uterus problems to a boy. He will never feel a cyst on his ovary rupture, know the awfulness of menstruation, nor have to have any surgeries to laser grossness off of his innards. 2) Boys tend to be closer to their Mamas whereas girls tend to love on their Daddys... and I want this baby to be a full-fledged Mama's boy! (Well, at least until it causes him to get beat up... and then I want him to just snuggle with me secretly and kiss me a block away from the school yard, like any other closeted Mama's boy.) 3) We have so much baby boy stuff already that this will make my baby showers so much simpler! (And yes, I get to have a baby shower for the first time in 4 kids!!)
     Ok, back to the secret we kept from our families. For a full week, we knew the gender of our little nugget, but we painfully fibbed to our parents, telling them the leg-crossed story, leaving out the whole bit about him finally revealing his boyhood to us, of course. Afterall, I wasn't able to tell my family in person that we were having a baby because of our geographical distance... so I wanted to make sure I could tell them this news in person and in a special way. To do this, I wrapped up the ultrasound pictures in blue tissue paper and homemade confetti, complete with an announcement that we were having a baby boy. I then wrapped the gifts in regular Christmas paper and planned to have my family open their gifts simultaneously at our Christmas party, and then to have Pat's parents open their gift at our Costa family party. I also wrapped two little boy gifts for both Taylor and Cameron to unwrap and be able to keep and give to the baby.
     Awww, sounds sweet, doesn't it? WELL, there seemed to be a bit of confusion at the Grand Revealing. I watched my parents faces as they opened their gift. My brother and sister-in-law caught on right away, but my mother stared at the gift in wonderment, almost as if she were thinking, "Huh... what an odd gift of a random ultrasound picture that reads 'It's A Boy!'... Hmmmm...." I waited and waited for what seemed like minutes, but in reality it was probably no more than 5 seconds before my mom yelled out in realization as to what the gift meant for her as a grandmother! All were shocked, but happy.... all except for one small family member named Taylor. My almost 6-year-old looked at me with a frown and told me that she no longer wanted a new little baby in the family if it was going to be a boy. Immediately following her disdain, Cameron let out a whoop of enthusiasm that he was going to have another boy "on his side". However, his excitement was promptly followed by a look of confusion as he asked, "Hey, is the new baby going to be black, too?" My husband chimed in with a resounding, "He better NOT be!" as I decided against having a birds and bees talk with Cameron in the middle of our family Christmas party. So, we informed Cameron that this baby will be white, and Taylor that this baby will be a boy, and that if anyone doesn't like it, they're free to file a complaint with God, but that all negativity was banned from spoiling the moment!
     Our reveal to Pat's family was much simpler (probably because it had no choice to appear simple amidst the utter chaos of how this side of the family opens gifts!! Dear Lord, it was a wonder we all made it out alive!) His father was excited to have yet another Italian male in the family, his mother suggested we start a family basketball team, and his grandmother turned up her hearing aid so that she could understand what was happening (although I couldn't blame the woman for turning it down in the first place.... did I mention the CHAOS??) Needless to say, all were happy for us (even if it was an eventual happiness.... although I'm pretty sure my grandma is still miffed that she bought the baby little pink socks for Christmas, which she had no problems informing me of.... right after she reported to me and the rest of the room how absolutely LARGE I had gotten. Classy, grandma, classy.)
     So, for those of you that need to see it for yourself, meet Baby Boy/Bean Costa!!

MotherLand

     Yes, I realize I'm a bad blogger. What has it been, 3 or 4 weeks since my last post? Well, it was either be a bad blogger or continue to be a bad mother. So, I chose to take a break from blogging and focus my attentions not on figuring out how to spin my frustrated life into a comedy or a tragedy, but simply on letting my life run it's course.... no poetic labels, no silver-lining-writing, no audience.... just letting life be. And that's what I did.
     In the meantime, some new life events took place. For one, Pat got a new job! We were all very excited... that is, until we realized that I was going to be home... alone... with the little people that have spent the last 5 months terrorizing me. Since my husband had been doing the majority of the child care while I took a maternal hiatus (aka hid in my room taking long naps and crying a lot in avoidance of yet another family crisis), there were 3 terrified faces as Hubby/Daddy went off to work that first morning. I didn't know who was more frightened, them or me! Thankfully, my in-laws have been there to fill in the gaps when I've been too frazzled after work to deal with the woes of pregnancy on top of  the likes of my other two kiddos. Together, we were able to ease me back in to MotherLand.... It's a Land of Chutes and Ladders. One minute we're at the top of the board, and in the next minute we've spiraled to the bottom, left in that heap of broken dishes, covered in scrapes and bruises. But those little people and I had a talk. Plainly and simply, we agreed that none of us would kill each other that day. Wrong actions would have consequences, good actions would have rewards, and I wasn't going to care too much which one they chose to do, because my sanity is more important than their behavior. And when the kids "cleaned the toilet" using a roll and a half of toilet paper and hand soap (which all got flushed and severely clogged the toilet), no one got flogged or beheaded. And when I spent more than 30 seconds in the bathroom, no one went out, got the ax from the wood pile, and chopped open cans of paint in the living room. So all in all, I'm feeling mildly successful in MotherLand.
     Another new and exciting event is that, after nearly 5 months, my pregnancy symptoms appear to be tapering off and I am able to join the real world again (with naps and medication, of course, but still....). After passing out on the floor of a public bathroom while with a client, I decided it was time to go to the Emergency Room. I cried to my Mommy by phone the entire way there and it became clear that either my baby was going to kill me or I was going to get a doctor to help me in some way. The beautiful nurse and the very wise doctor at our local hospital confidently ordered me new anti-nausea and anti-constipation medications.... both of which worked after the first dose (which showed me that I needed to be veerrrryy careful when I took that second med!). Were there some side effects at first? Sure! I woke up in the middle of the night hallucinating that all my teeth had fallen out and were somewhere in my sheets. And was I able to stop running to the bathroom? Not a chance! And was I too disoriented to stand (let alone drive)? Absolutely! But ever since my system got used to the medications, life has been sooo much more manageable! In fact, since I haven't been tortured by so much gastrointestinal distress the last two weeks, I've actually been able to start enjoying my pregnancy.... and I felt that Little Bean kick for the first time this morning:) It's amazing how much more manageable life can be when you're not in constant pain. Not only have I been able to get a glimpse of my old life again, but this morning I was able to experience a precious moment from the new life inside of me.
     Looking at the next few weeks, I see a trip to Michigan, Christmas parties galore, Taylor's birthday party, cupcakes for school, invitations to be filled out, and that whole laundry list of things called "Daily Life".... so will I be a bad blogger again? I'm gonna guess YES! But I will be back, complete with war stories and glories, I'm sure. But if I don't blog before the holiday, have a very Merry Christmas to each of you and your families. I am so grateful for you and the love that you share each and every day to me and mine. Xoxo

8 Things You Wish Someone Would've Told You BEFORE You Went Off The Pill

     Before we get started, let the record show that I am absolutely, 100% elated to be having a baby. I can't wait to meet this little life inside of me, hug him/her, and tell that sweet little bundle of joy that they were "worth it in the end". That being said, telling an expectant mother such things while the vomit is still fresh on her lips is not only "unwise" but it's enough to get you punched in the testes....by a pair of angry ovaries. And maybe use a little wisdom before saying the words, "Just (fill in the blank) more months to go!" Because honestly, pregnant women aren't counting down the months, they're counting down the days.... that's 161 more nights that I can't sleep on my stomach, or 192 more days that I'll sneeze and wet my pants simultaneously, or 288 more meals that will send me dashing for a toilet!
     Blessed be the glorious women that say that their bodies "just looooved being pregnant!" Perhaps these women are giving birth to teeny, tiny angels as their Mama bodies crave only cucumbers and fresh berries. Maybe these women feel the gentle fluttering of butterflies coming from within instead of heartburn and pelvic cramping. Or maybe these women have stopped taken their medication and are immersed into a deluded state of denial. Either way, these women make me sick... (but they shouldn't take it too personally, because basically everything makes me sick at this point.) What I wouldn't have given to know the cruddy side of pregnancy BEFORE it happened! Look, I'm not saying it would've effected my decision to have a baby of my own, but as an educated, well-informed woman, I would've liked a little preparation for the task at hand. Here are 8 things that I wish someone would've told me about pre-pregnancy:

     1) Morning Sickness- okay, okay.... yes, I was AWARE that women got sick during pregnancy. I've had my fair share of health problems that have prepared me for just such an obstacle. However, what I wasn't aware of was that "not-so-much-morning" sickness will prevent a woman from sleeping more than a few hours per night... and that she will be forced to puke in a bowl while driving her car to work because she ran out of sick days already (PS, how is texting while driving illegal but puking is perfectly acceptable?? Thank God my foot automatically releases from the gas while I'm heaving!). How about the fact that the medicine to not-even-kinda-cure morning sickness is wicked expensive, and that the woman's insurance company will refuse to pay for more than 12 pills at a time, leaving said woman sobbing at the pharmacists' counter while he frantically tries to comfort her with tissues and found tablets of Zofran. Or how about the fact that this magical pill will cause horrific constipation for the next 9 months of her life?? Because that's how long morning sickness lasts, ladies.... 9 MONTHS!!!

2) Dog Nose- I've always found myself to have a rather keen sense of smell. My olfactory sense is actually one of my personal favorites... the way a smell can trigger a memory of an old friend, or how the aroma of baking cookies can leave you salivating, and that my husband's freshly-showered scent makes me hungry for affection. What I didn't know? That the smell of garlic will now make me nauseous... AND violent (because how DARE someone eat garlic and then come near me when they darn well KNOW it will make me sick?!?) And, little did I know, that I would be compelled by something deep within me to not rest until I have located and identified any offensive odor within a 12 mile radius. A word to the stink bug hiding in the back of my closet.... I'm on to you, my friend. And you're going down.

3) Fevers, Hot Flashes, and Cold Sweats- No, it's not the Bubonic Plague, it's just pregnancy. Do we judge a marathon runner for sweating while running, or an Eskimo for having a hot flash when temperatures hit 60 degrees? Of course not. But lets cast repulsive looks at the pregnant woman with pit stains halfway down her sides, or the fact that she has stripped down to her unattractive undershirt in an attempt to cool down. (Hey, it fit! AND it was clean-ish so lay off!) My personal favorite is when I read the pregnancy magazines that tell women to "strap on those tennis shoes and pull up those maternity yoga pants... it's time to hit the gym!" Oh, is it that time? Because I'm pretty sure I worked up a fantastic sweat while bending over to tie my shoes... and my fever spiked at least 2 degrees when I climbed the stairs to get the shoes out of my closet in the first place. Is it really safe for the baby to work out under these conditions? Because my leaky bladder and overactive armpits are starting to catch on to this "gym thing" and they're not happy. So I think I'm just gonna lay here and try to not sweat through the sheets on my bed (because God knows that changing them will spike the fever at least another 3 degrees...)

4) Alzheimers- Yep. It's truly a symptom of pregnancy to completely lose your mind. I can't remember where I set something down, what it even was that I set down, or if it's ever really important that I ever find that thing in the first place! (Gosh, I hope it wasn't one of my other children....) I have asked my clients a question and repeated the same question again seconds later. They stare at me as if I, their therapist, am the crazy one.... "You just asked me that," they say. "Oh, wow, did I?" I reply. "That's what you said the last time you did it, too!" Ooops. I definitely think that someone should've warned me that..... crap. Oh well, it will come back to me later.

5) Back Spasms- I don't know how Barbie does it, but after carrying around two gallon milk jugs all day, my back is killing me!!! Poor pregnant women experience spasms when they sit, when they stand, and when they lay in one position for more than 20 minutes at a time. You know when my back normally feels great? When I lie on my stomach.... oh, the cruel irony of it all.

6) Acid Reflux- Never having experienced heart burn before pregnancy, I was highly alarmed when I had a a sharp pain near my heart. Oh great, I thought. Heart attack is ANOTHER pregnancy symptom??? However, my husband lovingly informed me (AKA scoffed) that I was experiencing heart burn. Ahh, ok, good... no need to rush to the Emergency Room. But then the acid started. Whatever a pregnant woman eats, she better be prepared to order it with a side of Pepcid, because acid is all she will taste anyway. "What topping would you like on your ice cream sundae, ma'am?" Hmmm, definitely stomach acid, burning mucus, and a cherry on top, please.... Try to stay away from acidic foods? Sure! But I didn't realize that corn flakes were all that acidy. And buttered toast.... and turkey. Because what I'm sensing here is that NO ONE knows what causes or fixes acid reflex OR heart burn! It's all a bunch of lies told by the makers of Tums to keep disgruntled, acid-burbing, mommys-to-be dependent on those chalky Mixed Berry disasters.... (which sets off the morning sickness, by the way!!!)

7) Tearing... Oh, the tearing- When I was a little girl, I remember my mother telling me about episiotomies (hello, nightmares) and how they're important to prevent you from tearing when you have your baby (and then I prayed that God would change me into a boy while I was sleeping). Over the years, I worked through these nightmares and decided to brave the dangers of childbirth anyhow. But what no one told me was that my girl parts wouldn't be the only thing tearing down there. So, ATTENTION WOMEN!!! When you get pregnant, understand that your rectum will be torn for a good 9 months (at least) when your child-sized feces try to vacate your body after days of constipation (courteousy of pregnancy and the makers of Zofran). Did I know that the daily task of pooping was going to cause me excrutiating pain? Nope. Was I told that my husband was going to become my proctologist with his makeshift rubber gloves, a box of enemas, and tubes of cooling hemorrhoid cream? Uh, noooo. And was I notified that several times a week, I would wish for death as I grip my puke bucket with one hand and the side of the toilet seat with the other, screaming like a murder victim? (PS, thank goodness for country living... if I had anything BUT redneck neighbors, I guarentee the police would be at my door weekly.) But no.... no one told me that stool softeners don't soften crap (quite literally) and that passing an actual STEP STOOL would be easier than what us women have to go through. So ladies, do yourself a favor. When that pregnancy test comes up positive, don't run to your man, call your mother, or take a moment to revel in your joy.... grab a handful or raisins and a metamucil milkshake and start chugging. There will be plenty of time for others to tell you how "big you're getting!" later.

8) I'm not sure how to tell you this, but you need to be aware that your vagina may fall out. Ooohhh, laugh if you will, but if you're one of the rare women who's vag-in-a becomes a vag-out-a, you'll wish you had been prepared! While your body is pregnant, it creates a hormone that relaxes the pelvic floor (apparently our pelvic region has termites in it's flooring), causing your girl parts to exit when straining through bowel movement or heavy lifting. Thanks, WHAT TO EXPECT WHEN YOU'RE EXPECTING.... I know where to get a great deal on nipple pads, but what about this vag problem I've got hanging around??? Sadly, this Thanksgiving, I lost my vagina to a battle with constipation. Those contraction-like pushes that occur when you're in the bathroom? Apparently it's possible to push out a little more than poo. With husband at my side (backside, that is), and me working through my pain (clutching the rug and cursing the day I was born) I felt an unusual sensation. When I tried to stand, I noticed that there was a warm numbness taking place, AND that I couldn't quite put my legs together. What the heck, NOW? I thought. So, I grabbed my hand mirror and had a looksie. Lo and behold, what used to be in was now out.... and it looked like I had the holiday ham between my legs. Oh my gosh, WHAT DO I DO!!!! Well, if you call your on-call doctor (as you should always do if your vagina falls out), he will tell you to ICE IT. Yes, of course it was a male doctor. No female would instruct a pregnant woman to ice her inside-out ham and actually mean it! But, ladies, if you do find yourself in this terrifying situation, know that you are not alone. Once the swelling goes down, you can do some Kegel exercises and gently push/shove/staple/whatever your parts back into their rightful place. I mean, I'm pretty sure my husband and I will never be able to have sex again, ya know, with my jello-y parts ready to fall out at any given moment, but at least I can somewhat sit and walk normally once again.

     Too much information? Well, I just wish someone had shared these bits of TMI with me months ago and saved me the awkward calls to my gynecologist. I mean, I tried to Google "How to fix a problem with my cell phone" and before I got to the word "fix", Google routed me to "Did you mean 'How to push your vagina back in?'" No, Google... not today, but thank you for knowing me so well... you're creepy, but sweet. And when little Sally or Johnny emerges from my screaming body this spring, I'm sure I will forget all of these crazy bodily quirks that have plagued me for 9 months. And then Google will be able to route me to pages like "How to make your nipples stop leaking while in Wal-Mart around all these wailing children". But until then, I hope that I was able to help some other women out there (PS, please read this article to your teenage daughters while having the abstinence speech).

     PSS.... I love my Baby Bean already :)

The Pierogie Dilemma

     I just ate a box of pierogies. The entire box. This was not my intention when I set out to make dinner. In fact, it was the last thing on my mind when I came home from work. My husband took the kids see my niece perform in a play downtown, which left me home (on-call for work, but still home) alone. Knowing that I could take a nap, eat whatever / whenever I wanted, take a relaxing bath, and anything else my heart desired, I chose NAP. The couch just looked too comfortable to pass up after a very long day at work. So, before I knew it, I was cuddled up with the pillows and my soft, green throw, waiting until sleep overtook my fattening body.
     But just as I was about to drift off, I felt a very familiar pull coming from deep inside of me. I recognized it immediately as The Pangs of Hunger. Pre-pregnancy, I would've ignored such a calling and moved on with the nap (.... actually, pre-pregnancy, I wouldn't have dreamed of taking a nap in the first place, so, scratch that, I would've eaten anyways.). However, now that my belly has a life of it's own (hello, Pun), I've learned to eat whatever I can get my hands on and as soon as possible when the pangs arrive... if I choose to ignore this hunger, vomiting is sure to follow! So, I jumped (heaved) up and ran to the kitchen in search for something non-nauseating. Salad? ugh, gag.... Mac 'n' cheese? eh, that is sooo yesterday's accident. Tuna fish? oh my gosh, seriously? Not even on a GOOD day! Pierogies? PIEROGIES!! Ah, yes! Butter, onion, parmesan, garlic, potatoey-noodly-goodness? I needed it in my stomach as of 10 minutes ago, so I whipped out my ingredients and fired up the skillet.
     And this is where my problem occured. I tore the top off the pierogie box and began dumping in an amount that looked satisfying to this Mama that had been puking on and off all week, unable to eat nearly enough to even begin dealing with the 3rd bout of constipation creeping in. Needless to say, I was hungry. Perhaps a bit too hungry. After I finished pouring, I went to re-close the box, only to find that a meager three pierogies remained. Three, lonely pierogies, destined for freezer-burn, stared back at me in a plea to be warmed in a butter bath.  Ah, crap.... I can't just leave three.... that's not even enough for an appetizer! I did the only thing that could be done and I plopped the remaining potatoe noodles into the skillet. There was a satisfying sizzle as they thanked me.
     Fifteen minutes later, I sat with my platter of food as I caught up on this week's episode of Parenthood. (Fitting for a mother-to-be, right?) I dug in and was doing pretty well, until the wall hit me. And guess what? There were three pierogies left on my plate. Those little buggers had tricked me! They knew there was no way I was going to finish them, but they just HAD to be cooked, didn't they! I pushed my plate away in disgust as nausea stopped by to say hello. And as I sat there cursing my dinner and pleading with my stomach to take a chill pill, I vowed never to eat another pierogie again. I took the plate to the kitchen and curled back up on the couch for another 20 minutes as my stomach started to finally settle. Thankful for the relief, I returned to the kitchen for a glass of water.
     "Oooo, pierogies!" I said to myself excitedly.... and then I housed the three noodles down like I'd been in a prison camp for the last decade. I'd like to say that I'm ashamed of myself, but I know that if I had to do it over again, the results would've been the same. So I'm accepting my fat-kid status and moving on with my life. I mean, come on, my stomach is an idiot if it believed my vow to never eat another pierogie again anyways, so it had what was coming to it... which, incidentally, turned out to be three more pierogies.