No, not literally, it just feels that way. And no, this is not yet ANOTHER one of those posts where I delight you with a long story about falling down or otherwise hurting myself. It's not even one where I talk about the lack of exiting occurring from that region as a result of being pregnant, no, no it's not. It's a post where I talk about my first annoying pregnancy symptom. And that symptom is my broken ass.
I sit for a living. Well, that's not exactly true. No one is paying me for all the sitting, despite being insanely good at it, but what they are paying me for requires me to be in front of my computer all day. And that requires sitting. Over the last few weeks, I've noticed a mild amount of butt discomfort at various times. I assumed it was pregnancy related, but it was hardly bothersome so whateves. Well today, that's changed.
My tail bone is officially throbbing. And I mean, I've fallen on my ass WAY more times than I wish to remind it, so it's not a total shock nor is it a new feeling. I know what it means to damage your tail bone. What's different this time is the lack of falling. Sure when I slipped down the steps, landed square on my ass and ruined my jeans it sucked, but at least I knew why my ass hurt. Or when I thought roller blading would be a fun pass time (it's not) and almost killed myself and 2 ladies with strollers on the sea wall, and used my ass to stop myself, I knew then too. Or maybe the time I went snowboarding when it wasn't snowy (and I am a TERRIBLE snowboarder) and again, used my ass to stop...are you sensing a pattern here? I am a klutz, without an ounce of athleticism nor balance in my body. So a stranger to the pavement my butt is not. But today, even before lunch time, with my throbbing tail bone I couldn't help but wonder, have I started to sleep fall down? Cause I assume that is coming sometime in my life, but I thought it would at least wait until my dementia years.
But no, the hubs assured me I didn't get out of bed last night and use my ass to walk down the stairs, so it has to be pregnancy related. I assume with an extra 15 lbs. weighing heavily on it, and a life predominantly spent sitting on it, she was bound to break. That, or my ass is protesting the thought of pooping during labour, which is something both me and my ass have just started trying to come to grips with (and don't even get me started on the peeing).
So I sit her with my throbbing butt bone (notice I'm still sitting on it, cause not sitting on it, well, that would be like letting it win or something) and blame the pregnancy books and baby centre. In all the things they've told me, all the scare tactics and ass references, not one has related to a throbbing tail bone.
They've told me my ass would get bigger (it hasn't) or that I would get constipated (I haven't). They told me to expect hemorrhoids (I've got none) and to be aware of pregnancy farts (don't got those either). They told me all those things, but never once did they tell me about my tail bone pain. And so I blame them. I blame them for coming up with, at last count, 67,983 things to expect when I'm expecting and never once discussing the feeling of a broken ass.
I can't complain much, and world you can consider this my superstitious knock on wood that none of those things I've thus far avoided come flooding over me in these last 10 weeks. But regardless, my butt throbs and, short of creating some sort of hunch back, leaning over my desk to stand up and type all day, I've yet to come up with a solution. I could try the yoga ball in my office, but I see 2 problems with this. 1, these balls are used in labour and, I don't want to give my body any crazy ideas like this child is ready to come into the world (she's not ready and I am SO not ready). And 2, that I am a klutzy, unbalanced moron (see above) and the result will SURELY be that of me sliding forward and knocking my teeth out on the desk. And I anticipate labour being ugly as it is, with my sweaty frizz hair and a face which I'm sure will be even uglier than my cry face. I certainly don't need to add toothlessness to that situation.
So, I will either go out and buy a hemorrhoid pillow, and carry it around like on old lady (or someone whose just given birth because I've seen this happen before. But again with the not wanting to mislead my body), or I'll just suffer and whine about it.
I think I'll opt for option 2, seeing as I've been ridiculously lucky throughout this pregnancy and have had almost NO sympathy inducing moments to speak of. Sad as it may seem, I may milk this broken ass feeling to get some preggo sympathy. That and hope it simply goes away.
And for the record, this topic falls into WTH Wednesday.....
Showing posts with label Symptoms. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Symptoms. Show all posts
My internal human is growing....
Sunday, December 20, 2009
I looked down this morning and thought to myself "I can't get any bigger than this, can I?".
And the scary thing is, I'm not that big.
The problem is, I am bigger than I've ever been in my entire life. And it's not the size, I realize I'm pregnant and I honestly feel beautiful and am thoroughly enjoying watching my little one grow. It's amazing. I am not however enjoying my inability to bend at the waist or remove my boots on my own. Honestly, I've almost called my girlfriend on 2 seperate occasions - once it took me 20 mins to get my shoes ON, before our Christmas party, and once as I sat, hot and sweaty, trying to remove slippery wet gumboots from my feet, and having a hell of a time (he hubs was not home to assist of course). The only negative to being pregnant in the winter is that flip flops aren't exactly the footwear of choice for the weather. Too bad, because they would be so much easier, especially considering your feet get suspiciously farther from your arms every day.
Doing seemingly easy things (see removing boots above) or bending over to pick up another piece of #&$&ing! tinsel which is plaguing my home (we had a party last weekend, and there was an ugly sweater, complete with tinsel. A friend of ours decided to wear it, and spread tinsel EVERYWHERE, in every crevice of my home. I've vacuumed 5 times, and picked up 100 pieces...it's procreating. I swear), has become increasingly difficult.
First of all, it hurts. I'd assume this is the result of round ligament pain and my internal human pressing into my organs. The ligament pain is a strange thing, because 98% of the time, I do not notice it. But when I do, it's like my muscles are rubber bands and I'm snapping them. It's electric. Electric pain in my uterus.
Second of all, it's hard to breathe when I'm bent over (or walking up the stairs for that matter). This is the result of a few things - my increased blood volume, my lowered iron stores, and, you guessed it, my internal human and her living room creeping into my breathing space.
Last of all, my balance. We've discussed this before, and it's not getting any better (obviously), so bending over or standing on one foot, not a good idea. Every time I bend forward to pick something up, blood rushes to my head and for a split second, I realize how dangerously close said head is to the floor. And the next second consists of me contemplating a head contusion, and hoping this isn't how it ends.
I realize that in the grand scheme of all thing pregnant lady, I'm whining about almost nothing. And I do honestly appreciate how lucky I've been. I barely felt any morning sickness, I didn't get the crippling fatigue I read so much about, and so far, I've escaped any midnight pickle and ice cream sandwich cravings. I'm peeing a little on the frequent side of the spectrum, but that's not all that new for me, and I haven't been starving all night. Mostly, I've just had awesome sex dreams, and that's not much to complain about.
All in all, I'm almost a little bummed by the lack of attention I'm able to garner from the hubs and others, because other than the hand free of a glass of wine, I've been exactly the same these last 6 months. My weight gain has (thank WHOEVER is responsible for these things...I don't believe in god per se, but there is a higher power out there looking out for me) been pretty manageable, I've had no cravings, low fatigue and, other than my balance issues, I've been pretty much the same (and let's face it, I wasn't so good with the balance before either).
However, this isn't to say it's not coming. Everyone I talk to and everything I read tells me that as of Wednesday, I exit the glory trimester and head into the third, final and apparently most difficult trimester there is. And so, as I look at my belly I think, it can't get any bigger than this? I mean, really, if my shoes are this hard to get on and off now, and if staying upright is this much of a challenge, then surely I'm doomed. But I know it's coming. I mean, my darling is growing by the moment in there, I can feel it. And no one has ever had a healthy baby after 3 months of non-growth. So it is inevitable (not only that, but it's anticipated and highly requested that she continue to grow her little heart out in there..I'd never pick fashionable footwear or grace over my baby girl). I will continue to grow, and apparently, more so than before. And I'm sure that I'll have some new and exciting symptoms as a courtesy of my internal human....
But at least it's great blog fodder :D
And the scary thing is, I'm not that big.
The problem is, I am bigger than I've ever been in my entire life. And it's not the size, I realize I'm pregnant and I honestly feel beautiful and am thoroughly enjoying watching my little one grow. It's amazing. I am not however enjoying my inability to bend at the waist or remove my boots on my own. Honestly, I've almost called my girlfriend on 2 seperate occasions - once it took me 20 mins to get my shoes ON, before our Christmas party, and once as I sat, hot and sweaty, trying to remove slippery wet gumboots from my feet, and having a hell of a time (he hubs was not home to assist of course). The only negative to being pregnant in the winter is that flip flops aren't exactly the footwear of choice for the weather. Too bad, because they would be so much easier, especially considering your feet get suspiciously farther from your arms every day.
Doing seemingly easy things (see removing boots above) or bending over to pick up another piece of #&$&ing! tinsel which is plaguing my home (we had a party last weekend, and there was an ugly sweater, complete with tinsel. A friend of ours decided to wear it, and spread tinsel EVERYWHERE, in every crevice of my home. I've vacuumed 5 times, and picked up 100 pieces...it's procreating. I swear), has become increasingly difficult.
First of all, it hurts. I'd assume this is the result of round ligament pain and my internal human pressing into my organs. The ligament pain is a strange thing, because 98% of the time, I do not notice it. But when I do, it's like my muscles are rubber bands and I'm snapping them. It's electric. Electric pain in my uterus.
Second of all, it's hard to breathe when I'm bent over (or walking up the stairs for that matter). This is the result of a few things - my increased blood volume, my lowered iron stores, and, you guessed it, my internal human and her living room creeping into my breathing space.
Last of all, my balance. We've discussed this before, and it's not getting any better (obviously), so bending over or standing on one foot, not a good idea. Every time I bend forward to pick something up, blood rushes to my head and for a split second, I realize how dangerously close said head is to the floor. And the next second consists of me contemplating a head contusion, and hoping this isn't how it ends.
I realize that in the grand scheme of all thing pregnant lady, I'm whining about almost nothing. And I do honestly appreciate how lucky I've been. I barely felt any morning sickness, I didn't get the crippling fatigue I read so much about, and so far, I've escaped any midnight pickle and ice cream sandwich cravings. I'm peeing a little on the frequent side of the spectrum, but that's not all that new for me, and I haven't been starving all night. Mostly, I've just had awesome sex dreams, and that's not much to complain about.
All in all, I'm almost a little bummed by the lack of attention I'm able to garner from the hubs and others, because other than the hand free of a glass of wine, I've been exactly the same these last 6 months. My weight gain has (thank WHOEVER is responsible for these things...I don't believe in god per se, but there is a higher power out there looking out for me) been pretty manageable, I've had no cravings, low fatigue and, other than my balance issues, I've been pretty much the same (and let's face it, I wasn't so good with the balance before either).
However, this isn't to say it's not coming. Everyone I talk to and everything I read tells me that as of Wednesday, I exit the glory trimester and head into the third, final and apparently most difficult trimester there is. And so, as I look at my belly I think, it can't get any bigger than this? I mean, really, if my shoes are this hard to get on and off now, and if staying upright is this much of a challenge, then surely I'm doomed. But I know it's coming. I mean, my darling is growing by the moment in there, I can feel it. And no one has ever had a healthy baby after 3 months of non-growth. So it is inevitable (not only that, but it's anticipated and highly requested that she continue to grow her little heart out in there..I'd never pick fashionable footwear or grace over my baby girl). I will continue to grow, and apparently, more so than before. And I'm sure that I'll have some new and exciting symptoms as a courtesy of my internal human....
But at least it's great blog fodder :D
Dear Gluocodex...I did not know you were akin to magic mushrooms...
Thursday, December 17, 2009
What a strange and unusual thing you are Gluocodex. A sickly sweet and painfully potent cocktail of sugar, water and orange flavoured sugar.....did I mention the sugar?
This morning I drank you. I drank 500 ml's of you, and sat, and waited for the longest hour of my entire life, I waited. I am not sure what I was waiting for, but the nice ladies in the blue scrubs and dangerously comfortable shoes assured me I needed to wait. I had an hour to pass, so I thought to myself, I shall read my book. I should have known better.
My book is close to 600 pages long. In tiny font. I'm reading Wicked for the book club and I've only a month left to get through the remaining 460 pages...with Christmas and New Years peppered in there for distraction. So I thought 1 hour of uninterrupted reading time - PRIME. Even better that it was occurring during the day, when I was supposed to be at work.
But I neglected to realize the psychedelic effect that much sugar would have on my body. I'm not a sugar person by nature. Sure here and there I indulge, and over Christmas there have been many an opportunity to do just that. But overall, I am not a sugar eater. And regardless, that is more sugar than any human has ever ingested willingly, in one sitting. And this includes the time my sister stole a box of Pot of Gold chocolates from under the grandparents Christmas tree, and ate the evidence in an hour, before anyone could find out. Too bad for her, she neglected to also eat the box and wrappers.
As usual, I digress. Whatever is in that cavity inducing beverage (at least they chill it for you, but no vodka) made my head spin. And not in a "I'm feeling a little dizzy" type way, but in such a bad way, I felt the need to reach up and make sure it wasn't literally spinning like a top. It wasn't, but it felt like it. The lights got brighter and dimmer, and I started to see things I'm pretty sure weren't there. Between the sparkly lights of the clinic waiting room, and the medicinal smell, I started to wonder if I'd passed into another realm.
So I sat, pretending to read my book, praying that this would not be the first time in my pregnancy I needed to uncontrollably vomit. Something about that orange syrup mixed with this morning Cheerios, spewed all over the shiny white floors seemed uncivilized.
Lucky for me, I manages to avoid projectile vomit, but that hour was no more tolerable for it. I spun, got dizzy and of course became increasing hungry. I wanted to lie down, or at the very least curl up on the chair, but I couldn't. I couldn't because those chairs are plastic and uncomfortable, and lets face it, a lot of sick people sit in them. The uncomfortable nature of this mornings events were further compounded by my inability to cross my legs. Well I mean it's certainly not that I CAN'T cross them, but I'm trying my hardest not to. These road map spider veins aren't going to get any better on their own, and I'm doing my best not to further anger them. But have you ever tried to not cross your legs? As a woman I find it easier to stop blinking or breathing that to avoid the natural tendency to cross my legs. I hate it, I just want to cross them, but I also want to wear skirts again one day, so I have to suffer a little longer without it. I'm hoping I break the habit all together by then, but so far it's not looking good.
The only one of us who seemed to enjoy this mornings adventure was the little one. She sucked that sugar back like the drug it truly is, and spent the better part of the hour getting her groove on. I'm not sure where she learned her dance moves, but it unfortunately feels like she learned them from Elaine on Seinfeld. Here's to hoping she gets some of her fathers musical aptitude after all. She is now resting, after such a high, and so she should. I'm just jealous I have no where to curl up and sleep. I feel like I'm doing all the work in this relationship, but I suppose in her defense, she IS working on becoming a fully functional whole person, so I'll cut her some slack.
In any event, there I sat, baby girl kicking me fiendishly from the inside, my head swimming, my heart racing. I sat - dizzy, tired, hungry and uncomfortable, watching the seconds tick by. I swear at least twice I saw them stop ticking all together. When it was all said and done, the nice lady took my blood and sent me on my way. And that was it. An hour of time spent, and a 30 second test.
I've got to wait to find out the results, but I'm crossing all my crossables (with the exception of my legs, those are virtually crossed) that I don't have to go back for the dreaded 3 hour test. Because if I have to see spots like that for 3 hours, I'm surely going to puke. And I haven't puked since I was a kid.
This morning I drank you. I drank 500 ml's of you, and sat, and waited for the longest hour of my entire life, I waited. I am not sure what I was waiting for, but the nice ladies in the blue scrubs and dangerously comfortable shoes assured me I needed to wait. I had an hour to pass, so I thought to myself, I shall read my book. I should have known better.
My book is close to 600 pages long. In tiny font. I'm reading Wicked for the book club and I've only a month left to get through the remaining 460 pages...with Christmas and New Years peppered in there for distraction. So I thought 1 hour of uninterrupted reading time - PRIME. Even better that it was occurring during the day, when I was supposed to be at work.
But I neglected to realize the psychedelic effect that much sugar would have on my body. I'm not a sugar person by nature. Sure here and there I indulge, and over Christmas there have been many an opportunity to do just that. But overall, I am not a sugar eater. And regardless, that is more sugar than any human has ever ingested willingly, in one sitting. And this includes the time my sister stole a box of Pot of Gold chocolates from under the grandparents Christmas tree, and ate the evidence in an hour, before anyone could find out. Too bad for her, she neglected to also eat the box and wrappers.
As usual, I digress. Whatever is in that cavity inducing beverage (at least they chill it for you, but no vodka) made my head spin. And not in a "I'm feeling a little dizzy" type way, but in such a bad way, I felt the need to reach up and make sure it wasn't literally spinning like a top. It wasn't, but it felt like it. The lights got brighter and dimmer, and I started to see things I'm pretty sure weren't there. Between the sparkly lights of the clinic waiting room, and the medicinal smell, I started to wonder if I'd passed into another realm.
So I sat, pretending to read my book, praying that this would not be the first time in my pregnancy I needed to uncontrollably vomit. Something about that orange syrup mixed with this morning Cheerios, spewed all over the shiny white floors seemed uncivilized.
Lucky for me, I manages to avoid projectile vomit, but that hour was no more tolerable for it. I spun, got dizzy and of course became increasing hungry. I wanted to lie down, or at the very least curl up on the chair, but I couldn't. I couldn't because those chairs are plastic and uncomfortable, and lets face it, a lot of sick people sit in them. The uncomfortable nature of this mornings events were further compounded by my inability to cross my legs. Well I mean it's certainly not that I CAN'T cross them, but I'm trying my hardest not to. These road map spider veins aren't going to get any better on their own, and I'm doing my best not to further anger them. But have you ever tried to not cross your legs? As a woman I find it easier to stop blinking or breathing that to avoid the natural tendency to cross my legs. I hate it, I just want to cross them, but I also want to wear skirts again one day, so I have to suffer a little longer without it. I'm hoping I break the habit all together by then, but so far it's not looking good.
The only one of us who seemed to enjoy this mornings adventure was the little one. She sucked that sugar back like the drug it truly is, and spent the better part of the hour getting her groove on. I'm not sure where she learned her dance moves, but it unfortunately feels like she learned them from Elaine on Seinfeld. Here's to hoping she gets some of her fathers musical aptitude after all. She is now resting, after such a high, and so she should. I'm just jealous I have no where to curl up and sleep. I feel like I'm doing all the work in this relationship, but I suppose in her defense, she IS working on becoming a fully functional whole person, so I'll cut her some slack.
In any event, there I sat, baby girl kicking me fiendishly from the inside, my head swimming, my heart racing. I sat - dizzy, tired, hungry and uncomfortable, watching the seconds tick by. I swear at least twice I saw them stop ticking all together. When it was all said and done, the nice lady took my blood and sent me on my way. And that was it. An hour of time spent, and a 30 second test.
I've got to wait to find out the results, but I'm crossing all my crossables (with the exception of my legs, those are virtually crossed) that I don't have to go back for the dreaded 3 hour test. Because if I have to see spots like that for 3 hours, I'm surely going to puke. And I haven't puked since I was a kid.
WTH Wednesday - spider veins, fashion and trying to sell my washer and dryer...
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
Even though it's 6:43pm on Wednesday, I am going to WTH Wednesday anyway...it's before midnight so I get points for that.
We've been trying to sell a brand new washer and dryer on Craigslist for about a week now, and while I've had an obscene amount of emails, I've had no buyers. Lots of people ask me if they are still available, and when I reply with my phone number, that is where the correspondence ends. I had one guy, make a 2.5 hour drive in the snow, to take one look at it and say "it's too small".The thing is, the specs are ALL on the posting. Every one. The width, depth, height, and ALL the manufacturers details about how many pairs of jeans it'll fit, the whole shebang. They are brand new, never even hooked up, and in perfect condition. I talked to his wife not once, not twice but FIVE times on the before she sent her husband all the way out here to look at it, AND the ad clearly states the set it stackable. So WTH? 2.5 hours IN THE SNOW, to look at it for 2 seconds and leave without it. WTH? I had another woman tell me she was very interested and ask me not to sell them without calling her, and then disappear. WTH? I'm not putting shit on layaway over here.
That boring tidbit aside, some of my other WTH moments pertain to this strange body I now carry around and pretend is mine. Since I clearly have no control over it, with a protruding belly button and a hiccuping vagina, I've decided it belongs to my daughter. I am nothing but a host for this being, and this becomes increasingly apparent as I notice strange and unusual things happening.
One of these such things relates to fluids which have been exiting my body. Now, I promised I wouldn't blog about this, because I'm pretty sure no one wants to hear it but, honestly, I don't get it. And so, this WTH moment will start and end with just that. WTH fluids, what....the.....HECK?
The next thing I don't understand is why it looks like I've fallen down a flight of stairs. I've got bruises on my arms, bruises on my hips, bruises on areas of my body I am sure has never touched anything else? My legs are the worst. And I mean, we know I'm a total klutz, so these ones are less of a surprise. But to have one bruise melt into the other in such a way, that there is an area the size of a big mac (ok I've only had one big mac in my life, at 4am, after a lot of drinks, at the age of 27 but, I've seen them on TV) that shows no skin tone, is disconcerting to say the least. I considered making a doctors appointment to look into this, but then I'll just get swine flu in the waiting room and have him look at me in that "is this chick for real" way, so I'm opting out. A simple solution would be to stop falling down and walking into things, but, let's face it, if that was an option I would have exercised it long ago. So, I will just go on looking like I fell down the steps, or like DH is beating me, discretely below the knee, until this baby is born. And then I'll likely go back to my regularly scheduled bruising. Even though I've accepted it, I'm still going to say WTH bruises? WTH?
And while we're on the topic of strangely coloured, blood related things making my body look strange, can we look at my spider veins? What am I 97? Who gets a road map of spider veins on their legs so ugly and convoluted it looks like a never ending tour through some backwoods mountains? I mean, I know these are common in pregnancy, but I've never had one before, and I honestly didn't anticipate them taking over my legs. Especially since they are all roads that lead to bruises? WTH?
I could what the heck my bulging belly and widening arse but, let's face it, that isn't interesting at all. However, I will WTH my skirts, which are all now riding up in front and making it difficult to wear them. I've been trapped between maternity clothes and my regular attire for what seems like an entire lifetime (when in reality it has been about 10 weeks) and I'm not sure when I'll be able to comfortably fit into either end of the spectrum. My regular clothes, while a great way to show off the bump, also do nasty things like flash midriff at the office (gasp, midriff. Not since I was 16 was this acceptable, and even then, it was questionable) or stretch into bizarre shapes which look so much more awkward than flattering. My pants provide the unwelcome combination of being tight around the thighs (that's water retention right, RIGHT?) and the full frontal wedgie...I'll let you think about that one for awhile. My regular wardrobe also does it's best to accentuate my protruding belly button, and the fact that the tights or legging I am wearing are cutting across my belly like a too small rubber band trying to contain a pillow. WTH.
Now my maternity clothes, they are often a better option - comfort wise. Not so much in terms of fashion and appearance. I've complained about this before, but this isn't even about the ugly patterns and cheap scratchy fabric. This is about my body and it's usual issue, nothing fitting it properly. I've always struggled with pants that are too short and gape in the back, or shirts that are either too short or too big. So why I thought this would change, I don't know. So here I am, in maternity pants, trying to put on a belt. Yes, a belt in my maternity jeans. You see, that panel, while comfortable and oh so sexy, does nothing to help keep my pants on. So in an attempt to conceal my ever widening butt crack, I am forever pulling them up. So maternity pants, WTH? What am I supposed to do? Shoving myself into my old pants is like trying to get my sleeping bag back into the bag in which it came, it ain't happening with any ease. WTH? And shirts, well shirts, I'd like to know how my boobs can be too big, and my belly be to small to satisfy your weird shape. Honestly clothes, WTH? The only thing still cooperating with me are my shoes. Which is good, because I love my shoes in a slightly unhealthy way and I don't know what I'd do if they betrayed me.
So that's my WTH for today.
Now my maternity clothes, they are often a better option - comfort wise. Not so much in terms of fashion and appearance. I've complained about this before, but this isn't even about the ugly patterns and cheap scratchy fabric. This is about my body and it's usual issue, nothing fitting it properly. I've always struggled with pants that are too short and gape in the back, or shirts that are either too short or too big. So why I thought this would change, I don't know. So here I am, in maternity pants, trying to put on a belt. Yes, a belt in my maternity jeans. You see, that panel, while comfortable and oh so sexy, does nothing to help keep my pants on. So in an attempt to conceal my ever widening butt crack, I am forever pulling them up. So maternity pants, WTH? What am I supposed to do? Shoving myself into my old pants is like trying to get my sleeping bag back into the bag in which it came, it ain't happening with any ease. WTH? And shirts, well shirts, I'd like to know how my boobs can be too big, and my belly be to small to satisfy your weird shape. Honestly clothes, WTH? The only thing still cooperating with me are my shoes. Which is good, because I love my shoes in a slightly unhealthy way and I don't know what I'd do if they betrayed me.
So that's my WTH for today.
My belly button - a beacon for aircraft, a 3rd nipple, a new appendage?
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
So I'm not sure WHY this happened so early, but somewhere around 22 Weeks my belly button decided it wanted some more attention. I don't know if it was feeling left out, seeing as my belly was suddenly the focal point for all my social encounters, or if it was simply angry at me for removing the navel ring I'd had in since the tender age of 14, but it decided to take a stand. And it's been becoming increasingly demanding of time and attention ever since.
At this point, it's almost downright embarrassing. I'm pretty sure small, personal aircraft pilots could use it as a beacon, to navigate their way to my city and safely land their planes. If I just lift my shirt and lie flat on my back, I think the Russian space centre could pick it up, and use it as a GPS location point (ok I have no idea how GPS works, but I'm guessing some satellite somewhere finds reference points, so I'm going with that for now). And the thing is, I don't see it getting smaller anytime soon. Why would it?
I've read this is a result of my uterus pushing from behind, more so than the size of my daughter to be. So I take comfort in that at least. Enlarged uterus I can handle, it's not like I ever have to look that thing in the eye. But I'd really love to know how much farther out my button wants to protrude. Not that I could control it, I just want to know if I need to make preparations. You know, sending out warnings to the space stations, and ensuring I'm not mistaken for a runway at any point.
My friends seem to find this whole thing completely hilarious, with a side of alarming. The button has been called my "3rd nipple" on a number of occasions, which only has me wondering, what do these people think my nipples look like anyway? And honestly, "Jumbo Button" or "Aircraft Beacon" or "Weird Squishy Protruding Mass" all sound a little better to me than 3rd nipple, but what can you do?
Most times, the "3rd nipple" comment is followed either by "eww it's so weird" or "ick, you think it'll ever go back to normal?". And on particularly lucky occasions, I get both. And honestly, I know it's weird. I touch it all the time and think it's strange, and squishy. I get a little bit freaked out by how it feels, but I'm also morbidly curious and obsessed with touching it. And I also wonder every day whether it will go back to normal or not. But asking me if it will is like asking me if I think I'll avoid getting stretch marks or gaining a lot of weight. The answer's the same "I have no idea, but DEAR GAWD I HOPE SO!!".
Obviously I have no control over these things, and if I DID, clearly I would choose to go back to my EXACT pre-pregnancy body, without 1 inch of skin out of place and not 1 ounce more fat. And I'd choose to go back to that body before I ever left the hospital. But as with so many things pregnancy and labour related, you're severely limited in how much control you have.
You truly are gestating an alien form, that's going to do to you exactly what she wants, no matter the consequences. And the best part is, you tried hard to put her in there. You'll do everything you can to keep her there for the requisite 38-40 weeks, and love every minuscule piece of her, no matter what she puts your body through. It's a special kind of love, the kind that will allow someone to mess with your body and have you not put them on your hit list. It's a love you can only ever have for your child.
But back to my belly button. I have to say, I BARELY got over how offensive I found it sans navel barbell (ok honestly, I never got over how offensive I found it) before it started to stick itself out, beg to be touched and ridiculed, not even pretending to hide under my shirts anymore. But here I am, and she sticks out. And I've had people tell me "you know you can buy thinks to cover that" and, yes I do know. But I feel like that's accepting defeat, like I'm allowing the button to kick my self esteems ass, and I just can't give THAT much control to a part of my body I've never really understood in the first place. And besides, as strange and awkward as it looks to the outside world, it's a badge of honour I wear with pride. It's one of the first things my daughter has ever given me, and I can't deny the importance of that.
Even if it is just a stupid, protruding belly button..............
At this point, it's almost downright embarrassing. I'm pretty sure small, personal aircraft pilots could use it as a beacon, to navigate their way to my city and safely land their planes. If I just lift my shirt and lie flat on my back, I think the Russian space centre could pick it up, and use it as a GPS location point (ok I have no idea how GPS works, but I'm guessing some satellite somewhere finds reference points, so I'm going with that for now). And the thing is, I don't see it getting smaller anytime soon. Why would it?
I've read this is a result of my uterus pushing from behind, more so than the size of my daughter to be. So I take comfort in that at least. Enlarged uterus I can handle, it's not like I ever have to look that thing in the eye. But I'd really love to know how much farther out my button wants to protrude. Not that I could control it, I just want to know if I need to make preparations. You know, sending out warnings to the space stations, and ensuring I'm not mistaken for a runway at any point.
My friends seem to find this whole thing completely hilarious, with a side of alarming. The button has been called my "3rd nipple" on a number of occasions, which only has me wondering, what do these people think my nipples look like anyway? And honestly, "Jumbo Button" or "Aircraft Beacon" or "Weird Squishy Protruding Mass" all sound a little better to me than 3rd nipple, but what can you do?
Most times, the "3rd nipple" comment is followed either by "eww it's so weird" or "ick, you think it'll ever go back to normal?". And on particularly lucky occasions, I get both. And honestly, I know it's weird. I touch it all the time and think it's strange, and squishy. I get a little bit freaked out by how it feels, but I'm also morbidly curious and obsessed with touching it. And I also wonder every day whether it will go back to normal or not. But asking me if it will is like asking me if I think I'll avoid getting stretch marks or gaining a lot of weight. The answer's the same "I have no idea, but DEAR GAWD I HOPE SO!!".
Obviously I have no control over these things, and if I DID, clearly I would choose to go back to my EXACT pre-pregnancy body, without 1 inch of skin out of place and not 1 ounce more fat. And I'd choose to go back to that body before I ever left the hospital. But as with so many things pregnancy and labour related, you're severely limited in how much control you have.
You truly are gestating an alien form, that's going to do to you exactly what she wants, no matter the consequences. And the best part is, you tried hard to put her in there. You'll do everything you can to keep her there for the requisite 38-40 weeks, and love every minuscule piece of her, no matter what she puts your body through. It's a special kind of love, the kind that will allow someone to mess with your body and have you not put them on your hit list. It's a love you can only ever have for your child.
But back to my belly button. I have to say, I BARELY got over how offensive I found it sans navel barbell (ok honestly, I never got over how offensive I found it) before it started to stick itself out, beg to be touched and ridiculed, not even pretending to hide under my shirts anymore. But here I am, and she sticks out. And I've had people tell me "you know you can buy thinks to cover that" and, yes I do know. But I feel like that's accepting defeat, like I'm allowing the button to kick my self esteems ass, and I just can't give THAT much control to a part of my body I've never really understood in the first place. And besides, as strange and awkward as it looks to the outside world, it's a badge of honour I wear with pride. It's one of the first things my daughter has ever given me, and I can't deny the importance of that.
Even if it is just a stupid, protruding belly button..............
My vagina has the hiccups..no seriously...
Friday, December 11, 2009
Ok so I know I know, it's not my vagina, it's my daughter, but for the last few days she's been positioned in such a way that it really feels like my vagina is hiccuping. And it's awkward.
It's awkward because, well, last time I check, vagina's didn't hiccup and so to have yours doing just that, can be distracting to say the least. It took me awhile to figure out what was going on the first time it happened. But as with everything strange going on near my vag these days, I figured it must be pregnancy related. It was only later when she had the hiccups again, in a much more acceptable spot like my mid-abdomen, did I figure out what had been happening earlier in the day. And I was happy to realize that was in fact all it was.Not that a hiccuping vagina couldn't be some sort of circus freak trick that might make me money some day, just that I'm not exactly prepared to share myself with the world in that capacity....talk to me after I've delivered this baby!
It is also awkward because there are people who are DYING to feel said hiccups, and it's not exactly appropriate to let them do this when the hiccups are coming out via my intimate parts. The issue is, I generally have said aloud "the baby is hiccuping" before thinking to myself it could end in an awkward moment. And then, someone always asks "can I feel it from the outside", hopeful, with a hand flat out poised to cop a feel. A normal person would say "No sorry you can't", but me, well I'm getting used to saying vagina a lot these days, so I tend to blurt out something along the lines of "sorry, only my doctor or my husband are allowed to touch my vagina" or something else equally inappropriate. Which, as you can imagine, leads to another awkward moment - the moment in which they can't figure out how we went from talking about cute little in utero hiccups, to my vagina. This inevitably leads to me needing to explain to the person WHY I said that, and by the time I'm done, I'm no longer the cute pregnant lady whose baby has hiccups. No, I'm the strange beach ball on twigs, who has just made them feel dirty for not particular reason.
Regardless, the hiccups are quite fun to experience, and I assume that means she's getting this whole swallowing thing down pat in there. And I have to admit, I enjoy the hiccups far more than her daily game of jump and poke the bladder. They are just more comfortable for me. Even if they are coming out of my vagina......
It's awkward because, well, last time I check, vagina's didn't hiccup and so to have yours doing just that, can be distracting to say the least. It took me awhile to figure out what was going on the first time it happened. But as with everything strange going on near my vag these days, I figured it must be pregnancy related. It was only later when she had the hiccups again, in a much more acceptable spot like my mid-abdomen, did I figure out what had been happening earlier in the day. And I was happy to realize that was in fact all it was.Not that a hiccuping vagina couldn't be some sort of circus freak trick that might make me money some day, just that I'm not exactly prepared to share myself with the world in that capacity....talk to me after I've delivered this baby!
It is also awkward because there are people who are DYING to feel said hiccups, and it's not exactly appropriate to let them do this when the hiccups are coming out via my intimate parts. The issue is, I generally have said aloud "the baby is hiccuping" before thinking to myself it could end in an awkward moment. And then, someone always asks "can I feel it from the outside", hopeful, with a hand flat out poised to cop a feel. A normal person would say "No sorry you can't", but me, well I'm getting used to saying vagina a lot these days, so I tend to blurt out something along the lines of "sorry, only my doctor or my husband are allowed to touch my vagina" or something else equally inappropriate. Which, as you can imagine, leads to another awkward moment - the moment in which they can't figure out how we went from talking about cute little in utero hiccups, to my vagina. This inevitably leads to me needing to explain to the person WHY I said that, and by the time I'm done, I'm no longer the cute pregnant lady whose baby has hiccups. No, I'm the strange beach ball on twigs, who has just made them feel dirty for not particular reason.
Regardless, the hiccups are quite fun to experience, and I assume that means she's getting this whole swallowing thing down pat in there. And I have to admit, I enjoy the hiccups far more than her daily game of jump and poke the bladder. They are just more comfortable for me. Even if they are coming out of my vagina......
The only thing I hate more than blowdrying and flossing? Doing my kegels!
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
You might be tempted to wonder how I could combine blow drying, flossing and kegel exercises into 1 blog post, but don't. This is the mind of a pregnant lady and there is no rhyme, reason or rational. And in fact, I'm sure that by the end of this post, you'll know why I'm targeting all 3 at once.
Let me start with the least offensive, and most necessary evil on my list - flossing. The thing is, us humans are hardly confused as to why our dentists continue to beat us over the head for not doing this enough. We understand the importance of it, but we hate it so much we'll actually risk losing teeth over it. Teeth people, you need those (unless you're my dog but that's another story) to eat, and not look like a freak. You also need them to ensure you don't whistle and spit while you talk, and to help keep your tongue in your mouth..... or so the vet told me about my dog.
Anyway, it's not that it's hard or painful, and it's not even that it's that time consuming, it just sucks. It adds another step to your daily routine, and frankly you don't see the immediate benefits. The only thing that ever prompts me to floss on a regular basis, is the idea of having to listen to my Hygienist AGAIN detail how and why I should floss. So quite frankly, I'm good at it for approximately 4 months per year - 1 month before each cleaning, and 1 month after when I'm all jacked up on fluoride and free toothbrushes, and I truly believe I have the power to have a positive impact on my smile for my senior years. Then I start to realize I don't even know if I CARE about my seniors smile. Even though I'll be getting cheap McDonald's soft server and eating the $8.99 early bird lobster special at 4pm, so I'll have a lot to smile about, am I really going to care if those smiles are full of teeth? I suspect not.
And really, my grandparent's wear dentures and I've got to say, there are appealing parts of that scenario. Regardless, I hate flossing and I only do it periodically out of bare necessity. And now that I am pregnant, with all this excess blood volume and puffy bleedy gums, I'm even less interested. Why floss when I could use those precious moments for sleeping...or better yet eating? And that's my rant on flossing. If I could pay someone to do it for me, I might consider taking it back up.
This of course brings me to my next problem, the loathsome task of blow drying. Now some of you are saying "oh it's not that bad" while others are thinking "well if you hate it so much, why do it?". And to you I answer this: It IS THAT bad, but I'll get into that in a second. But why do I do it? Because I don't enjoy looking like a poorly washed poodle or an overzealous Q-Tip, and the only way for my head to look any form of put together is for me to engage in excessive heat styling. This requires the blow dryer AND the straight iron, but I heart my straight iron and wouldn't DARE ridicule her publicly. She might retaliate and break, and then I'd have to lose my shit.
My hair is curly, or at least it thinks it might want to be. It's not curly in that "wow that girl has got gorgeous curls" way, nor in that "hot I just came in from surfing" sort of way. No, it's curly in that "it's kind of big on this side, with a front load of frizz and a whole lotta wrong". So I must tame it. At least in part. On ugly stupid Sundays, I can get away with just a crown and bang dry, but on a daily basis, it requires an entire blowout. This process takes me on average 25 mins. 25 hot, sweaty and unbearably obnoxious minutes, where I stand in the humid bathroom, and blow hot air at my head with a gun shaped device. Having just got out of the shower, I generally find the profuse sweating which accompanies the blow drying down right offensive. Add to that the fact that my goddamn bangs will never ever EVER do the same thing twice in a row, and it's a recipe for a pregnant lady meltdown. I've only cried during blow drying once since I got pregnant, but I've thought about it a lot. That, and the irony of the fact that the gun shaped device I'm holding up to my head, is making my want to hold a gun to my head.
And I'm pregnant, so I'm hot. I'm hot, and not so much nimble anymore. Maneuvering around between the shower and the sink, praying for a bit of bounce or shine, and cursing the Pantene Pro-V girls is not a great way to start the day. But prancing around with stringy, limp curls with a side of "was she electrocuted?" is also not a great way to spend the day, so I chalk it up to the lesser of 2 evils. And that is why it is THAT bad.
Which brings me to my kegels (if for some reason you don't know what these are, you're probably a man and may want to stop reading). The reason I started thinking about the three of these things together in the first place was, I started trying to do my kegels, while blow drying, after flossing. My theory was, if I am going to be in hell ANYWAY, I might as well get it all out of the way at once. Like a bandaid, rip.
The flossing thing, well I gave that up before I started, but the kegel/blow dry combo I'm still working on. It doesn't make blow drying any less trying, but it kills two squawking birds with one stone. And of all of these evils, I think kegels might top the list in terms of necessity. I can live without teeth, I can live with a poodle-do, but what I can't live with is peeing in my pants with every sneeze or laugh from here on out.
That's right ladies and gents, having a baby spring forth from your body, existing out your vagine doesn't only hurt like hell (ok I ASSUME this one), but it wreaks havoc on your internal workings. One of those workings holds your pee. And I for one am quite happy with the amount of control I've got over my pee, and am not prepared to give that up just yet.
Actually, that's a lie, even at this stage in the pregnancy, sometimes I fear the worst, so it ain't going to get any better. I'd love to sneeze, laugh and even walk to the bathroom on particularly urgent days without leakage, but with a human on my bladder, that's not always the case. And what I don't want is to end up wearing Depends at the tender age of 30. That's right, I'll forgo my teeth but not my big girl panties. So I do my kegels.
I sit, and concentrate, and clench in and out, and do them. I do as many as I can before I have to stop, I take a rest, and do some more. I curse each one, but then silently thank it for keeping the pee on the inside, until I tell it to come out. Holding my pee is no longer something I'm going to take for granted.
And I've talked with enough of my mommy friends to know that the pee issue, is not the only one. Men fart in yoga because they are men and men are gross. Postpartum women fart in yoga and it's not a result of last nights broccoli if you know what I mean (and if you don't, then you're better off not thinking too much about this one).
And so, I kegel. I hate them, they suck. But Imma gonna do em. Every day. Until I once again control my pee.
Let me start with the least offensive, and most necessary evil on my list - flossing. The thing is, us humans are hardly confused as to why our dentists continue to beat us over the head for not doing this enough. We understand the importance of it, but we hate it so much we'll actually risk losing teeth over it. Teeth people, you need those (unless you're my dog but that's another story) to eat, and not look like a freak. You also need them to ensure you don't whistle and spit while you talk, and to help keep your tongue in your mouth..... or so the vet told me about my dog.
Anyway, it's not that it's hard or painful, and it's not even that it's that time consuming, it just sucks. It adds another step to your daily routine, and frankly you don't see the immediate benefits. The only thing that ever prompts me to floss on a regular basis, is the idea of having to listen to my Hygienist AGAIN detail how and why I should floss. So quite frankly, I'm good at it for approximately 4 months per year - 1 month before each cleaning, and 1 month after when I'm all jacked up on fluoride and free toothbrushes, and I truly believe I have the power to have a positive impact on my smile for my senior years. Then I start to realize I don't even know if I CARE about my seniors smile. Even though I'll be getting cheap McDonald's soft server and eating the $8.99 early bird lobster special at 4pm, so I'll have a lot to smile about, am I really going to care if those smiles are full of teeth? I suspect not.
And really, my grandparent's wear dentures and I've got to say, there are appealing parts of that scenario. Regardless, I hate flossing and I only do it periodically out of bare necessity. And now that I am pregnant, with all this excess blood volume and puffy bleedy gums, I'm even less interested. Why floss when I could use those precious moments for sleeping...or better yet eating? And that's my rant on flossing. If I could pay someone to do it for me, I might consider taking it back up.
This of course brings me to my next problem, the loathsome task of blow drying. Now some of you are saying "oh it's not that bad" while others are thinking "well if you hate it so much, why do it?". And to you I answer this: It IS THAT bad, but I'll get into that in a second. But why do I do it? Because I don't enjoy looking like a poorly washed poodle or an overzealous Q-Tip, and the only way for my head to look any form of put together is for me to engage in excessive heat styling. This requires the blow dryer AND the straight iron, but I heart my straight iron and wouldn't DARE ridicule her publicly. She might retaliate and break, and then I'd have to lose my shit.
My hair is curly, or at least it thinks it might want to be. It's not curly in that "wow that girl has got gorgeous curls" way, nor in that "hot I just came in from surfing" sort of way. No, it's curly in that "it's kind of big on this side, with a front load of frizz and a whole lotta wrong". So I must tame it. At least in part. On ugly stupid Sundays, I can get away with just a crown and bang dry, but on a daily basis, it requires an entire blowout. This process takes me on average 25 mins. 25 hot, sweaty and unbearably obnoxious minutes, where I stand in the humid bathroom, and blow hot air at my head with a gun shaped device. Having just got out of the shower, I generally find the profuse sweating which accompanies the blow drying down right offensive. Add to that the fact that my goddamn bangs will never ever EVER do the same thing twice in a row, and it's a recipe for a pregnant lady meltdown. I've only cried during blow drying once since I got pregnant, but I've thought about it a lot. That, and the irony of the fact that the gun shaped device I'm holding up to my head, is making my want to hold a gun to my head.
And I'm pregnant, so I'm hot. I'm hot, and not so much nimble anymore. Maneuvering around between the shower and the sink, praying for a bit of bounce or shine, and cursing the Pantene Pro-V girls is not a great way to start the day. But prancing around with stringy, limp curls with a side of "was she electrocuted?" is also not a great way to spend the day, so I chalk it up to the lesser of 2 evils. And that is why it is THAT bad.
Which brings me to my kegels (if for some reason you don't know what these are, you're probably a man and may want to stop reading). The reason I started thinking about the three of these things together in the first place was, I started trying to do my kegels, while blow drying, after flossing. My theory was, if I am going to be in hell ANYWAY, I might as well get it all out of the way at once. Like a bandaid, rip.
The flossing thing, well I gave that up before I started, but the kegel/blow dry combo I'm still working on. It doesn't make blow drying any less trying, but it kills two squawking birds with one stone. And of all of these evils, I think kegels might top the list in terms of necessity. I can live without teeth, I can live with a poodle-do, but what I can't live with is peeing in my pants with every sneeze or laugh from here on out.
That's right ladies and gents, having a baby spring forth from your body, existing out your vagine doesn't only hurt like hell (ok I ASSUME this one), but it wreaks havoc on your internal workings. One of those workings holds your pee. And I for one am quite happy with the amount of control I've got over my pee, and am not prepared to give that up just yet.
Actually, that's a lie, even at this stage in the pregnancy, sometimes I fear the worst, so it ain't going to get any better. I'd love to sneeze, laugh and even walk to the bathroom on particularly urgent days without leakage, but with a human on my bladder, that's not always the case. And what I don't want is to end up wearing Depends at the tender age of 30. That's right, I'll forgo my teeth but not my big girl panties. So I do my kegels.
I sit, and concentrate, and clench in and out, and do them. I do as many as I can before I have to stop, I take a rest, and do some more. I curse each one, but then silently thank it for keeping the pee on the inside, until I tell it to come out. Holding my pee is no longer something I'm going to take for granted.
And I've talked with enough of my mommy friends to know that the pee issue, is not the only one. Men fart in yoga because they are men and men are gross. Postpartum women fart in yoga and it's not a result of last nights broccoli if you know what I mean (and if you don't, then you're better off not thinking too much about this one).
And so, I kegel. I hate them, they suck. But Imma gonna do em. Every day. Until I once again control my pee.
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