Wiggles and Urges

As of today I have officially been knocked up for 19 weeks.  I have made it to the halfway point of pregnancy and things are getting a lot better.  Well.  Kinda. 

See, next week I will be going off to meet my third Obgyn.  Doctor "Hole in the Head" who I saw at first pissed me off. No one treats me like some fainting flower.

I moved along the line to Doctor "Ice Cold Bitch" who is only walking normal today because my husband was there to stop me from breaking her legs.  This woman actually questioned my love for my baby just because I questioned a procedure she suggested I undergo.  In one conversation that lasted all of 6 minutes she referenced "if you really care about the baby," or "if you want to have a healthy baby"...etc about 9 times.  Then, she had the nerve to ask me why my hands were balled into fists and why there were tears in my eyes as she again accused me of not caring about my unborn child.  That is when I started to spring for her throat.  Jason, being a rather intelligent being for a man, was smart enough to come hug me and at the same time keep me pinned to the edge of the table.  I fought him.  I saw red.  I had the plan all worked out.  Easy, maim the witch and then blame it on hormones.  But alas, I settled for a few choice words that ran along the lines of "No arctic bitch is gonna taint my child by being in the room when said child comes into this world."

So on to Obgyn #3.  Hmm.  We shall see how he treats and reacts to someone like me. 

I am happy to report that the panic and anxiety is fading and this little wonderful angelic creature is dancing like crazy in my tummy.  Cherry Slurpee's seem to be the favorite.  :)  I can't help but relax and grin and just thank my lucky stars every time I am blessed with the flutters and wiggles. We ordered the home Doppler thingie and I listen to that perfect little thump-ity every chance I get.  Even the kids get excited.  Well, Kenny does.  Felicia looks at me like I am giving myself up to be a science experiment every time I pull the thing out and turn it on. 

I won't go into details....I am sure you don't want to know them....but I was worried about the lack of um.."urge" that I seemed to be addicted to during the first two pregnancies.  That "urge," although later than I expected, are more um...um....well....um....Potent than before.  I am sure you understand.  ;)

Things are otherwise well in our little house. We will be moving to town the middle of February.  It will be good for everyone of us to not be so isolated out here.  The house is bigger and there is no real traffic so I think it will be a good thing.  Besides...I will be closer to those Cherry Slurpee's. 

Pride, Frustration and Thump-ity

I have never pretended to have the best self esteem.  However, I do have pride in a few things.  I consider myself a strong person, a smart person (ok, the kids have stolen some of my IQ points) and a fairly decent mom.  So I ask myself what the hell is wrong with me?  Why can't I give up this stupid anxiety and these fears of dying and leaving my kids without my love?  There is no explanation that I can accept.  I have heard theories from various people, doctors, family and friends but these people don't live in this body.  They have no idea how frustrating it is for me to lose the strength in my convictions, in myself.

Over the last couple of weeks I have been able to hold the anxiety at bay, for the most part.  Today, the bay flooded.  Tomorrow is my appointment at the OB where I get to drink that icky glucose crap so that the doctor can tell me my chances of getting gestational diabetes.  I am scared.  I won't lie.  I am very afraid that the numbers won't come back in my favor. Dealing with the situation, whatever the outcome is something I am confident I can handle yet I fear the diagnosis anyway.  So many things are different with this pregnancy as opposed to the previous two.  I am not losing weight, I am freaking out like a nutcase, I have no aversions to foods, I am not getting that "happy" feeling and my energy has not increased.  Either something is...or I have convinced myself that something is wrong. 

If I hear "Every pregnancy is different" one more time I am gonna get my BB gun and start shooting off people's toes!!  I understand that every pregnancy will have it's own way of progressing and affecting the mommy...but in my case, EVERYTHING seems to be different.  Urgh!!  I am so frustrated. 

Right after Christmas I ordered the home doppler monitor thingie so we can hear the baby's heartbeat at home.  It came in the mail last week.  I ripped open the package and tried to find the baby...to no avail.  I spent the afternoon freaking out (which has become normal)!  Later that night, after spending the evening as a zombie, Jason urged me to try again.  I did.....guess what.  I heard it.  That sweetest sound of sounds.  Thump-ity thump-ity thump-ity....  Baby's rate was a perfect 150.  The tears rolled out of my eyes as I clung to the speaker thanking God.  Inside my belly is a strong little heartbeat, a beautiful heartbeat that I am responsible for.  I am blessed.  Frustrated but very very blessed. I am looking forward to a Saturday morning of tickle fights and cuddles on my bed surrounded by THREE angelic critters and love. 

Stunning

Ahh, I am sure that any readers believe me to be a lazy blogger.  Well, ok, I have gotten a little lazy but that does not explain my absence over the last two months.  Sometime in mid September I got myself knocked-up.  Pregnant.  With child.  In the family way. 

Are you screeching with excitement yet?  Well, don't start celebrating the opportunity to follow along live as I go through another nine months of hormones, attitude and sweet stories.  At least not yet.  So far this pregnancy has been a bit tough.  A lot tough. 

Around the time this bun was put in the oven, I started to have anxiety attacks....soon to morph into full on panic attacks which brought the EMT's to my house many times, not to mention prompting me to visit many moronic doctors who deserve to have their stethascopes shoved where the sun doesn't shine.  My family spent the majority of October in a state of chaos and frustration.  I honestly thought I was going to die.  Regardless if the "pains" or "concerns" were in my head or true in feeling...not one of those so-called educated bags of self-rightous gas ever thought to perform a full blood test or even a simple urine test to check out every possiblity even after I asked, begged and insisted. 

It was my sister who told me to take a pregnancy test just as a precaution to rule it out before my next appointment which was sure to result in yet another medication.  I did.  That damn stick turned colors before all the urine was soaked in!  Does that mean I am SERIOUSLY pregnant?  I took two more tests.  Yep.  Pregnant.  Knocked-up.  With child.

Needless to say, the next doctor's appointment was a bit different than I had originally planned.  I wanted to walk in and strip down and scream, "Fix this Crap!"  I am not a "panicker" nor am I a victim.  I felt like the biggest freak on the planet.  How can I not have control over this stuff?  Why was I freaking at every little twitch as if it was a stroke or heart attack? Is "pregnant" the real cause? .  So, I walk into the doctor and told him I was pregnant.  He had me pee in the cup and confirmed it.  Medication was changed....the doc, the nurse and my husband were all quite excited.  As for me, I was still scared and worried that I was losing my mind.

Of course I am happy to have another sweet little angel to raise.  Of course I love to nibble baby-feet and listen to that saintly heart thump along. There is nothing more beautiful and humbling than to be honored as the one to bring that spirit and soul into the world. But, I am scared. 

Scared-I don't have what it takes to be a good mom to THREE!  Scared-that my body isn't good enough to do this again.  Scared-that the anxiety I experienced before I knew about the life I was growing was a precursor or warning of horrible things....and those things would be my fault. 

I am pregnant.  Questions answered, anxiety should stop, right?  No, it didn't stop because (I think) these episodes have a lot to do with hormones and my emotions.  Oh, must not forget the fact that they GOT WORSE after Doctor "Hole-in-the-head" told me to take Benadryl to calm my anxiety!!!   DUMB ASS ME tried it and it seems that the mix of new medications, hormones, and my bad reaction to Benadryl not only pushed my panic attacks up a level....I developed a full body rash that is still killing me. 

Off I go, back to my regular doctor.  Screw these idiots who treat me like some "poor emotional pregnant girlie girl."  I am not some fainting flower.  I am not imagining this rash, nor am I trying to goad attention.  My regular doctor took one look at me and said, " Let's find an answer."  He ordered blood tests and gave me steroids.  STEROIDS!!  The baby!!  It took a week of talking to his nurse, among others, but I am now relieved to find that there is minimal threat of the steroids hurting the baby....my stress and high blood pressure from the stress would do more damage.  Ok, I get it.  Choose the lessor of two evils.  I am doing better. 

Tomorrow I will be off to a new OBGYN.  She will get my "new doctor" lecture....and I hope beyond hope that we will get to the bottom of this and baby and mommy will spend the next 7 months chasing rainbows and butterflies.  By the way, I am 10 weeks along today and I really really do want everyone to CELEBRATE!

Conversations with Kenny

Over the last week or two, I have noticed that my sweet little son has been more and more creative in answering questions or during general conversations. I started to keep track.  Here is a sampling:


CONVERSATION 1
ME:  Kenny, want to sing me one of your songs?
KENNY:  I can't
ME:  Why not?
KENNY: It is compli-crated
ME: Try to explain it to me.
KENNY:  You are not enough people, mama.
ME:  How am I not enough people.
KENNY: I can't sing unless I have a audio-ence.
ME:  But you can sing to both Sissy and I, that is two people.
KENNY:  That still isn't good, Mama. 

Then my adorable son shrugged his shoulders in sadness (as if his horribly stupid mother will never get it), sighed and walked away.

CONVERSATION 2
I had just returned to the living room after my shower. Felicia was still napping.
ME:  Kenny, did you throw these blankets on the floor?
KENNY:  No. Sissy did it.
ME:  How did Felicia do it? She has been taking a nap all afternoon..
KENNY:  Well she did it when you were in the shower.
ME: Are you lying to me?
KENNY: No. I am a big boy.

Believing I would stump him, I confidently asked,

ME:  How could Sissy come in here and throw the blankets on the floor when she is sleeping?
KENNY:  This is how it happened, Mama

Can you see the shock in my face at that line!

KENNY:  You got in the shower and made a lot of noise and it woke up Sissy.  She crawled through her stripes (I am assuming he means the bars) on her bed and came in here, she pushed me down cause I told her 'no no' and she got on the couch and pushed the blankets on the floor.  She went back to sleep.

I honestly stood there shocked.  My God this kid just told me the most detailed lie I have ever heard come from the mouth of a 4 year old.  Before I started to laugh, I sent him to his room for a time out...then I laughed my ass off!

CONVERSATION 3
ME:  Kenny, please stop putting your hand on my boob when you come over to give me a hug!
KENNY:  I have to, Mama.
ME: No.  Put your hand on my shoulder or arm.  Don't just grab my boob when you come to give me a hug or to get my attention.
KENNY: Mama, I have to touch your boob.
ME:  Why?
KENNY:  Cause boobs stick out farther than your shoulder!
ME:  (trying not to laugh) I know baby, but please try!
KENNY: ok.

I remember.....

September 11.  I remember too vividly.
Please read my other blog.
VentRantBreathe
Please Remember with me

Crash Cart

Please tell me I am not alone.  Tell me that my children are not unique in their attempts to kill themselves several times a day just to give me a coronary...Tell ME that I am not losing my damn mind!

Huh hmm.  Sorry. 

So, I decide this morning that it would be fun to take the kids to the local diner for breakfast and then on to the store to pick up a few items.  A little routine break.  A little socializing.  A little fun.  I shower, I dress.  I attack Felicia's hair and Kenny's shoes and we are ready to go. 

Things start out wonderfully.  Kenny is learning to buckle his own seat belt, saving my back.  Felicia still hasn't pulled out the clip holding her hair from her eyes, she is adorable.  Small miracles are always the best.  The diner is fairly empty and we chat with Jen, the waitress and friend who dotes on us as if we are royalty.  Everyone cleans their plates and the sticky fingers brigade heads to the bathroom to wash up.  A smooth, sweet and relaxing break in the routine of life.  A treat.  (ha ha, the diner's name is Treats Cafe)  I am so funny.

Heading back to the truck, we sing "Hup 2, 3, 4," marching along with giggles in our hearts and smiles on our faces.  On to the store.  We hold hands across the parking lot and enter the store.  Greetings come from all sides since we are regulars, and this is a small town drug store.  Most comments center around the kids.  They must...they are so damn cute and just love being the center of attention. 

Felicia gets deposited in the cart, buckled and kissed.  Kenny, the big boy, stands at my hip just like he is supposed to.  What a great kid.  We chat as we pick up lightbulbs.  We debate the best looking paper towels and argue about needing a new broom.  How do you explain to a child that a fancy, flashy display of new items doesn't mean we need that item?  Anyway, we are having a good time.  We stop in the toy section and Kenny chooses a few new HotWheel cars to add to his collection using the money he makes doing his chores.  I grabbed a little dolly for Felicia.  La Dee Da.  What a wonderful day.

We make one last stop in the office supply section so I can pick out a new whiteboard.  As I am weighing my choices between price and size, I see my son jump on the side of the shopping cart out of the corner of my eye. Before I could even yell at him to get down, the cart tips sideways, landing on Kenny and pushing him into the hard, sharp metal display shelf.  Felicia, buckled in, gets slammed into the upper part of the shelf as the cart comes to rest on it's side, pinning her arm and her brother.  In a flash I drop everything and scream their names as they just begin to cry from the shock.  With super-mommy strength I grab the cart, full of stuff and pick the whole thing off the ground and right it on it's wheels.  I squat down, gathering Kenny up in a baby hold while I rub Felicia's leg with my other hand to calm her down a little as I assess the damage. 

A very nice gentleman, ran up to us and asked if the kids were ok.  I barked and hissed at him as I ran my fingers over Kenny's back and the scratches and bruises I found.  The poor guy walked away silent.  It didn't even register in my head that he was there until he was gone.  He most likely thinks I was an evil bitch.  Hum.  "Sorry Mr Guy-in-Yellow-Shirt"  but the world honestly disappeared the moment my kids were in trouble. Gee, now that I am writing this I feel even guiltier.  ick.

A full scale body check found:  Kenny, large bruise and small scratches on his lower back, knot on his head and a little scratch on his cheek.  Felicia, little bruise on her arm and one on her knee (although that could have been from yesterday's picnic).  They crying was short lived, we all calmed down and went about our way.  During checkout, both kids were a little fussy, but a stop at the Coffee Shop for a mocha (for me) a chocolate milk for Kenny and a Strawberry milk for my little Felicia, stopped that and spirits returned to normal. 

My spirit did not go back to normal so easily.  I spent the next two hours trying to figure out why my children are bent on killing me by attempting to kill themselves!  This last hour I spent thanking my stars that there was no blood, punctures or ambulance rides. 

Tongue in Nose

I can officially announce that I am no longer feeling Crappier than Crappy.  Instead I simply feel like crap.  Woo Hoo, that means I am improving!  Today is my third day taking my oral steroid...just 13 days left.  Good news is that the dose decreases from here.  The bad news is that I stay up very late into the night (the time of this post, 3 am).  When Jason needs to come in to nudge me awake before he leaves for work he uses a few little "mommy threats" to get my butt out of bed.  His favorite is, "Kenny is up and is sitting all by himself in the living room."  What he fails to mention....(as I  get out of bed with only the energy behind my guilt to power me)....is that Kenny is content in watching cartoons and he is most likely hoping that I don't get up since I usually limit the cartoon viewing time. This is what has transpired for the last three days.

This morning the routine was just a little different.  Jason could not motivate me by guilt, threat, anger or fear. He exclaimed he was going to be late for work.  My groggy thought, " So!"  With no options left, he recruited Kenny to help.  As I lay comfy, cozy and warm I hear the sweet voice of my son. "Mommy, it is time to get up. You have to come and take care of me."  You can't tell me this child was not prompted by his father. So,  I pray quietly for strength as I extend my leg to roll my big butt out of bed.  My big toe comes into contact with Kenny's adorable nose.  Kenny says, "Owe mama, you kicked me in my nose!"  I sat all the way up and told him I was sorry.  He looked at me like I was a malicious feign.  I say, " You want me to kiss your nose to make it better?"  He looks at me sadly and says, "Ok but I don't want your tongue to stick in the holes like when Paris kisses me.  It is gross."  I kissed his nose (kept my tongue in my mouth) and ran for the bathroom because laughing that hard with a morning bladder is dangerous.

Paris: we adopted a 2yr old puppy a few weeks ago.  She is very affectionate and sweet. Loves to kiss...just ask Kenny's nose.