Sausage party!

No, not that kind of sausage party. It’s really an individual event, and I wouldn’t say it’s much of a celebration. The kind of sausage party I’ve been having involves my fingers, my toes, 100 degree Colorado heat, and pregnancy. Mix together and poof! Swelling to the max. My fingers literally feel like I imagine sausages feel. They’ve got a tight casing and you can see the insides pressing on said casing (the insides are not spicy, cheesy, Italian-y or otherwise delicious sounding though). They feel so damn tight when I put them in a fist I can barely close my hand.  It’s almost to the point where the tips of my fingers don’t touch when the bottoms of my fingers do. And I can’t even begin to describe my toes…Yikes. Luckily, Dr. B said it would be completely weird if I made it through this kind of weather with my rings on. It’s just uncomfortable. In fact, I want to stop typing now. 

The Back is Back

the "blue steel" look
doesn't really show the pain

Over two months ago I wrote about my aching back. Well, I didn’t complain about it too much between now and then but man, it is time to readdress the painful situation. Perhaps my back is trying to make up for lost time because it’s been pretty awful. It’s like a stab wound right where my hip meets my leg, so by 4pm just getting up from my chair or walking across the room brings a repeated sharp pain. Now I know this is part and parcel of lugging around an ever-growing baby: it’s a combination of hormones that relax all my joints and a general increase of weight and imbalance. I know pregnancy makes people feel different and, usually—at least at some point—crappy. But it’s still annoying. And painful. And I can still complain about it and think it stinks.

I am sure I will be back, complaining about my back again, before Nugget joins us, so I won’t say too much more. But I will say it feels like my added 15 pounds is entirely in the form of little jerky jackhammer guys wailing away on this one specific spot on my body, trading shifts so at no point can I get relief. And that’s a lot of little jerky jackhammer guys. 

The heartburn is back

I am sure I ranted about heartburn when I was pregnant with Wyatt. That was the first time in my life I had experienced such a lovely bodily reaction. It’s like bugs which are on fire are slowly crawling up your esophagus. Yum! I specifically remember driving across the country in our enormous U-Haul (+trailer), eating barbecue chips from the gas station and instantly regretting it. Except they’re so delicious, what’s a girl to do?

Anyway, it’s back with a vengeance. I’ve had to resort to medicine, avoid certain foods, elevate my sleeping position, and try all the tricks. But the bitch is still somewhat unpredictable! Luckily, Pepcid is on the list of “ok” medicines to take while incubating. And luckily, when I found this out, we had some generic Pepcid just waiting for me in the medicine drawer. The fact that we had such advanced science at our disposal (because normally we have absolutely no drugs available except for Walmart Nyquil)  is because of the dog’s mid-winter stomach troubles—just a bonus fun nugget of info for you there. Anyway, I welcome my friend heartburn because it means Baby2 is growing and doesn’t give a poo if it pushes all my organs around and makes that little doohickey in my belly open so the acid can do whatever it wants, including mimicking fire-bugs crawling their way to freedom. You do what you gotta do Baby. 

Jealous Me vs. Excited Me

I have this problem with other pregnant people: I am super excited for them or I am super jealous of them. I know I’ve mentioned before that there doesn’t seem to be any rationale behind who gets which feeling directed at her; it changes even for the same people. So really I guess the problem isn’t that I have and recognize these emotions but rather than I can’t figure out when which one is going to strike. It’s very confusing. I’ve given up trying to predict how I am going to react though. That would be even worse to get all mixed up every time my mind and heart pulled a fast one on me.  

So here’s an example: there’s a baby shower coming up. Luckily, I had a great excuse to turn down the invitation (I’ll be across the country!) and I didn’t have to spend any time agonizing over my decision and then agonizing over how to share that decision (because let’s face it, I wouldn’t have gone). So, this pregnant lady made me jealous of planning a shower and all the excitement people are having over the afternoon, the registry, and blah blah blah. I’m jealous because I can’t do it, I just can’t. I’m jealous because she gets to be normal about it. I’m jealous because everyone gets to share in her joy and anticipation. I’m not mad at her, just jealous. A little green, if you will. At the same time however, I can enthusiastically and happily and giddily shop for this mama-to-be. Oh yes. It doesn’t seem fair to my wallet now does it? But I spent some time considering the registry options (judging some of the choices, naturally), and I spent even more time perusing the racks at the Carter’s outlet store and making the book-page that was requested as part of one big shower gift. Baby girls’ clothes are way more fun to shop for than gender-neutral-surprise clothes. As a Leo, I am supposed to enjoy giving to other people anyway (I think). But it’s funny, that this shower can make my heart race in trepidation yet allow me a fun afternoon in the mall at the same time. Hmm. 

oh, just more complaining

Have you ever had a bloody nose that just won’t quit? I’m not talking clots and clumps, getting knocked in the face with a basketball, picking some dry, uncomfy flakes only to unleash a torrent, or otherwise knowing the purpose of the nosebleed and thusly that it has an end-point. I’m talking about a steady, thin drippy kind of nosebleed that comes and goes randomly and seems like it’s just not going to stop because where did it come from anyway?  Yeah, well I’ve been having the latter style for well over week now. It’s not exactly ruining the laundry schedule or keeping me from work, but dang it’s annoying. And because this didn’t happen to me in my last pregnancy, I’m still caught off guard every time. (Google images has some weird "nosebleed" stuff: see image on right). 

www.babycenter.com notes that pregnancy brings on expanded blood vessels, more blood, and a greater bodily use of water which equals dehydration and dry noses/membranes.  All these lovely things mean we knocked-up are more likely to get nosebleeds. Luckily they’re manageable, but I’ve just barely avoided dripping on some important stuff (the chair, the computer, my white sweater) quite a few times now. The shower seems to really get things going, so I sometimes have to stand there and wait it out if I don’t want to ruin my towel. What a pain. But again, this baby things’ working if I have so many complaints, so really, I’m not complaining. 

Hello, Klutz

Jesus H, who is this klutzy person taking over my body? Of all Gardner’s intelligences, I am definitely in the “bodily-kinesthetic” genius category, meaning I am über-coordinated and especially dexterous—if I do say so myself. I may not have exceptional “mathematical-spatial” skills (who needs those?) or understand people because I’m so “interpersonally” intelligent (ick, people), but ask me to pick up a random sport or make a craft and I’m your gal. Until now. I’m not sure I can count how many times I have spilled my morning latte this week alone (and there are only 7 lattes in a week, come on!) and I know my feet don’t normally get in the way this much. What is going on?

www.pregnancy.org claims that pregnancy-induced-clumsiness (PIC) is a real phenomenon. This website has got to be kidding me. Except, maybe I have PIC? So I read some more. The combination of relaxin, that pesky hormone loosening my hips (and unfortunately other joints), a shift in my center of gravity, and apparent “psychological stress” (which creates poor decision making and short-term memory loss) stir up nicely to create PIC. I’m not ready to diagnose myself, as that would be admitting weakness, but if things don’t get better I’m afraid I will be a PIC believer and, therefore, sufferer. Maybe I should buy some sippy cups a bit early?

Oy, my back

Complaint: lower back pain. Ick, it is bad. I don’t recall this intensity last time, so maybe that’s why I’m such a baby about it. Haha, baby. But really, it only makes sense. This creature is starting to grow at a staggering rate (it has 19 weeks to get 10 inches taller) and I just read in some baby book that after 20 weeks is when they start to really pack on the pounds.  (I also just read that baby bears are 10 inches tall when they are born, FYI). In turn, I should start really packing on the pounds and my poor lower back will pay the price. The uterus has outgrown its little pelvic home and is apparently throwing off my center of gravity which makes me unwittingly arch my back at all times. Additionally, all that relaxin hormone is making my joints all wiggly which means less support from them. Oh, and the abs are beginning their four month stretch of stretchiness which also puts pressure, literally and figuratively, on the old back muscles. I fear there is no way to win. Sigh. 

Gentle...

My nipples are killing me! Why can’t that part wait until there’s a crazy kid latched on, sucking the life out of me? Ugh.  This hasn’t really happened to me before, but I have read and heard it’s a normal part of the ol’ pregnancy hormone cocktail. That means I’m not worried, but why can’t said cocktail just make me feel drunk instead of give me nipple pain? Someone could get really rich working that idea. Alcoholics, hear me out.

My boobs feel fine, and I still am embarrassed to report they are no bigger than usual. I can’t complain about saving money by not having to buy bras and it’s great being able to workout without giant mama-knockers in my way, but it feels like random pinches and a constant subtle electricity current running through. Certain fabrics might start a fire. I could rev a dead car battery with these babies. Ridiculous.

Everything else is going well, however, so life is good. Wyatt’s sibling has begun kicking me and I’m in a good mental place. Can’t worry too much about the random nipple-caused wildfire if everything else is just peachy. 

veins? what veins?

I have certainly complained before about blood draws, and today is no different.  This is not because they particularly bother me; in fact, I kind of like watching it all go down. I complain because I have, basically, negative veins. The blood-drawy person always, always has to check both arms, often multiple times, and play around with the inside of my elbows, push around the stuff in there, ask me to clench and unclench fists about ten times, stand back and observe and think, Atlas-style, and so on and so on. It takes forever. Most people are in there for a minute, tops, the blood probably gushing like Niagara, at will. Hubby is one of these people. That’s good, because he is someone who doesn’t like watching…

Anyway, today the usual shenanigans occurred. Only I went home without giving the sample. That has never happened to me before, and I think to the nurse either!  Failures! Usually they poke around a little, wiggle the needle back and forth, push some things, and then the blood starts flowing. This time, nada. From either arm. In two tries each. After every trick in the book. Ick! It actually does hurt this time, and I have to go back in an hour to “try” again. I don’t know if there is any more room for needle holes, literally. Ow. 

Starvation Nation

I really can’t believe there isn’t already a post about Starvation Nation, population: me. I recall last time being hungry all the time starting around 3 months and then on and off for the duration. I remember telling someone right before we moved to Colorado that my biggest complaint was insatiable hunger; I must have been just about halfway through the pregnancy and wondering if I would have to get a second job just to feed myself. I would eat a big breakfast and literally be starving one hour later with no warning at all. I know I am not alone in this, but it sure surprised me! Of course I know it takes however-many extra calories to make a baby, but I had no idea how much extra food that meant and nobody told me my body would not deign to leave my brain in charge of finding those calories—it would do it for me, with a roar.

This time is turning out no differently. I just had my three month check-up and promptly noticed the fridge seems to be emptying out quicker than usual. The cupboards, normally stocked, are suddenly turning up bare. The people at Safeway somehow know me by name when I walk in the door. Hubby is complaining about having to go to Costco more often than usual. And, yes, also my stomach is grumbling at all hours of the day and night, particularly after my middle-of-the-night tinkle when I have to debate if getting back up to eat something is better than trying just to fall back asleep and stay cozy. It’s kind of fun and science-experimenty to be on this kind of feeding schedule, and I have to say I welcome signs that this baby is doing okay, but it really is a crazy amount of feeding going on in here. 

Night Tinkler

Holy Tinkle Batman! I’m normally a very hydrated person, so I don’t mind having to hit the loo throughout the day. Plus, isn’t it a nice break from work? Take a little stroll and stretch a bit? And no one can get mad at you for taking a pee break; what are they going to do, make you wet your office chair? Here’s my problem then: having to get up several times in the night to take a whiz. It helps me remember the weird dreams (Robert Downey, Jr. was there the other night), but it sure detracts from completing REM cycles and the beauty sleep I need. I’ve tried everything I can think of to get over this, but I think it is time to accept that is just is the way it’s going to be for a long, long time. I can’t exactly rationalize dehydrating myself and the Nugget just so I can be more comfortable at night, and I’m not quite at the stage where I feel comfortable buying adult diapers (it sounds kinda great, but in reality would you want to pee yourself and then sleep in it? Poor babies, and unfortunate weak-bladder-types).

I haven’t had too many pee-related complainy-stories yet in this pregnancy, but I can think of a few with Wyatt. For example, Hubby and Doggy and I had a great running loop around the local college campus. It was especially exciting on weekend mornings, after Friday or Saturday night men’s basketball games…Anyway, it got to the point where I knew every bathroom location on the entire map and pre-scheduled at least two pit stops per 35-minute run because I knew I would need them. There’s just not a lot of room in the bladder area when your stomach hasn’t stretched (and then even when it has!) and your body is jiggling around in jogging motion. Once we got to Colorado and he was even bigger, I had to stick to less-populated hiking trails because I knew I would have to take pee-breaks, even if I went before I left home and in the little bathroom hut at the base of the trail.

I would say excessive tinkling is an acceptable trade-off for housing a growing, thriving baby, but man does it waste some time! After all, I could be sleeping instead. 

Bone tired

I feel that I have been bone tired for the past week, but I’ve only really heard that phrase probably once before so I can’t be sure. In order to better explain what “bone tired” means, I checked www.urbandictionary.com to see if they had an enlightening definition (since Google didn’t have one and urbandictionary is funny). They did not; they had a definition for “boner-kill” though, if you are interested.

About being bone tired: it is exhausting! I can barely drag myself out of bed at the quite reasonable hour of or following 8:30am. And I can’t even stay awake for the last, most important five minutes of our nightly episode of 24 (Kim just tried to escape-gasp!), which we start by 8:30pm. Sometimes I make it to bed where I can read a book for a while, but lately I’ve been passing out on the couch with my dinner plate in my lap. Well, not quite, but the couch part is true and it feels like I just ate dinner. The moments between the couch and bed are torture, even though I have to move about 20 feet total and merely brush my teeth, pee, and swallow some pills (I’m already in my jammies, naturally). Forget cleaning dishes at night. Just thinking about the energy it will take to walk the dog each morning makes me want to lie down. It’s pathetic. However, it is quite worth it. Not only am I making a baby, but Hubby totally supports my lying down and sleeping habits. Translation: he takes over the nighttime cooking and cleaning and does not question what many would see as complete laziness. Gotta love him!

I remember having to sleep 12 hours a day last time around at the end of the second trimester (aka 20 weeks from now, oy), but it was split between the most amazing afternoon nap-time ever and regular sleeping hours. Let’s just hope I get some energy at some point between now and then or else nothing will get done around here. Unless Hubby does it…hmm, we might be on to something here…

Morning sickness, anyone?

I was just checking earlier posts to see when, last time around, I complained about feeling like crap. It seems about this time last pregnancy, so I guess I’m right on schedule. I’m not sure if I find that reassuring or terrifying: I kind of hope things will be different this time around if you catch my drift. Anyway, as I noted before, it’s not so much morning sickness as really any-time sickness. For me, that usually means anywhere from 2-6pm (or later) I feel terrible. Not like I’m going to barf (which, as far as most people I know, only happens in the movies and on reality tv) just like I am death. A little sick to the stomach, a little hot or cold, a little wheezy, pretty bitchy, and a little misery. Mix together and enjoy. NOT.

Luckily Hubby lets me moan and complain on the couch without being too suspicious, and even a bit helpful. If it were reversed I swear I would probably call him a wimp and think his complaining was bs. I can’t help it I’m a naysayer. I try, but I can’t.

Here’s what is good for morning sickness: sleeping.

Here’s what is bad for morning sickness: skiing at 10,000 feet in knee deep powder. But I do it anyway. I’m in Colorado for cripes’ sake.

What is cripes anyway? I had to investigate, and I prefer this definition from UrbanDictionary.com (which is amazing): Cripes--an exclamation found somewhere in between the words 'crap' and 'Christ.'

PS. There are a lot of gross comics regarding morning sickness

The Holidays

Blech. Such is how I feel about the holidays this year. As we have previously discussed, several times, I am not a super social or celebratory person to begin with. Normally, I am happy to do the obligatory smiling and nodding and just hide myself in the corner while everyone mingles and shares and enough time has passed that I can leave without being rude (if I couldn’t get out of attending in the first place—I use the term ‘happy’ loosely). This year, however, I am freaking out about the potential for sadness in the holiday season. Our friend/Hubby’s boss invited us over for Thanksgiving, one of my favorite holidays because it revolves around food, sloth, a woodstove, and watching television (football and/or movies). My immediate reaction was absolutely not. I would enjoy a turkey dinner and Patriots game of 2-4 people maximum (plus dogs, dogs are okay) this year, thank you very much. It was a very real and strong reaction. I know my heart rate went up a bunch just thinking about people. No offense to the boss and his family (they do pay the bills around here—and they’re good peeps to boot) but I’m really not interested in meeting random extended family and having to fake happiness in front of said strangers. Especially if I am missing Wyatt and need to have a meltdown, which, by the way, come on fast. Meltdowns aside, Hubby and his brother/sister-in-law convinced me it would be okay, I could do it, we could fritter most of the day away skiing, and it would be fun. I caved and our invitation was accepted.

Just to make things interesting, Boss subsequently blurted out that his wife is pregnant. Because he couldn’t keep his mouth shut when they started “trying” (eww—don’t need to know that), I was expecting this news sometime around now anyway. But that expectation did not make hearing their happiness any easier. After my big [genuine-I swear] smile and envious heart palpitation, panic set in. Tears shortly followed. “I can’t…go…to…their house…and..sniff…sniff…listen to them..ack..sniff...talk about babies!” I wailed. If Hubby’s mom scheduled a knee replacement the instant she found out about Wyatt, you better believe these guys will at least be giddy and talking about their new grandchild-to-be. I had to go to work (of course) ten minutes after this announcement, but when I got back I spent a solid hour in bed staring at baby photos and getting up the courage to tell Hubby that I had to back out. He obviously offered this before I had to mention it because he’s the bomb, but it was still hard because Boss’s wife was so super excited to cook for a large crowd and I don’t want them to feel bad about sharing their happy news. They’re our friends for god’s sake. And life goes on, as we know. I can’t be babied about babies my whole life, dammit. But I can cry a whole lot in the safety of my own comforter.

Is it too early for ‘Bah humbug’?? Damn you, Holiday Season. Always ruining stuff.

Emotions!

Call me crazy, but this “waiting to make a baby” thing is well, making me crazy. I never in my life thought I would become one of those women (usually in movies) who hears that clock ticking. I guess it’s not so much the biological clock as just the passing of time in general; I was supposed to have a baby any day now, and instead I lost him 12 weeks early. My body says “let’s get crackin’!” and my mind says “dammit, I want a baby!” So, naturally, I’m ready to go. I’m ready. Especially since there are no guarantees I’ll get pregnant right away. The thought of waiting to get pregnant and then waiting another 9 months to actually bring home a baby makes me sick. What also makes me sick is thinking about how worried I am going to be during the “next time.” So it’s sort contradictory, which only makes it more emotional. For example, I know I have to get new health insurance before I even think about making another baby. While it is hard to wait, I can rationalize that. But it doesn’t make me any less sad or mad about it. (I pretty much had a complete breakdown this weekend, but that’s another story). Then I think, well, I shouldn’t be sad because it is what it is and I need to be smart. And then I think, well, f being smart, I want a baby. Then I think, well, every “cycle” you wait is another cycle your body and mind have healed. But then I think f healing, I just want to get going here. If you are following my ramble you probably understand how confused I am! Perhaps pregnancy hormones aren’t actually a good idea right now…but f pregnancy hormones, I’ll kill ‘em!

I don't like October this year

I’m boycotting October this year. I really would just rather have it be November. I love fall weather, and I think Halloween is hilarious, but I just don’t care this year. While November weather is usually terribly raw and unforgiving (below freezing but no snow to play in!), it gets really dark by 3pm, and everyone starts to hide out in their houses because it is, as I said, dark and cold, I still would rather have October just be done with already. Why do I need to sit through 31 days of it? Where is Doc Brown and his time machine when I need him?*

We have plenty of great birthdays to celebrate this month, including my 85 year old nana’s, but we don’t have our own baby’s to be ready and thankful for. This is why I say screw October 2010 and bring on the future already. Skipping this month would bring me that much closer to having another baby—one that I could bring home, hopefully—and allow me that much more time to grieve and feel better about my life and missing Baby Wyatt forever. I never really had anything against October but this year, f you, month of the Opal.

*on a side note, I once took a class in the engineering classroom building (although I have never taken anything remotely close to engineering) and the bathroom was right across from a NCAA-bracket style “Best Scientist Ever” contest. Each week people (nerds) in the building could vote on the brackets, deciding who would proceed to the next round. Louis Pasteur vs. Marie Curie, etc. The finals came down to Einstein v. Doc Brown. I really appreciated the nerdy humor. And Doc Brown won. The DeLorean is amazing.

rambling complaints

I have a load of bitching to do, based on the fact that since Wyatt died we have so many stupid things to think about that we wouldn’t have had to deal with if he had been okay. Extra maddening: I’m crankier now than I was pregnant! I think the fact that October is coming (with an October 14^th due date he probably would have come this month, whether early, late, or on time) makes me extra sensitive too. Mostly these annoyances have to do with health insurance and money, both of which are, sadly, important.

Health insurance: it did not work. For some reason they are trying to deny us coverage, even though we gave them every single piece of information they asked for, have no pre-existing conditions, and are young and healthy. So:

a. If we try to find other “individual” insurance, not a SINGLE one in Colorado covers maternity expenses. As I previously mentioned, that means if you want to have a baby you better get your finances in order ahead of time because ain’t nobody helping you pay for those visits, the gimmicky delivery room, and those disposable maxi-pad diapers you get when you leave (I stole a couple for later because they are awesome). And if you need anything “extra” then you better have that cash ready! Ps. Our friend seriously struggled to find the one insurance plan that would cover his newborn under three months old. WTF!!

b. While I am not 100% committed to trying to get pregnant again right away, I am ready to get rid of birth control and consider whether I dare go through with this again. If I was financially responsible I would wait until January 2011 because then all health insurance will be mandated to have maternity coverage. So, I can wait, and go crazy waiting, or I can not wait and pay the price. But how can I decide if having a baby, a baby that I want so much, even now more than before, is worth a certain price??! And maybe I won’t get pregnant right away and kick myself even more for waiting!

c. This really could be section C, 1 but whatever. I just want to explain why birth control is making me crazy. I’m not really sure I can though-that’s probably why I want to vocalize it. It’s just that I want a baby so badly I don’t think I should be preventing pregnancy. It’s like the absolute extreme reverse of my early-mid 20s. I’m not saying I want to go to the extreme of tracking my temperature twice a day, peeing on ovulation test sticks and then jumping Hub’s bones when they are positive, or trying to have sex every day or something…just something about birth control feels wrong. Completely wrong. I making myself wait two “cycles” because research told me to (the doctor said one, but I figured an extra couldn’t hurt and really, I can’t completely ignore all that internet advice), but after that I just don’t see the point any more. I want a frickin’ baby! I want to be pregnant; I was just getting into the big belly, good napping stage, you know? I was a great pregnant lady, and I was less than three months away from getting to bring home a little munchkin. Now I’ve got to wait. And what if it takes a year to get pregnant this time? What if we can never make Wyatt a sibling? What if being pregnant gives me some hope and happiness again? What if, what if, what if!?

insurance woes

Since we moved, dearest Hubby has been researching our health insurance options. This is because we were paying way too much for crappy coverage from COBRA and my last job. Let’s say I didn’t get good benefits and Massachusetts is one tough health insurance cookie (good in many ways, bad for my wallet). Oh, and there’s the whole thing about pregnancy being a pre-existing condition. Like it’s a disease or something. Well, since I’m no longer pregnant we immediately switched to short-term insurance that costs—get this—15% of what we paid for COBRA. Amazing, but that’s not going to cut it for much longer. However, lovely Colorado has absolutely zero individual plans that cover maternity expenses. So if you want to have a baby you better be rich, or you have to work somewhere that gives you coverage. Nuts! How unfair is this? You should see how the lawyer in Hubby feels. Why do people whose businesses set them up get better care than others? Discrimination!

Anyway, Hubby figured out how to get his business in the loop and hooked up to health insurance through his company. All problems should thusly be solved. But no. Obviously they are making it very difficult and we’re not sure it’s even going to work; they are asking for all this information Hub’s business doesn’t have (because they are non-profit they are far from “normal”) and as the 1^st of the month comes we have to make our decision all over again. And, at the risk of giving you TMI, I can’t stand much longer using birth control---if you need some advice on condoms I think we’ve tried every gimmicky kind because we thought they might be crazy or fun (they weren’t) so I can help you out. Grrrrreat.

to say or not to say?

People say “Everything happens for a reason.” People say “At least he’s with God now.” People say “You’re young and you can try again soon.” Some people don’t say anything. Well, none of that helps. What was the reason? Why would God be so selfish? Do you seriously think I want to a) even think about going through that again so soon and b) have a different child? I want the one I started in January! And those of you who didn’t respond to the news that took me literally hours to muster up the courage to share, don’t you have anything to say? I appreciate that this is a sad, horrible situation and that plenty of people don’t think they can handle it or that they don’t know what to do to help (hence the crappy advice). But something I’ve learned is that a few words say the most: “I’m sorry. I love you. I’m here for you.” The list goes on, actually. Believe it or not I think there are more right things to say than wrong…and frankly, I’d rather have you say something I find to be “wrong” at the time than keep quiet. While I can’t promise I won’t paste it on my blog later and bitch about it I can promise I appreciate the effort. Maybe that’s just me, but I’m keeping that in mind for my ownself in the future.

Boob Takeover

I am feeling conflicted about writing this, but I think it’s time to share it. Part of the confliction, I think, is that I don’t feel right making fun of my situation. It doesn’t really feel good to laugh about any of it, even if it is amazing, ridiculous, or anything else good. I mean, I had a baby. I made it through childbirth. Hubby and I have survived, even came out better than before, those are good things. But I don’t have a baby for it, and I really don’t know what went wrong, so I don’t find the success and fun in them I should.

However, some things just can’t be contained.

Like my boobs.

My boobs got enormous. Huge. The doctor warned me, as I was sitting in the hospital bed, holding Wyatt and wondering what to do next. “The milk will come in. It’s kind of cruel, but it’s nature,” she said. “Wear a tight sports bra, the tightest one you have, don’t stimulate the nipples-I mean, don’t even let the water in the shower hit them-and it will go away in a few days.” I still wasn’t prepared. I mean, I was focusing on some other things, but still, I know she warned me and I just wasn’t ready. They literally blew up. Spilling-out-the-sides-and-top-of-my-full-coverage-sports-bra-blew up. I still can’t get over it. They looked like Heidi Montag-Pratt-whatever’s from The Hills after her full body makeover, and she paid for those. I’m talking cantaloupes, round and pert and firm just like ‘em. I know I can’t do it justice, just writing about it—even telling someone about it in person with props and hand motions will never do them justice. Now Hubby is the only one who can attest what is possible in my chest department. But I have proof that I can make milk for a baby…and that my skin is verrrrry stretchy. So at least that’s good.