Monday, September 29, 2014

Things and whatnot

Things I'm thinking about to distract myself from the grinding pain currently throbbing in my lady parts:

  • Insanely weird highback chairs. I mean, the kind of chair that only slightly off-their-rockers kind of people sit and read Poe in, the kind of chair you take very seriously because it's not meant for's meant for pondering things. Deep things. I need that kind of chair. Preferably in a deep purple velvet, almost black. Well, actually, Hubby and I need a cool pair of them, so we can sit and ponder things together. Couches just don't have the same effect, ya know?

  • Fabric for my the comforter cover for baby's tiny comforter. I am trying so hard to come up with a selection before she actually arrives, and I seem to be stalling because I simply can't make up my mind. I want something soft, but not too hot. Something timeless, since I hate patterns that age out quickly. I want to choose a soft linen, since I love the way linen feels, but I can't make up my mind about where to get it, so I'm stalling. Ugh. I'm the worst. 

  • Disney is ridiculous. Seriously, people? Really? Also, more funny things here.

OK, that's all, people. The crotch pain is taking over. Time for some husband massage, painkillers, and sleep.

Monday, September 22, 2014

Still Explosion

Today is one of those days where I throw up my hands and surrender to the fact that things are just not going to be comfortable. Pelvic "instability", my ass. (My physical therapist is an idiot.) I'm calling this, "My bones are floating apart in a strained and crunching fashion." Oh, and I love people telling me that I'm just being a wussy, that pregnancy isn't always comfortable, but that I could totally have more kids without any issues. Well, sure, if I can be suspended in warm water for 9 months, in a coma, fed through a tube. That sounds nice. I can do that. Anything else....NO. I'm done. I hurt. There is NO SOLUTION for my pain. I'm gonna pass on doing this again. I like walking, thank you very much.

I did too much this weekend. (Seems to be the story lately.) And doing too much means by normal standards, I did less than nothing. Really. So, not only am I stir-crazy, bored and in pain, but I also did nothing all weekend, and still get to pay the price for it.

I used to care for a horse that some rich girl left behind when she went to college. He was a big, beautiful and passionate animal, and was confined to a 10x10 stall all day, every day, because he was too aggressive to be turned out with other horses. So I took to exercising him before work every day, turning him loose in a huge arena to scream and run and kick and smash whatever he wanted. It was magical to see his energy explode every day. I feel like that horse, only I have no way of exploding, except through writing. I have found that talking about it is just too "aggressive" for others right now. Talking about it feels worse. So I don't. I wait.

I think that my pelvic problems are based on a lot of things, but one thing stands out the most. A horse fell on me when I was 14. I was dragged, kicked and smashed by a 1000 lb animal, and I never went to the hospital. I never used ice on my bruises. I never made a peep. I was scared my parents would sell my horse, my most precious acquisition, and so I never told anyone about it until years later, well after any damage that I had endured could be healed properly. I can still remember lying in the rain, feeling the raindrops hit my eyes as I stared up, wondering when I would start breathing again. I know that I have a fracture in my leg. I know that I twisted my right hip badly. But what happened to my pelvis? What happened to the connective tissue that hold what should be the strongest connections in your entire body together? Who knows? I suppose I could eventually get my pelvis bolted together someday. Why does that sound worse than letting it be?

I'm feeling sorry for myself. Gonna let it go for now. It's a moment in a series of moments that make up my lifeline. Move forward. I am as strong as I choose to be.

Wednesday, September 17, 2014

Getting ready for birth and stuff.

I have been feeling the urge to get ready for birth lately. Not the average stuff, like buying baby clothes or cleaning the house, but more the weird stuff that only I need accomplished. Like having my husband build me a new fence for my chickens. Like trimming all of the trees before winter. Like staining the gate. Stuff only I think about because I know that doing these things when baby is a newborn gets exponentially more difficult, and I would just like them done. NOW.

So the house is being overhauled. I'm *supposed* to be taking it easy, as I have developed a minor hernia from being a supermom and doing "too much" and I'm supposed to sit down and crochet something, but that's too boring. So I've been out with Hubby, chopping down trees that got overgrown and digging fence post holes. I'm insane, I know.

I have been doing other thing as well, in my defense. I have a rough draft of my birth plan drawn up, but not yet typed. I have been scouring the area for cloth diapers, and scored 40 free diapers the other day, out of the blue. WOOT. I have been making blankets, wipes, a cars eat cover, and more with my nifty sewing machine and serger. I have been cleaning out old and broken toys from Leif's room so it wont be so cluttered. I have been organizing things, getting rid of junk and generally streamlining my house.

I've also been looking at postpartum health supplements, and stocking up on things I needed last time. Like pads. The kind that aren't all junky with chemicals and whatnot. Extra towels, because I swear, co-sleeper babies love to pee the bed at 2 am. Red raspberry leaf tea. Primrose and hemp oil. Arnica for pain relief. Witch hazel for the lady parts. And so on and so forth. The list is weird. It's my list, not anyone elses, because it works for my needs. I'm not ever going to spell it all out, because too many people have told me that I needed so many other things that I simply don't need or want in my life. (And some people have really shit ideas floating around their heads that they really feel the urge to talk about. NO, you should NOT use tampons after pushing out a baby. WTF, crazy person??) So I stick to what works for me.

I am feeling the urge to be highly private here soon, though. I admit that I want to birth this baby alone in the privacy of my closet, to be perfectly honest. (And this is NOT a roomy closet, people!) I don't know why, but I want to be left alone with my thoughts for this one. I want people to fuck off. I don't want hands, eyes, people. We'll see. I might change my mind, but for now, that's where I am.

Tuesday, September 9, 2014

I am le tired.

I am so tired. My sleep is punctuated with a constant need to pee, thanks to my night drinking problem, my tiny bladder, my wee daughter thumping around all night, pelvic pain, muscle cramps, pregnancy dreams, etc.

Last night was especially difficult though, because of:
-a full moon
-a torrential rainstorm
-a puking 3 yr old
-a hubby who has taken up recreational sleep tossing.

I will admit to hating full moon nights. Beautiful, sure. For about 15 minutes. And then its like, "Turn off the big fucking light in the sky! I want to sleep!". I also hate rainstorms. I always spend all night wondering who is drowning outside, the rabbits, or the cats, or a hobo, maybe? Somebody is going to succumb to the water falling from the sky, and that bothers me. Then you add a kiddo who doesn't have a fever, doesn't have any other symptoms besides being a butt head, and then give him a puking problem. Ugh. At least he has the decency to warn me right before he hurls. So we spent all night cleaning up spatter, which gave us both a sleeping problem. When morning rolled around, we both just groaned at each other, drank strong coffee and smooshed our faces together before saying goodbye.

Today has been about laying low. I have no energy. I'm actually looking forward to nursing a baby all night, because that sounds easier than last night. Blurgh.

Also, I feel like this:
Too bad my kiddo doesn't have adorable rolls like this, though. He's just covered in bony elbows and knees.

Friday, September 5, 2014

Gearing up for mass murder

I don't like unannounced visitors. I always loved the Victorian-era habit of sending calling cards ahead of visiting someone. That way they knew when and why and who was coming, and could send back a lovely little card that said, "Sorry, I'll be away that day, call again another day!" while really just staying home eating bon-bons and playing with their pugs. (I have a vivid imagination, on top of being anti-social.)

So when random people come onto my porch and ring my doorbell, creating a cascading chaos effect due to protective dogs, I get a little pissed off. OK, more than pissed off. I get enraged. BUT only because assholes always choose nap time to come over. Every single damn time.

I live next door to my brother, and we share a large driveway. He owns a construction business, and has a tiny home parked in said driveway, which is currently under construction. It's hard to miss this thing, and it's very cute, and people love it, and people wanna know more. So they come to my house. And they knock/ring the doorbell, and then I get super grumpy..... But seriously, I'm not trying to be a pain. It's not my tiny home. It's not my company. I have no idea what the plans are like, what it costs, why he chose that paint color, who is buying it, etc. THIS IS A PRIVATE RESIDENCE! Please take his number and go away! But no. People don't like that. They want immediate results. And so I am going to have to resort to murdering people when I have this baby, because I will be sleepless, leaking, grumpy, un-showered and so hangry. I just know it.

My solution is to post a sign on my walkway that says, "Unannounced visitors who touch my porch, wake my babies/dogs/me and make me come to the door have very slim chances for survival." (Well, actually, it originally was going to say, "Come near my house and I CUT YOU." but Hubby said that sounded really bad, and then we would never have anyone over anymore, and that wasn't nice.) So now I need to make that sign, because I really can't keep trying to smile at people who aren't catching on to the steam pouring from my nostrils. Someone's gonna get killed, and I just don't have time to deal with a body.

Tuesday, September 2, 2014

6 Ways to Prevent Preterm Labor (By someone who is failing at all of these, badly.)

1. Don't have sex.

Well, shit. I'm doing badly already. Apparently, sex isn't good for people trying to keep baby inside because semen has all sorts of glowy chemical properties that "ripen" your cervix, which is great for those 41w+3d people, but for us 32w+4d people, not so good. So I need to stop being a preggo hottie and go all nunnish on my poor Hubby. Ugh.

2. Stop lifting things.

Crapola. I have a 3 yr old. A dog that wont jump in the back of the XTerra. Feed bags that aren't going to pour themselves in the bins. Water buckets that need hauling. I am alive, so yes, I am going to lift things. I love it when doctors/midwives are like, "Don't lift anything over 25 lbs!" I can't think of anything under 25 lbs around here. Maybe a burrito? One chicken? A pillow?

3. Rest 30 minutes between activities. 

Do you know how long of a day I'm gonna need if I follow this rule?? I'm gonna need a 72 hr day. Seriously! That's impossible. I'm not even going to bother with this one. Sheesh.

4. Empty your bladder often.

Well, I get contractions from going upstairs to go to the bathroom, so by that last rule, I would have to ooze upstairs, pee, lie down on the bathroom floor for 30 minutes to recuperate, ooze back downstairs, and resume whatever I was doing......well, crap, now I have to pee again. Great. Start all over.

5. Drink LOTS of water. 


6. Others- Dont: smoke, eat too much, eat too little, gain too much weight, gain too little weight, do drugs (especially cocaine??), get infections, have too many babies in your oven, have a crooked vagina, have a short cervix, have surgery, ride horses/4 wheelers/roller coasters, have placenta previa, be younger than 17 or older than 35, be unaware of being pregnant at all, be of a low socioeconomic status, develop anemia, laugh too hard, be constipated or have stress, among others.

Right. I'll get right on ALL that. Thanks for nothin, interwebz.

So, to sum all this weirdness up: I am going to sit here, laugh at suggestions given to me by both the medical professional and non-medical professional worlds, and try my darndest to keep baby growing where she is. Some days I might be winning. Some days, not so much. Like yesterday: had too much fun, paid the price with 4 hrs of erratic contractions. Required several hours of 30 Rock and SO MUCH water to calm me back down. But today, I plan on doing noting but eating peanut butter and blogging. So I'm winning today, people. I'm winning today.