Solving My First World Problems, One Day At A Time

Making my great life better..

I can’t run in silence… February 26, 2013


One of my favorite parts of working out is listening to music as loud as I can, drowning out everything around me while I people watch. I have actually tried running without my music and noticed that I don’t run as hard, or as long. I’ve put together some playlists, check them out!

Dirty Work (if hearing profanity gets you going)

  • Won’t Back Down- Eminem & P!nk
  • Tush- Ghostface Killah
  • Touch the Sky- Kanye West
  • ‘Till I Collapse- Eminem
  • Summer on Smash- Nas
  • Storm Coming- Gnarls Barkley
  • Dance (A$$)- Big Sean
  • $20- MIA
  • Stand Up Guy- TI
  • She’s a Killah- Ghostface  Killah
  • The Rooster- OutKast
  • Pass that Dutch- Missy Elliott
  • Morris Brown- OutKast
  • Monster- Kanye West
  • Jesus Walks- Kanye West
  • Ghetto Musick- OutKast
  • Ayo Technology- 50 Cent & Justin Timberlake

Pop Queen and Her Court ( Britney Spears and the gang)

  • Rock Me In- Britney Spears
  • Blow- Ke$ha
  • I Like It Rough- Lady GaGa
  • Toxic- Britney Spears
  • Down Boy- The Yeah Yeahs
  • SOS- Rihanna
  • Outrageous- Britney Spears
  • I Wanna Go-  Britney Spears
  • Bad Romance- Lady GaGa
  • 3- Britney Spears
  • Don De Replay- Rihanna
  • Telephone- Lady GaGa
  • Teeth- Lady GaGa
  • Shut Up and Drive- Rihanna
  • Lovegame- Lady GaGa

More to come… 

 

 

The Birth July 18, 2012

Filed under: Pregnancy — SideShowShannon @ 10:49 PM

By week 35 I was literally begging my OB for a c-section. I was all hardcore in the beginning for a natural birth, but since I knew he was breech, and since he was wearing my ribcage for a batting helmet, I was over it. Not to mention the PUPS rash that I had acquired at week 34. I decided to take matters into my own hands.

Towards the end of week 35 I started walking around more. Three days before his birth I was in the batting cages, trying out our new bat. I got a lot of looks, a few phone calls, but I just didn’t care anymore. I trusted the hospitals, and I had taken such good care of him so far, that I knew he would come out fine. I figured that if I got through the weekend, I would be fine. I didn’t want him born before 36 weeks for a couple of reasons. The first weekend of July   was my mom, grandmother, and one of my best friend’s birthdays. The thought of him sharing a birthday with anyone made me sick to my stomach. My birthday is 3 days before Jesus’ birthday, and I hate it. So I told myself, as long as we can make it through those birthdays, and to 36 weeks, everything will be fine. But to make sure I was  putting the pressure on, I started bouncing on the ball too..

Sunday morning, July 8 Randy and I were in bed doing what we do best- nothing. He made me a sandwich, and we started watching A League of Their Own on Netflix. I was chattering about how Kit was the reason why I was glad I didn’t have a real sister, and crying because I wanted to play softball. I also cried because I wanted to be 18 again so I could go play college ball somewhere other than Seminole State, where I would eventually go to Division 1 with the right coaching, and play in the World Series on the OKC field. Yeah. I had a lot on my mind that morning. In between all that, I was rolling out of bed to go to the bathroom every ten minutes.

Around 10:30am, my reverie and bathroom breaks were interrupted with an explosion. I can describe it in two ways”

1. When the levee breaks

2. When you’re playing with a water hose, put a kink in the hose then straighten it again.

I said to Randy, “hey, my water just broke..” He says, “are you sure?”

I stand up and we both stare at the downpour of fluid coming from my basketball shorts. I start walking to the bathroom where its still in faucet mode, and I’m just spilling it everywhere. I’m not sure what to do at this point, so I just walk around the bathroom spilling amniotic fluid all over the place. Randy suggest that I get in the shower, and when I see myself in the mirror and realize that I’m going to give birth to my baby with my fro all Gumby style, I hop in hoping that I stop leaking so I can put some pants on.

The strangest thing is to see your belly when the fluid is gone. you basically just see the outline of the baby. While we are driving to the hospital I get worried because I think he can’t breathe, and I start to feel weird. I thought I would feel relief when my water broke. I was scared shitless.

I mass text everyone three words. My water broke. I have Randy call my mom because I was too flustered to talk to parents. I’m too flustered to really talk at all, but I do take one phone call from my buddy Ree. We talk for a minute while Randy has gone back to the house to grab the bag that we forgot, and we are waiting on my blood results to come back.

The doctor confirms that he is still breech, and I am dilated to a 3. I’m having contractions, but I don’t feel them for some reason. I never feel any contractions throughout my labor.

My regular OB was on the lake, so I would be having a c section within the hour from whoever was on call. I didn’t care for my OB so I wasn’t upset. I was mentally preparing myself for the loss of feeling to the lower half of my body. I wiggle my toes and keep a hand on my oddly shaped belly, and fight to keep from crying. As much as I loved drugs in college, I wasn’t looking forward to this. I liked being able to feel my legs.

Randy gets back, and they wheel me into the c section room. The anesthesiologist sticks the needles in my back, and I start shaking uncontrollably, then I feel cold, then I feel fairy dust, then I feel nothing. It’s a weird feeling that I don’t like. I wiggled my toes until I couldn’t and upon the realization I almost start hyperventilating. I have to tell myself that the feeling will come back eventually and not to try and move again. I’m laying there while they paint my belly orange like a pumpkin, and I start telling Randy what I was going to put Blake in for Halloween. I decide on 3 costumes.

They ask me what I want to listen to while they perform the operation, and I said, “I wanna listen to Dave Matthews.” The fact that I am listening to music while they are cutting me open like in Nip Tuck makes me happy, and I share this with Randy.

So while #41 plays, they are digging around inside my belly, looking for him. Blood is splashing on the curtain, and I ask them if they have found him yet. Suddenly they start pushing really hard on my rib where his head is, and it hurts. It’s basically the only place that the spinal block didn’t get to. I hear the nurse say 12:18, and Blake starts to scream. Randy looks over and says that he has a lot of hair, and a couple of seconds later they place this swaddled swollen blob baby on my shoulder, I can barely move, and he’s just sitting here on my shoulder. I am speechless. Randy goes with them to check his vitals and everything and I stay back so they can finish sewing me up. Two Step is playing, which is my favorite Dave song. I actually played it for Blake a number of times, so I start singing it while they sew me up.

Blake Nicholas Hensley was born weighing 6lbs 7oz. We thought he would weigh more because that was his weight 3 weeks ago, but I had stopped gaining weight so I guess he stopped too, lol. He was 19 inches. Another fact, he was born the same day that we lost our first pregnancy a year ago. Weird.

The worst part about getting the spinal block is that it took like 8 hours for me to feel my toes again. I felt like Beatrix Kiddo when she had just revived herself from her coma.. Wiggle your big toe… I went back to my room where my mom, her twin, Randy’s grandparents, and his mom were waiting. We eventually find out that the baby has to stay in NICU overnight, so I don’t get to hold him until the drugs wear off around one in the morning. Randy and his mom come back to the room with pictures of them holding my baby, and I want to cry.

I carried him around, felt him moving for nearly 9 months, and I wasn’t even the second person to hold him.

I vow to hold him more than anyone else for the rest of his life.

 

Third Trimester

Filed under: Pregnancy — SideShowShannon @ 10:49 PM

My third trimester was definitely the hardest, but shortest part of my pregnancy.

Almost immediately I was exhausted and useless. I went to bed at night around 8 or 9 o’clock, but slept about three hours. Every ten minutes or so, I would roll out of bed for a bathroom break, then return to bed. Randy would pat my back while I would whimper like an injured dog. My body was heavy. So very heavy and cumbersome. I couldn’t breathe, and I would literally go to the bathroom in between bathroom breaks. One time I had to go back  to the bathroom before I had made it to bed again. I was miserable.

Not all of it was horrible, we got to see Blake in a 4D ultrasound, and he was adorable and big. He looked exactly like Randy, and I couldn’t have been happier. Because I didn’t have a torso, I was also able to watch him toil throughout the day. He didn’t have any big activities, mostly kicking and hiccuping. Watching Blake move around was the only thing that could make me smile.

I began to get Braxton Hicks contractions. They came so often that I began to worry that I was going into preterm labor. They weren’t super painful, just annoying and noticeable.  At 30 weeks I thought I was about to give birth. I was in bed, writhing in pain, but had no contractions that night. I waited patiently for contractions, but all I could feel was my insides being ripped apart, and I could see him breakdancing inside of me. When the pain subsided I went to the bathroom and saw something insane. His butt was in my lap. I thought he had dropped or something. It was the craziest thing I had ever seen.

The next day I went to the doctor where they ordered an ultrasound. They determined that he had not dropped, Blake was breech. He flipped himself upside down in what little room he had. Already he was more flexible than Randy and I put together. I was promptly put on bedrest, thus having to cancel my second baby shower. My best friends came to my rescue, and arrived the next day to clean and set up his nursery. I really don’t deserve my friends. They are amazing.

At week 33 I was sitting on the couch where I felt a gush of what I thought was my water. I wasn’t sure what it felt like for your water to break, so we went to Labor and Delivery to see what the deal was. They weighed him in at 6lbs 7oz, but said that my water was still there, and I hadn’t dilated yet. I stayed overnight because of his massive size at 33 weeks, and they considered that my OB was off on his due date. I was frustrated, uncomfortable, and cracking up. The good people at Mercy Hospital didn’t have the heart to tell me that I had involuntarily peed my pants.

Because he was breech, and I still didn’t want a cesarian delivery, I started seeing my sister in law in Northwest Arkansas. She owns the most successful chiropractic practice in Pinnacle Hills and had a high success rate in turning breech babies. My adjustments and prenatal massages made me feel better, but I still wasn’t sleeping. When I did sleep, it was for about 30 minutes, and I was having vivid nightmares.  I was starting to hate life in general.

I was seeing my OB twice a week at this point being placed on a fetal monitor, which was exhausting despite the fact that I was just laying there listening to and watching him move. He hated the monitors. By week 33 I was begging my doctor for a c section because I didn’t care anymore. I just wanted him out. He was using my ribcage as a batting helmet and driving to Northwest Arkansas was becoming painful. When I told my OB where his head was he felt my belly for the first time in my entire pregnancy and told me that his head was lower, at my side, and his knees were in my ribcage. He told me that at 36 weeks he would give me my final ultrasound and then we would determine what to do with him.

We didn’t make it to that ultrasound.

 

Second Trimester May 7, 2012

Filed under: Pregnancy — SideShowShannon @ 10:37 PM

I am a week away from my third trimester, and the only thing I have successfully maintained is my weight. I might as well start this with saying that I STILL can wear my skinny jeans from before I was pregnant. I may look like I have gained about 35lbs, but in real life, its about 13lbs in 27 weeks. I am very proud of this, and on the occasion that I am wearing my skinny jeans, I usually lift up my shirt to show that my belly, not my ass or thighs have expanded.

 

My tantrums have subsided to once or twice a week, but a lot of them are just in my brain, where I can use all the profanity that I want.  I started listening to Eminem and Three Six Mafia in the morning so I can yell out F bombs in the comfort of my car, and it feels good. Not something a mother should do, but if he comes out talking about hitting girls and selling drugs, I’ll write a blog about how I’m the worst mother in America.

 

I still find a reason to cry every day, whether the situation is good or bad. Because most people around me are aware of my deteriorating mental state, they try really hard to keep me happy, and for that I am thankful.

 

I felt Blake for the first time in my 15th week. At first, it felt like swirls. Now, I can accurately say that it feels like when you push that bubble dice thing in the game Trouble, and the dice bounces back on the top. Since the first swirl, I tried and make Randy feel my belly, and get angry whenever he loses interest because he can’t feel anything. It consumes me for weeks, until a close friend of mine who is a new father tells me that they can’t actually ‘feel’ anything until about 8 months, and even then since they can’t actually see the baby it’s not as big of a deal to them as it is to us, and to just get over it. Because he is superdad, and a great husband, I decide to let it go, and find something new to be upset with Randy about, but he suddenly starts helping clean the house and other things so I have to get more creative. I still try and make him feel the baby move, but I don’t cry when he says he can’t feel him, or goes back to his cartoons when Blake doesn’t start kicking or whatever it is he does in there again. I start to relish the fact that everything he does in there is just with me, and this will be the only time that I can keep him all to myself without other people’s hands all over him.

 

People asked me a lot, what I thought I was carrying. I HAD NO IDEA. Seriously. I couldn’t feel his boy parts grow, and I can’t feel it flappin around in there.  I was just as suprised as I would have been if they said it was a girl. Sometimes I called him a him, other times it was a girl. We wanted a girl, so when the big day came to catch his privates in the ultrasound, we had a girl’s name picked out the night before. No boy’s name..  We go in there for the ultrasound, and our little girl proudly brandished a dong that she seemed pretty proud of. Despite the fact that I cry over everything else, I didn’t cry. I actually didn’t feel any real emotion over the sex. I just stared at it. I stared at my son’s weiner and wondered what he was going to wear, and who was I going to have tea parties with. Randy says in front of the tech, ‘now we only have to worry about one, instead of a hundred…’ I can’t believe he said that, because we usually save inapropriate comments for me. In the end, we decided on Blake Nicholas, mainly becauase we spent most of the time calling him Blake (after Blake Griffin) when we referred to him as a boy. It just seemed like a natural transition. Plus Randy thought Blake Hensley would sound good on a loudspeaker, and look good on a baseball card.

 

Watching TV made me happy to have a boy. We were in the middle of a Friday Night Lights marathon on Netflix, so watching the boys play football made having him more exciting for me. We now muse over the entire SEC and Big 12 harassing us when he is in high school, and retiring early once he goes pro in whatever sport he plays. We also watch 16 and Pregnant, and realize that if we had a girl, she could get pregnant as a teenager, and maybe to some piece of crap boy who doesn’t seem to have parents to hold him accountable for what he has done.. We come up with a plan for if he knocks up a girl, and pray for boy birth control to be legal by then. I still get slightly butthurt when I see lacy ruffled rompers.

 

In my quest to control most things in my pregnancy one thing that I have trouble controlling is my blood sugar. My OB wants it under a hundred, sometimes I can get it that low before I go to sleep, but when I wake up its floating between 135-160. Inspired by my best friend Natalie, whose Naziesque approach to Gestational Diabeetus kept her not only at an attractive weight, but kept her from having a really fat baby to get stuck in her canal, I follow her advice. Some days I take a mental break and eat something bad, but for the most part I behave myself. But my whoremones are keeping me from really controlling my blood sugar. My real doctor says I’m doing a fabulous job, so I don’t really let my blood sugar get me down until I decide to watch videos online of fat babies getting stuck on the way out. Then I cross my legs, flinch, and cry.

 

Speaking of food, I don’t have this appetite that people are boasting of. I have something like cravings, I suppose, where I refuse to eat unless Blake ‘requests’ it. For breakfast he used to require some sort of egg dish, now I can’t start my day unless I have a bowl of cottage cheese and blackberries sprinkled in cinnamon. I’m not worried, I’ll be damned if I have a kid who only wants to eat chicken nuggets. I’m considering not even serving them once he’s old enough so he doesn’t get any crazy ideas… I read this book called Bringing Up Bebe’.. It’s pretty controversial for an American mother, because all of the overbearing insanity of motherhood is frowned upon. I loved it. It made me not feel selfish when I cringed at the thought of giving up softball, traveling, friends, my body, my dignity in restauratnts, and sleep for a baby. It also made me obsessed with cheese. I eat blocks of different cheese every week, because I am convinced that he can taste it, and I want him to enjoy real people food when the time is right.

 

I am enamored with my belly. At first, there was a small layer of fat that lived under my bump, and now it has been completely consumed, and my belly is hard and the skin is tight (painful and itchy), and sports stretch marks that I don’t mind looking at. My tight shirts that are long enough to still wear, and my maternity shirts make me feel beautiful. . I am convinced that I haven’t looked this good since I was a teenager. When I get dressed every morning, I spend about 20 minutes admiring my bump from different angles, and let it stick out as far as possible when I’m out in public. I also make sure to flash my wedding ring when I know people are looking at it.

 

Speaking of maternity clothing, I went shopping at resale shops for maternity shirts. I have trouble wanting to buy them since I know my time is limited, but I buy them anyways. I had a lady tell me that maternity clothing is ‘obsolete’ and to check plus size… I almost bitch slapped her, but decided that since I’m about to be someone’s mother I’ll limit my behavior to yelling f bombs really loud in my car, instead of hitting a woman who probably wore sweatpants through her pregnancy. I make a mental note never to walk into that store again.

 

My body continues to betray me in subtle ways. I no longer bend over. If somethings falls, I glance at it and move on. Despite the fact that my hair has grown considerably and is really really thick, my nails break themselves after they reach a certain length. I have horrendous heartburn, and my eyes water uncontrollably. Other than that, everything is cool. I started to get energy back, and was working out until I hurt myself, so now Randy walks me and Achilles through our neighborhood to keep me mobile.

 

I hate walking and getting into cars because it makes me want to pee. I thought that my bathroom trips would subside, but they havent. Maybe because I drink a lot of water, or maybe because I can feel him going all Rick James on my bladder. I go the bathroom every 15-20 minutes easily, but my nighttime trips aren’t as bad as they used to be because I stopped drinking a lot of water at night. My favorite/ least favorite thing is getting in bed. I have to roll around like a turtle to get into a good position, and if I have to get out it takes me at least 57 seconds of rolling, groaning, and wimpering. Randy blows me kisses in his sleep on the way to the bathroom, and when I get back in bed. Sometimes I talk to him for about 30 minutes until I fall back asleep, but he all he does is agree with me. I don’t mind, because most of the questions I ask need a ‘yes’ answer anyways.

 

I baby gaze. I look at every mixed baby that I come across, and I shamelessly stare. I consider asking the parent of ginger haired mixed babies (there are alot of them here) if I can hold their baby and secretly pretend its mine. I don’t because I don’t want to scare anyone off.

 

I am looking forward to my 30th week, it will feel almost over to me then. This has been the fastest, but longest time of my life. 90% of my activities are me being active, or drinking, so I am very limited as a person, and I can’t wait to enter the sleep-deprived life that awaits me, as long as I can go back to playing ball, drinking at dinner, and hopping out of bed instead of rolling.

 

I have a feeling that this will go by pretty fast, because our entire weekend calendar of June is FULL. I refused to make plans to do anything in July, because I don’t want to be in a car unless I’m going to work, or the doctor or getting cheese. I’m not going anywhere. I want to sleep in my final four weekends, in my own bed. I also want to enjoy those weeks alone, with my husband and my dog, because once he comes, our lives will no longer belong to us again. Its depressing and exciting at the same time. Depressing, because we will be arguing holidays and sleep schedules, and driving everywhere to show off the baby, exciting because I want my body back, and I want to see my baby. Hurry up, hot sweaty summer.. Lets get through this..

 

First Trimester March 20, 2012

Filed under: Pregnancy — SideShowShannon @ 10:33 PM
Tags: , , , , , , ,

I decided that maybe I should document my first trimester so that I don’t forget what happened.  I read my friend’s blog quite often for moral support, and came to the realization is that no pregnancy is the same, symptoms, weight gain, etc. But like my other friends in my condition, I am excited. Yes, excited. Despite everything that you read here, I am happy. I just forget to smile about it sometimes.

I spent months after the first time trying, and trying, with no results. I must have taken 40 pregnancy tests. I haven’t tried so hard to ‘pass’ a test since high school, and I did attend
college for a whole 6 or 7 years. So, in September, (mind you, we have only been trying for 2 months since July..) I decided, enough is enough! I have to do something different! I got an amazing doctor who specializes in holistic health, got educated on my personal health, and got down to business.  I started working out every morning at 5am (which I made sure to tell EVERYONE that I knew) and did an hour of cardio and lifted weights. It was a glorious routine that caused me to lose nearly 20lbs. I didn’t HCG starve myself, I didn’t take diet pills, I ate healthy. For once, I didn’t crave fast food,

I drank minimally, and I snacked on vegetables, nuts and dried fruit all day at work.

I looked amazing. I felt pretty, and I was really proud of myself. That entire month

I didn’t focus on getting pregnant, because I had other things going on, like my hourglass figure, and my afro which was coming along swimmingly. Then it happened. Thanksgiving morning I had a beer with Pa Bob, because that’s how we get down on the holidays, and I realized that I was late. I kept this to myself, sort of, and waited until we went home to take a pregnancy test, and there it was.

While sworn to secrecy by Randy, I still feel there is a clause that allows me to inform this sensitive information to at least one person, not including my doctor. The info trickled out slowly eventually, but we really wanted to wait until second trimester, so we wouldn’t have to inform a bunch of people that we don’t talk to every day that we miscarried.

In about 2 weeks, my symptoms began. I had to tell my co-workers because I took one look at my Pho and vomited in the trashcan next to me. The cats that have taken residence with us suddenly became a problem to me because not only am I allergic, I found them disgusting. I still find them disgusting.  The smell of the litterbox caused me to dry heave every time I entered the building. This was actually the first time I have EVER smelled a litterbox, despite having friends that own cats, so this was a different experience altogether. Because I stopped taking my anxiety medicine, I allowed myself the luxury of thinking about drowning them in a pillowcase, or tossing all 6 of them (yes we have 6 cats in our office, and none of us are lonely widows wearing Team Edward shirts) out one by one into the nearby dumpster. So, to answer your question, did I have morning sickness? NO, actually I didn’t. I had 8-5 sickness. I only actually got sick a few times, but I spent all day long in a constant state of nausea, accompanied by the occasional headache.

Then came the exhaustion. I tried in the beginning to keep to my routine, because I brazenly told people that I wouldn’t let my pregnancy stop my morning workouts.. I made it into my 8th week, maybe, then that was all over. By noon I would hit a wall, and I had to fight to stay awake.. I kept asking myself, why am I so tired? Am I faking this? Randy would look at me

with disbelief when I came home from work and had my bra off before I made it out of the garage. I was so tired, that I seriously thought I was going crazy and that I was taking advantage of my condition.. When I mentioned this to Natalie, my constant confidant, she asks, “Did you even read the book? Making a baby is equivalent to running a 5k..” While this made me feel better, I still couldn’t convey such to a man, because they will never understand such.. At this point I look at men with a certain disdain that only someone with a person growing inside of them at a weekly light speed would. My opinion of men in general went down the drain, especially since I was no longer physically able to watch them lift weights in the gym at 5am anymore.  Needless to say, Randy ran for cover,
and only emerged for dinner.

To Natalie’s question, “did I read the book?” Sort of. I was more focused on if Randy was reading his book to actually read mine.  So, just like the girl in Knocked Up, I was freaking out because Randy, who doesn’t read things without colorful pictures, or things about Razorback football, wasn’t reading the book. I actually read up to where I am in my pregnancy, then kind of brush over other topics.  What is weird, is that I have re-read like 4 VC Andrews books

My mood was…erratic. It usually is anyways, so I didn’t see what the big deal was. Except it was magnified immensely. I cry when I hear certain songs, I cry when I think about how awesome my friends are, I cry when I see people hug, I cry when celebrities die. I cry when I

think about the gym, and I cry even more when I predict how much I will weigh when this is over.

Hormones are ridiculous. I refer to them as Whoremones. As a person who throws tantrums anyways, this is a little worse than I could  imagine. One night I ugly cried for over 30 minutes about how the doctor would make me take drugs and I was going to die. Randy would get a settlement and a new life. He would get rid of all of our wedding pictures, and give Achilles to his mom, who would feed him people

food and stop training him. Then he would marry a white woman. Randy went between trying to comfort me and laughing.

I have only actually gained 5lbs. Even though my friends have told me to stay away from the scale, I weigh myself EVERY DAY. Don’t tell me not to, because I will. It’s what I do, and there is nothing any of us can do about it.  I hear advice on it all the time, deerka deerka,

its okay to gain weight. Um, sorry I am already considered obese for my 5’4 frame, I don’t wanna come out of this weighing 245lbs, so I monitor. Obsessively.
That doesn’t completely stop me from eating, rather trying to eat. My eating habits have changed drastically. My healthy habits suddenly become undesirable to me. I have no desire to eat broccoli, carrots, and cauliflower dipped in hummus all day. I look at dried apples and bananas and roll my eyes.. My can of almonds in my drawer remain  untouched. I go back to eating fast food sometimes. I crave Sonic Hamburgers… and pizza. and barbecue.   I can tell you a million things that I don’t want, but I have no idea what I want to eat, aside from what I just mentioned. I don’t eat until I get nauseous, which incidentally is when I remind myself to eat.  I start eating

mass amounts of angel hair slathered in butter.

Because of that, my blood sugar that I have painstakingly regulated, soars. My

plan for a home birth is out of the window, and I tearfully cancel my appointment with a midwife here, and find an OB. I am still pissed about that.  My original plan came about after talking with my sister in law, and watching a documentary on Netflix, and reading books and articles. I knew that no matter what route I went, home birth, hospital, I would have no drugs. By the way, all of you mothers that keep telling me that I NEED drugs can stop now. I don’t need anything stuck in my spine to take away the feeling of my legs.  I just need supportive friends who have been there to remind me that I am creating a life with my husband, and even though I am feeling as if I am losing my mind, everything will be okay.

As for my birth plan, I have my reasons for not wanting to be in a hospital. One of them is the fact that I don’t want to spend days in a hospital bed. I like my bed, I like my home. I want to bond with my child-immediately. I don’t want a bunch of random people touching my attractive and perfect baby. I want my baby to be as close to me and Randy as possible.
Do I want a boy or girl? I wanted a girl at first, because they are fun to dress. Then

I thought about me as a teenager. I don’t think I was that bad. But my mother has reminded me countless times how I made her life miserable for years. So, maybe I want a sweet little boy like Randy was. Honestly, I don’t care. As long as it gets his height, disposition and a perfect combo of our athleticism, I’ll be happy.  It’s funny because as much hell as I have given him, I want our baby to be just like him. I could care less if it has any of my qualities, I want  the baby to be just as perfect as he is to me.

Names? Stop asking. We are keeping that under wraps until the birth. Mostly because we can’t agree on anything. I have decided that when he leaves the room I’m putting whatever I want in the birth certificate.
While I seem miserable, I do look forward to each passing week. I am a huge complainer though. I just hate discomfort. I was overjoyed when I finally realized my baby bump wasn’t all fat anymore. I love reading about the new things happening to my baby, and I can’t wait to see it again. That is the advantage of having an OB, I suppose. One of my friends gets to see their baby

every time she goes and I am beyond jealous. The last time I saw mine it was a blob. The ultrasound picture looks like my face, and the womb is my fro. I love it.

I am lucky to be surrounded by friends and family members who have filled my unorganized brain with loads of information that keeps me from being a complete lunatic. My opinion of pregnant people has changed drastically.. I had a friend who was tired and appeared miserable throughout her whole pregnancy. I remember thinking to myself, how tired can you be? I think she is just being dramatic. WRONG- WRONG!
So, I suppose I owe her an apology for thinking she was just being a giant baby for going to bed every night at 7pm instead of paying attention to me whenever I saw fit ( I have come to realize that I am a very high maintenance friend, and even more so since I have become pregnant)

I want to thank my best friend, who I text incessantly every single day when something new  happens, or to repeat my constant angst and annoyances. Who despite having gestational diabetes, she manages hers much better than I, who have been diabetic for years..  I want to thank my sister in law, for not punching me in the face when I told he she was crazy for wanting to have her baby at home before I actually read up on it and realized what an amazing experience it is, and knowing what kind of person it takes to carry a baby for 43 weeks without deciding to have a doctor evict it before its ready. I also want to give her a standing ovation for gently guiding out her gigantic Hensley babies with no drugs or intervention. She always seems calm, and while I know I never will be, its nice to see that some one can be. To Jen, who has graciously volunteered to be my doula. I love how realistic you are in regards to my situation, and I hope that when the day comes, one of us will be able to remember what our plan was, and stick to it.  I also would like to thank the members o

f the House for allowing me to vent about the same thing over and over every single day, and never telling me to shut the f up about it.  Lorie, who let me come to her office and cry for ten minutes because I haven’t gone to the bathroom in 5 days.. Also to my many other friends who check on my periodically, and listen to my list of complaints without telling me to shut up.

And of course, Randy. He has had to deal with the brunt of my fury and fear on a daily basis, and his optimism never ceases to amaze me. I would angrily wonder why he hasn’t done something that I wanted him to do, then I realize that I never even asked him to do it.. He waits

patiently for me to tell him I need him when I don’t.. I just expect him to know, and I spend hours being angry about it, even though he has no idea what is going on.  What a good sport he is. Seriously, how can a person always be so happy, while living with someone who cries 35% of the day? I am so excited not only for myself, but for him. I know he will be an amazing father, and I can’t wait to see him with our baby.  I just feel bad because between both of our noses, its screwed.

 

Whoremones and Anxiety at 20 Weeks

Filed under: Pregnancy — SideShowShannon @ 3:43 PM

So on the morning of my 20th week, I am greeted by a rainy day. Normally, this wouldn’t bother me because I welcome all seasons and all weather, as long as I haven’t had more of it that I need, but today was a different circumstance.

We have agreed to dogsit for two other dogs while my in-laws are out of town, which isn’t a big deal because they keep Achilles all the time when we travel. He is a fantastically trained dog, who for the most part lives to please, but as I have learned is easily influenced. The other dogs aren’t bad, they just don’t do what I tell them to do because I’m not their master, but I don’t handle being ignored well.

We have a nice routine of handling the dogs, which was lazy, I will now admit. Although they all have kennels, Achilles is the only one who is actually accustomed to sleeping and being in his when there aren’t people around to keep him out of trouble. I like controlling everything, so what.  The other two dogs I like, but they are no Achilles. One, I have a particular adoration for because he is elderly and doesn’t get excited. The other, is adorable but doesn’t seem to know what his name is, or doesn’t answer to it. Either way, I find it annoying because I can’t verbally control him.  But, all in all, they are pretty good dogs.

Our routine is as follows: Husband takes them out of the garage, which is where we have decided to let them roam about ( No Name screeches uncontrollably when put in his kennel, and Old One is trustworthy and all, but I don’t even like Achilles roaming when no one is around, so the garage seemed to be the safest place to keep them all without problems) and puts them in the backyard. When I wake up at 7am or whenever, I let them back inside and they climb all over the furniture until I leave for work. Achilles has started shedding his winter coat and I have attempted to banish him from our marital bed and maybe even furniture, but I know this will be a battle that I most likely will lose, so while I apply my makeup I imagine the dogs getting invisible hairs all over the place, resulting in me ‘drawing’ in angry eyebrows.

Once I leave for work, its back to the garage with them. When Randy gets home, he lets them back out, and they come back in and commence crawling all over the furniture and wrestling around until bedtime at 8:30, where they return to their dungeon that used to hold our cars.

Well, like I said 6 paragraphs ago, today was different. I knew it was raining when Randy kissed me goodbye, and I knew I should have let them back in before I went to sleep, but I said, f*** it, me and the baby have some sleeping to do. 7am comes, and I decide to let them back in. They are on the porch, frantically scratching at the door. which causes me to immediately glare at them all. I decided instead of allowing them the pleasure of climbing on the furniture, I would put them all back in the dungeon and continue my morning. Since I was carrying the bag of treats, it should have been easy. WRONG.

They all run inside, and take off for the couch where they all shake themselves off in unison. I am screaming every word of profanity I know, some words not even matching the situation while I am chasing 3 dogs under 12lbs through the kitchen, dining room, and living room. My sweet Achilles, who usually behaves himself is caught up in the moment and refuses to respond to my direction. I am in a white robe splattered with dog hair, rain and mud, chasing these animals through my house. I stop and ask myself, self, are you really going to let dogs get the best of you? They can’t even talk, they don’t have thumbs, and they should have rules, boundaries and schedules. Like children. If I can’t handle 3 stupid dogs, what do I think will happen when Blake makes his appearance, and I am now caring for a dog, husband, and baby?

I decide to divide and conquer. Old One has lost the joy of pursuit after about 15 minutes, so I am able to get him in there first. No Name is running hard, despite his weird limp, and I am hobbling around trying to catch him and not slip on the wet floor. I decide to go after him last. I stop in my tracks and yell ACHILLES at the top of my lungs with as much fury as I could muster. He stops, I pick him up, I may or may have not spanked him until I made it to the garage-dungeon, where he was tossed in with his older, obviously wiser cousin. His No Name uncle was now my final battle. I waddle towards him as quickly as possible, momentarily forget that Blake is inside of me, witnessing the scenario through his baby ears, and DIVE for him. He is caught, and I’m carrying him the way I’ve seen mama dogs carry their puppies, 1. because I’m pissed and I know it’s uncomfortable 2. because he’s soaking wet and I’m also really grossed out.  He, too is tossed into the dungeon with the others and as soon as I close the door he and Achilles start scratching and barking like there’s a monster in there.

I relish their distress while I get ready, and head to the fridge. I HAVE NO BREAKFAST. I stare, trying to will a carton of eggs to materialize out of nothing. My eyes blur with tears. When I look around the kitchen I am finally faced with the aftermath of 3 dirty dogs and I start hyperventilating. Then I forget that Blake is there again and start using mismatched profanity. Tiny paw prints everywhere. Invisible dog hair floating in my good breathing air. My couch…

I decide to take a personal day, and return when I am able to apply my makeup, clean up the mess, and after I have made a trip to the grocery store. I consider taking the entire day off, then realize that would then put me in the company of 3 dogs that I want to individually drown in the bathtub for an entire day.

I call my mom crying while I am shopping in the grocery store. Then I clean like a meth addict. I sweep the floors, I clean the kitchen from top to bottom, and get rid of all the paw prints and as much of the invisible dog hair as I could find. All while they continue to howl and scratch from the dungeon.

Once I can sit back and survey my fine work I decide that I am still, indeed angry with the dogs, and need to do something that will teach them a lesson without violence. So I line up each of their kennels in the hallway, and one by one, place them in their respective rooms. Achilles seems to know that he is in trouble so he puts up no fight. Old One, while in the least amount of trouble is guilty by association, and goes next. Of course No Name makes me chase him again. But, they all looked miserable in their kennels, and it made me feel like I had regained a little bit of my control. I will continue to kennel them until they are released from our home on Saturday.

I think what bothered me the most about the situation, which is now a little more funny to me, is that I had no control. I am months away from being a mother and I have a dirty house, piles of laundry, empty fridge, and not enough hours in the day to maintain it all. I watch my weight slowly climb and remind myself of what its for, but wonder how in the hell will I get my gym routine back if I can’t keep my house running. I want a career, social life, and a better body. I also want time to myself. How am I going to handle all of this? I really have no good answer for this.

 

 
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