Sunday, January 23, 2011

Kicking and screaming. Part II

As I watch my body, daily, rapidly expand from a size 8 into a size Oh My God, I can't help but wonder wistfully where I might be today if I had kept my running training instead of getting knocked up.  I wonder if I would be staring into every mirror with much less disdain for myself and my choices.

I had spent the entire first pregnancy regretting every moment.  In retrospect, a highly selfish ponderance than my usual level of self involved introspect.  I didn't realize, that at the end of that fat, expanding, swollen, emotionally massacred 9 months, that I would have produced the most fantastic being ever imaginable.  At that moment of sheer amazement, I decided that when we were going to do this again, I would know exactly what I was in for and focus on being able to eat a lot, often, and not worry about how my thighs touch from the top down until my kankles and the fact that my triple chin only compliments my Jewish looking, yet large flattening nose.

Not so.

I am quite upset.  Miserable takes it too far, but I am pissed.  So pissed off.  I hate this.  I hate that in 6 short months it will all be worth it, but now, again, I feel like total utter shit and just don't know why I had fooled myself into thinking that my wrists being as thick as my kankles was going to be okay, a second time around. I had convinced myself I was going to "enjoy" being pregnant this time around.

I thought I was smarter than that?  My arse is widening and drooping.  Lovely thought I know, I see it sliding down the back of my legs as I stare into the mirror as if it were one of those 3D pictures I could NEVER see no matter how hard I crossed my eyes.  My arse is drooping like slow molasses down the back of my legs, the longer I stand and stare, the closer it gets to my kankles.

I'm also not visibly pregnant just yet.  Into my 4th month and I look like I should just exercise a bit and suck it in more.  I'm at that stage (girls you know exactly what I'm talking about here)  where you see a chick walking into Kroger with a tighter than she should be wearing t-shirt and that mid section just sits there like she didn't bother looking before she left the house.  Suck it in.  I think to myself.  No one wants to see that shit hanging out there.  You'd be ok looking if you'd just suck in that gut.  Not ever did I think to myself that, that poor girl could be pregnant and suffering silently like myself.  No, I just harshly judged her very present stomach as she approached the grocery store.  Now that girl is me. Screw it.  It makes my fourth trip of the day to get mini eggs much more exciting if I can read every book by its cover.

My skin feels like it is expanding all over and my toes are getting fat.  MY TOES.  My hair is thick and lustrous, if only I didn't hate the way it looked all the time and no matter what I feel like I do to it, my long thick hair is wasted on me.  It's still gray at my roots, the thickness is getting heavy and annoying.  I can;t wait to see what the does to me in JUNE in the SUMMER.  I'll wake up in the middle of the night thinking I just had a horrible dream about how I grabbed a pair of scissors, any scissors, Joseph's preschool scissors and just hacked off my hair because I hated it and had finally had enough.  Then I'll look at my pillow to discover 3 cardigans with of human hair laying there.  Screams.  Maybe I should avoid that dramatic scene and make an appointment now with my hairdresser?  That would be normal of me.  Yes I should do that.

You've got 6 more months of posts like this.  Aren't you excited? 

Well, I'd love to stay and chat more, but, the waaabulance is here and they're ready to pick me up and drive me off into the sunset.  Farewell.

Thursday, January 20, 2011

Kicking and screaming. Part I

I felt the baby move today.  I'm pretty sure it WASN'T gas, (I did wait a minute to make sure nothing "produced") and it felt like a swift acrobatic kick to my lower right uterine-area.  Cool.  I have a human experiement growing inside of me.  I'm a gestational carrier, but sorry Nic and Keith, I'm keeping this one, it's mine.

So why is my post titled kicking and screaming?  The baby can't scream, and just had it's first kick.  Well, I figured it was about time I told you how I REALLY feel about being pregnant.  All the time.  And I WILL tell you how I really feel, I don't know how to hold back, so, jump in this frustration filled rant as I tell you what it's really like (for me) to grow a human inside my expanding uterus and what it does to me, mentally, emotionally and physically.  Take my hand.  Join me, and I'll show you why you probably don't want to read on if you want to hear about all the beautiful "blossoming" crap those propaganda filled books tell you to expect when you are expecting.  I'm not like that.

I'm going to act like a spoiled brat and I don't care, judge me, cuz I'm judging you.

"It's all worth it in the end."  Yes, it is.  Definitely.  And my sacrifices are nothing in the grand scheme of things in the hope that I produce a happy healthy baby.  But that's sure as hell not going to stop me from selfishly ranting my way into "feel-better-dom" about myself and the situation my husband put me in.  Ok, I was there too and this was all planned, but shit, I feel jealous of my non pregnant friends and their binging..err I mean drinking and staying up past 9pm ways and you know what (stomps foot), it's just not fair.  Even if it is for only 9 short months, it's the longest, most sober 9 months of my life.  Ever. 

I'll schedule the waaabulance to pick me up after the post.  I promise, now just keep reading.  Meh-mi-nah.

I've been dragged away from my favorite chambord flavored vodka bottle kicking and screaming almost 4 months ago now.  I spent my 30th birthday, sober.  SOBER.  Do you even know what that's like?  If you have a few gold coins, I'm sure you do, but I'm not talking about that kind of sober.  Congrats, by the way, but sober sucks.

I had just spent the previous summer relishing in daily, after work glasses of cheap wine on my newly furnished patio and weekends fueled with poolside/lakeside or grillside beer crushing.  I had not worried about the copious amounts of grease filled food and types of seafood entering my mouth at warp speed, only worried about when the next grease fix was to come and which fast food vendor would be my next victim.  Oh those care free days of worrying only about the irreversible damage that was being done to my current and only child, that at the time, could be distracted with "yellow" lollipops.

Shots of jager?  Sure, where's the tequila?  What no tequila?  What do you call this?  A 3 year old birthday party for sesame street fans?  That was me.  Now I'm just cranky, and sober.  Did I mention I was sober?
Of COURSE I have occassionally sipped on a glass of red or white wine, so rarely, it's like a TEASE.  CRUEL TEASE.  I believe in moderation (when pregnant, obviously) and when not pregnant, I believe in being Bon Jovi drunk.  "You're only allowed one bottle of wine a day when pregnant"   - Colleen Donaghy (30 Rock).  If only.  sigh.

In Germany they ENCOURAGE you to drink beer, right up until you've had the baby and even once you've squeezed it out, they hand you a pint "It's gut for das breast milch."  Says nurse Helga.  I'm going to deliver this baby in Germany.  My own mum, who delivered me in Australia, was encouraged to have a glass of cool, delicious crisp refreshing beer, to help "milk flow" or stimulate something, or just stimulate being tipsy.  Whatever it was, it was a damn good idea.

If I were to whip out a cold one, fresh from the epidural needle exiting my back, legs still in the upright position, think - "kerchaaaa" of the bottle top twisting or aluminum can tab crunching at the opening, I believe that I would receive a cold reception from the watchful nursing staff, much colder than my beautiful beer.  I've considered it, but it's not worth the risk, I am delivering in a catholic hospital, but an AMERICAN catholic hospital.  BIG difference between that and Australian.  Australian's are a little more, how you say, un-orthodox?  :)

I've had a bad day at work, find the alcohol, I've had a good day, find the alcohol.  I bet Paco misses me.  That is the name of the friendly Latin man that knowingly smiles at me when I show up at the bottle-o more than 3 times a week.  Maybe Paco has forgotten about me.  I bet his cash register hasn't.

I'm not saving any of this money used for alcohol, no.  It's being funnelled into my account for cadbury mini eggs.  Oh mini eggs how do I love thee?  I promised a cadbury mini egg post and it's coming.  I promise.  Those little golden bites of candy covered chocolate endorphins.  All in due time my dear, all in due time.

Back to my selfish ranting.  I am making myself out to be this huge alcoholic.  It's true, I don't like to ignore my limits, I like to take them into a back alley and murder them.  (thanks Hal)  I love a good drink, I love a good competitve drink that ends in uncontrollable laughter and crying fuled by a bad judgment of mixing beer and liquor resulting in a broken chair, great friends and memory of not much else.  And I miss having an excuse to get up and sing karaoke (that I've practiced for months in my car and convince that I sound Christina Aguilerish) badly - "Oh man I was so drunk"..  Dammit, I thought I was going to sound good, thank god I had the liquor to fall back on.  And now I realize this post was just about alcohol and not how miserable pregnancy is to my physical being or my  emotional being or to my marriage.  I could go on, really I could, .. I know you don't believe me.  But, I'll stop here.

Today, I know my limits, today I know I should quit writing more, before the men in white coats find out where I work and take me away in their padded van.  Oh, to know your limits when sober.  Being knocked up can really take the alcoholic content of your liver down a notch and your fun.  My liver is smiling, not for long... not for long...

Did I mention I was sober?

Thursday, January 6, 2011

All grows up.

Joseph is "All grows up" - thanks Vince Vaughn ala Swingers for that phrase I will use to describe my ever growing kid(s).

Already, he is so self sufficient, independent and cheeky and he's not even four yet.  Now, it's not like this is unexpected, I have tried to maintain a very relatisic approach to raising my kids, and understand they cut the cord a lot sooner than I will, but NOT YET FOUR?  I had mentally prepared myself for about 6, but not almost four.  He's growing at an exponential rate and I catch myself sometimes wondering where the child was last week that didn't know or care that it was Tuesday and not Thursday, but now 6 days later knows each day of the week in correct order, which day it is and that tomorrow is Friday, and Friday's are spent at Memmie and Pops house.  And adds, "I just want to stay at Memmie and Pops house, I like it there."  "Well, don't you like it at home?"  "Yes, but I like Memmie and Pops house, I can stay over there."

I'm glad he's so comfortable with relatives that he wants and does stay overnight and the freedom it gives me.  I'm also sad, because I'm glad, that this isn't a fad, my kids not bad, he's fab.  Sorry, just stroked out on Dr. Seuss for a second.. Ahem....

This happens to every kid, I geddit.  And it hits close to home for every parent.  He's still only a toddler, but he's already so grown up.  He doesn't need Mommy the way he needed me before, he's never been a "hiding behind my leg" kind of kid, he's always been shy/careful, but sociable and outgoing.  But the time he spends checking in with me or wanting me around is getting shorter and shorter.  It's only a matter of time, speeding away time, before he truly discovers that I am the uncoolest person on the planet and if I look at him the wrong way, I'll embarrass him in forever unforgettable torture he'll have to endure in front of his friends.

No more helping with socks, no more helping with shoes (except for laces), no more helping with clothes, no more helping with bathtime, no more helping kick a ball.  But so much more to learn and at least I can look forward to revelling in the joy that his successes will bring as he grows up to be a wonderful young man.

This is the problem with raising independent and self sufficient kids.  They grow away from you, which is so beautiful, but yet emotionally problematic for the parent.  The pride you feel for your kid walking confidently into the classroom, hooking up with his friends and participating, staying on "groovy green" the whole year and being a great kid, is juxtaposed against the feelings that make you want to grab a kleenex and dot away crocodile tears because he's so big today and he's just going to get bigger tomorrow.

Sniff, Sniff.