Who finds the reading of the comments on LOLCats – I Can Has Cheezburger migraine inducing?
Who doesn’t get this post?
Who finds the reading of the comments on LOLCats – I Can Has Cheezburger migraine inducing?
Who doesn’t get this post?
Yesterday, after work, I went to the grocery store. While waiting in the check-out line, I perused the magazines and picked out In Style to take home with me.
The current issue has Halle Barry in the cliche Madonna pose where she has a hand under her gestating abdomen. The checker looked over the cover while I was preparing my payment and she said, "Oh! Do you have a bun in the oven?"
I physically froze while in my head, I was saying What. The. Fuck!
"Haha! Me? No!" I answered.
What kind of question is that for a complete stranger to ask another person, a customer, based on the cover of a magazine? Sure, I’m probably overreacting to it (as some in the "fertile" community believe we do, but screw them because I am not only entitled to my bitterness, I fucking earned it!), but it really bothered me.
Even worse, what if this had happened to me six months ago, just after my last miscarriage? Or in my two-week wait, or shit! any other time for any one of us?!
Here’s the cover, by the way. I should mention as I was reading through her article that the writer noted that she was about to "give birth any minute!" when in fact, she’s not due until March. Yep. That’s any minute now. Idiot.
I’m in full avoidance mode right now, if you couldn’t have guessed. It’s probably because this is the week that will either make this my second longest pregnancy . . . or not.
This weekend I did something truly asinine: I repeated the action I took the weekend before I found out I had lost Vivienne and went to The Metro to shop for clothes. It wasn’t until I was half-way there that I realized that the deja vu feeling I was having wasn’t a feeling at all. It was real. I’m sure I looked like a real idiot talking myself down while on the interstate, clutching the steering wheel. On the other hand, with the number of hands-free telephone devices and American Idol wannabes, I only looked foolish to myself.
Who could blame me then that when I eventually got home, my first task was to use the implement of torture itself – the doppler. For what it’s worth, don’t get a doppler before 14 weeks. I am now getting a little better at finding the heartbeat, but its so easy to pass over since the baby has to be just in the right position even if you have the doppler right on top of it. For a while, the noises I thought I heard were just my guts churning. Now I’m wondering if it wasn’t Murdock farting in the general direction of the doppler as if to say, "You want to hear something? Hear this! Fffrrrppt!"
It’s nice to know I have general immunity from the "s/he gets it from you" argument. I can blame Mr. DD for everything. It’ll take him a while before he pulls the nurture card on me.
Other than the avoidance of my own current situation, I admit I’m avoiding many others out there. Specifically the links to a miscarriage or infant loss. I feel like such an ass for not being able to provide support, except silently and distantly, but it’s all I can do without either feeling unwelcome or it sending me down a spiral of paranoia over my own situation.
To wit: I still haven’t made any preparations for this summer, except to order blinds for the spare bedroom. I figure if it continued to be the spare bedroom, I would need blinds to replace the temporary paper ones I put up last year.
You know how some things just tickle your funny bone, probably more than they should?
This snickers commercial isn’t necessarily hysterical on its own, but when I think about it later and imagine the toga guy waving his hands over the "feast" and exclaiming how it’s ruined, I giggle.
I will soooo be using that line the next time we are out to eat and XBoy and Mr. DD get into a mental tug-o-war.
If you had to describe what kind of blog I have here, or the kind of topics I cover, you just might lean towards the following:
But would you believe that of all the keyword searches that end up here on this blog, the number one search is in regards to boogers?
This post is what started it all, nearly a year ago. I’m not even at the top of the search, but number 10 when it comes to "bloody boogers".
Wow. My claim to fame: Boogers.
What would be yours?
I don’t know if this meme has an official name so I’m going to call it the Album Cover Meme. I’m a sucker for these things. Plus since Niobe did it, it’s got to be cool, right?
FIRST, click this link to get the name of your band.
SECOND, click this link and use the last four words of the quote to get the title of your album.
THIRD, click this link and the third picture is your album cover.
This was my first result. Subsequent clicks produced some pretty cool results as well, but I’m going to stay true to the meme (’cause I’m sure there’s meme police out there somewhere).
(A tip from me to you: if you want to do publish the links on your blog for the meme, be careful to select the link you are to go to, not the link you would end up on or else everyone’s cover will look the same.)
(Raise your hand if I just confused the crap out of you.)
(Too bad. In the words of one of my dear friends, PiquantMolly, "Deal with it.")
(The search is still on for this woman. Please be vigilant as she may also have a driver’s license.)
I was reading some opinions from parents on whether or not they found out the sex of their unborn baby when I stumbled upon this statement:
From Susan ~ We Had our first ultrasound a little too early, though the tech said “well it looks like a girl.” Because of complications later on, we found out for sure…yeah… it was a girl. We had already started calling her Kimberlee, so I would have felt as if I lost a child if it had been a boy.
Is it the bitter in me or is Susan totally shallow and clueless?
Let me first preface this by stating for the record, I adore my OB’s nurse. I will call her Helmut due to her hairstyle that has not changed significantly in the 7 years I’ve known her. Helmut has a way of making me feel as if I’m the OB’s only patient and is acutely aware of our circumstances, now and in the past. I say this because I don’t want you giving her a verbal smack-down after I tell you about today’s appointment.
During the blood pressure check, she asked how I had been feeling and wanted to know if I’ve had any cramping or spotting. I told her that I had some cramping yesterday and that I had also been sick that morning, which is the second time this pregnancy. Yes, I know, "lucky" me.
"That’s good," she said. "You’ll be 14 weeks tomorrow (it’s actually Thursday…). You were right around 14 weeks with your first fetal demise, weren’t you?"
Deer in the headlights look from me.
"Yes," I finally answered, "somewhere between 14 and 15 weeks."
"Did you have any nausea then?"
I then explained that in all actuality I never once puked with XBoy until delivery (post-anesthetic reaction) and I never puked with Vivienne. I just had a continuous feeling of exhaustion combined with ass-mouth.
I understand that all the websites go on and on about how nausea with pregnancy, especially in the first trimester is more than normal, it’s expected. I guess they say that so when you are vomiting up breakfast every morning you don’t freak out. Fine. I get it.
But do I really need to have the thought that NOT being sick is bad? Do I really need to have this information stuck in my head?
The International Journal of Obstetrics and Gynecology in 2006, found that of 7,000 women studied, those who had nausea in the first three months were far less likely to miscarry. That appeared to support a study by the National Institutes of Health, which found that women who had morning sickness in the first four months of pregnancy were 30 percent less likely to miscarry.
When no one can really find a reason for morning sickness, except maybe a tie to increasing hormone levels, how important is it for me to be sick or not sick? My progesterone with Wolf was sky-high at 90+ and I was never nauseas (even if that pregnancy only lasted 8 weeks). My beta levels with Murdock had everyone in my clinic, many of you and even myself convinced there had to be at least two embryos going…and there weren’t. Those high levels haven’t had me trying to vomit quietly in my work trash can.
Maybe I’m just feeling particularly pissy because I’m on the cusp of Murdock doing or dying, but I don’t like the implication that nausea is better. Even my allergist said something similar about 7 weeks ago.
I just want to enjoy the FACT that right now I’m rarely nauseous and that everything is STILL just fine with Murdock, while at the same time I don’t want to hear how "lucky" I am to not be super sick. Lucky would have been me coming home from work to listen to my 6 year old boy whine about his 2 1/2 year old sister being in his room playing with his stuff.
Last week I mentioned to Mr. DD that I had to get to The Metro to do some shopping. The bellaband has been sufficient for making do, but unless they make a hippaband or a thighaband, I was going to have to upgrade.
Mr. DD, in his infamously sweet and romantic way, responded, "Should you be showing already?"
What an ass, because I guarantee you that he probably has not one iota of a clue what week I’m in, much less know when a woman should start "showing" or not.
Don’t worry. I left his nutsack unscathed.
I have tried to shop at Target over the past couple weeks. I’ll walk up to the maternity clothing section and then turn the opposite direction. I just couldn’t commit. The only other place to buy any maternity clothing in my town is at a rinky-dink department store; not even the JCPenneys here carries a line. The amount Rinky-Dink had in their store probably filled about six clothing racks (and that includes the two to three racks of clearanced items that all have weird flouncy bows attached under the boob).
Finally I caved and bought nine items. Of the nine, five were returned the next day after I had a chance to try them on and freak the fuck right out of myself as I looked in my bathroom mirror, including the one pair of pants I thought I could make work.
I was left with no choice but to go back to Target and see which of the polyester pants would make me least likely to break out into hives.
I didn’t bother asking Mr. DD this morning if the pair I was wearing made my ass look big.
On an unrelated-related note: this morning while Mr. DD was making XBoy breakfast and I was in the bedroom, I sneezed. From the kitchen I heard Mr. DD and XBoy, "bless you". Awwww, how sweet.
Then a few minutes later after a coughing fit, I had my head in the sink doing the dry-heave dance (you know, the one where you stomp your foot with every violent contraction of your stomach while keeping your mouth centered over the drain), and do you think I got one word of sympathy, much less a bless you from either of those two? Nope. In fact, when I told Mr. DD that puking on an empty stomach isn’t too bad, I was told that I was giving up TMI.
How rude. Everyone’s pretty quick with the "bless you" when I sneeze, or even the "excuse you!" when I burp or fart, but heaven forbid I make it the family business when I hurl.
After my last post and another OB visit to keep the infamous Dead Baby Thoughts at bay for another 24-48 hours, I stopped by my facebook account to update. One of the options you have with facebook is adding a little blurb about what you are doing or thinking at any particular time. I added that I was dealing with "antepartum depression", thinking I had come up with some original term; a spin on postpartum depression.
One of my friends wrote on my wall: Antepartum sucks.
Because someone actually got what I was feeling, I did a quick search on antepartum depression and realized that the term I thought was made up was in fact very real. I don’t know why I thought there was no such thing, but even more interesting was that in the two and half years I’ve been reading blogs, I don’t recall anyone ever mentioning it during their pregnancy.
I don’t believe it’s because no one has ever felt it. These bloggers used all the key phrases of depression yet rarely used the word "depression" except in relationship to postpartum depression. Now I’m not self-diagnosing myself, but to have something other than "survivor’s guilt" to blame for how I’ve been feeling makes me feel less of an emotional fraud.
This article was the first I read and when I reached the list of possible triggers of APD, I was both fearful of what I could be doing to Murdock; and hopeful that maybe my inability to commit any joy to this pregnancy could be reversed.
I found it reassuring that for many, light therapy can be a literal life-saver, which makes me even more thankful that every night when I drive home from work I notice a little more day light. I’m also glad that I have another appointment with my OB next week at which time I will mention this to him. It may be nothing. It may be something.
Just to give you an idea of how little APD is taken into consideration, typepad does not recognize the word "antepartum" but does "postpartum". Also, a google search of "antepartum depression" had 2,860 results while "postpartum depression" had 3,630,000 results.
A special thank you to those of you who said, "screw those comments being turned off, I’m contacting DD anyway." Your words, whether virtual hugs or virtual bitch-slaps, are much appreciated.
I’m grateful for my on-line friends who are always more than generous with their support and resources. It was a friend who loaned me a doppler. It has been the death of me, I swear. You all warned me not to let myself depend on it too much and now I have.
Saturday I found the heartbeat – easy peasy.
I haven’t been able to since then. Full bladder or no. Nothing.
I’m going to go see my OB today.
My stomach had dropped to the floor.
I really thought the further along I’d get with Murdock, the easier it would be. It’s not easier because there’s more to lose.
I told my OB that this sucks. Some of you may be annoyed with my inability to appreciate how lucky I’ve been so far and I get that. I’m annoyed. Don’t you think I’d rather be happy and optimistic?
OB told me I could come in every day if I needed to.
I’ve got to find a way to mentally deal with this before my head explodes and I end up in a vegetative state and once again regretting the fact I couldn’t do something so simple as enjoy my pregnancy.
For now, Murdock is still fine. I think I’ll take the rest of the week off for reflection.
I think I’ll also leave comments off until then. It’s nothing personal, I think I just need to deal with my own thoughts for a while.