From a Mother to her Children

So for the past couple of weeks Facebook has been flooded with lists; 10 Things a Mother of Boys Should Know, Things a Father Should Know About Raising Daughters, 25 Things a Mother Should Never Say to Her Daughter, etc., etc., etc...It got me thinking about what I want my children to know.  So here is MY list...

8 Things I Want My Children to Know

1.  Stickers are not decorative accents. 

I have never seen Martha Stewart place a Doc McStuffins sticker on a dusty sage wall or a frosted bathroom window...even on those Do-It-Yourself Home Improvement shows where the budget is a hundred bucks and they frame wrapping paper as a 'one of a kind' art piece have they ever included stickers.  The final straw was yesterday when I was on the toilet, turned to get some toilet paper and there was a sticker with a frog saying, "good job".   So please, for the love of all that is Holy stop sticking them to the walls, floors, windows, kitchen chairs, mirrors, books, toy box, drawer pulls on the kitchen cabinets and any other god forsaken place only a child's mind can think of...

2. Dresser drawers slide closed just as easy as the slide open. 

Please keep this in mind as you change your clothes for the 19th time in a day.  I walk around the house closing dresser drawers muttering to myself "drawer open, drawer closed"  a la Mr. Miagee, "wax on, wax off"...please take the extra 1/10 of a second and just close the door.  It would be one small step in saving my sanity.

3. Rainbows belong in the sky, not on your body. 

Just because all the colors come together cohesively in a beautiful arc does not mean you should wear them all...together...at the same time.  Yes, Anna, it is true that your shirt is purple, your pants are purple, socks are purple and even your headband is purple but that does not automatically make them a perfect match to be worn together.  At times you may feel compelled to wear as many colors as humanly possible, please don't.  Dressing oneself is a wonderful skill that showcases ones independence...please don't blow it by making yourself look like a flippin' peacock on Ecstasy.

4. Sleeping with me is not a treat. 

Not for me anyway.  Now, girls, please don't get me wrong...I love you all more than life itself and the best part of my day is early in the morning when you climb into bed, make a 'mommy sandwich' and we snuggle...there is nothing better.  However, that being said, I am less than thrilled when one of you sleeps in my bed.  You are all less than 38 pounds...how in the hell is it possible that you take up the entire bed?  If I get 26 minutes of combined sleep it is a good night.  Can we please just stick to the morning snuggles and get over the notion of having any all night slumber party?

5. Your shows aren't all that good. 

Now, I love watching your mind numbing dance shows, singing shows, running and jumping shows, magic shows et. al because you are my children and I love you.  I love the fact that you want are willing to bare your souls, be vulnerable, take a risk and all those other artsy cliches.  I love that you love me enough that you want to impress me.  Those are the reasons I love to watch your shows...certainly not for the entertainment value...Because, the truth is your shows kind of stink.  Not trying to be mean...Just stating a fact.  I know you are doing your best Katy Perry impersonation but honestly, when you are hitting the high notes more often than not it sounds as if you just stepped on the cat.  Oh, and while we are at it  your knock, knock jokes really aren't up to snuff either.  Again, I laugh because you are trying your best and I want you to know I appreciate your effort.  Knock, Knock.  Who is there?  Meatball.  Meatball who?  A meatball is up in a tree playing with a squirrel.  Yeah, not funny.  So please limit your performances to immediate family only...they are truly something only a mother and father could love.

6.  You all have crappy timing. 

I don't know how it is possible to raise 3 unique children that all have such bad timing.  I have not had a warm meal, crispy bowl of cereal or cold drink in 6 years.  Just when I start to cook, one of you desperately needs me for something  such as; showing me a commercial for some "As seen on TV" piece of crap, telling me you just spilled 3 wheat thins...you know, weighty issues of a life and death magnitude.  It doesn't end with spoiled food...oh no, it extends to when I am in the shower or trying to pee and you HAVE to have a juice box NOW!  Or how one of you always happens to get hurt and burst into a crying fit at the exact moment my doctor, insurance company or work calls.  Little Emily, you are not immune to this genetic mutation that plagues your older sisters...how is it possible that you know the exact moment my ass touches a chair to sit down and eat said cold meals?  It. Happens. Every. Friggin. Time.  It is a wonder that Chuck and I even found the time to have a 3rd child.  Girls, as a favor to your mommy, please work on your impeccable timing.  Thanks.

7.  Please don't take "STOP & Shop" literally. 

When shopping with you it is as if time stands still.  I love the fact that you are starting to understand the concept of money...earning it, saving up for something and then practicing your emerging math skills in the store aisle.  However, and this is a big one...I cringe when you get birthday money or a gift card.  Why?  Because I know at some point I will spend an entire afternoon (and early evening) looking at every ass aching item in the store...probably more than once.  I love that you are both so thoughtful, conscientious and good financial stewards but in this one situation can't you just be normal, hedonistic preschoolers and just grab the first craptastic toy you see?

8.  Your sh*t is not special. 

I mean that literally.  Everyone poops.  I do, you do, your friends do, the President does, even The Silver Fox does.  Now, I love me some Anderson Cooper but even I don't want to see his crap.  Yours is no more special than the next person.  No need to save it for posterity.  Now I am not much for surprises (unless it is a new bracelet with Emily's name on it...hint, hint babe) so walking into the bathroom to find a floating turd is not the ideal way for me to start, or end my day.  Leaving a floater is just plain uncivilized.  For Christ's sake flush your sh*t.

So there it is...my list of things I want my children to know.  It may not be as poetic as some of the other lists making the rounds on social media sites but if you really look deep inside your own self I bet your own list would be quite similar.

Happy New Year!!

It's a Christmas Miracle!!!

The hole in my belly left over from my botched c-section is officially closed!!!  Hallelujah!!!  I went to the plastic surgeon on Thursday and the hole is completely closed!!  No more packing, no more flippin' seaweed and for the love of God no more burning the edges!!!  It doesn't look pretty but at this point I don't care if my belly looks like Freddy Kruger's face. My insides are no longer outside and that is all I care about!!  I honestly thought that I would be dropping Emily off at college with my convenient new change purse still intact.  But the stars finally aligned and it healed!

I had a little more than an hour to kill before having my final OB appointment so I headed to my secret hiding spot in the hospital.  There is this lovely waiting room reserved for family members who have a loved one in surgery.  It is has comfortable chairs, couches, TV's and clean bathrooms.  It is way better than waiting in the main lobby with the dregs of society that hang out there.  See my previous blog post, "I Don't Have Enough Bones For That"...it gives a pretty colorful description of the clientele I am speaking of.  So Emily and I head for the surgical waiting room to bide our time.  In order to keep up the charade of actually belonging in there you need to keep your head down, look somewhat sad/concerned, but, don't overdo it or the circulating social worker will come over and check in on you.  I don't feel guilty taking up a seat in there, I mean after all they put me through the past few months, but I don't want to waste the social workers time...that would just be wrong. 

So it is time to see my OB, she agrees, the wound is closed.  She asks if I want a little more Silver Nitrate on it...Ummm, let me think about that for a sec...the wound is closed, do I want to burn it one last time just because?  NO!!  She did tell me that she has a patient that had a tiny opening in her c-section and started with the Silver Nitrate right off the bat so she didn't end up in my situation...glad they learned something from my case and they can help others with it, just wish I wasn't such a flippin' science experiment for the past 13 weeks.  The saying, "practice medicine" is so true...I have a lot of respect for the modern medicine; without it I wouldn't be here (I had heart surgery as a baby), who knows if Anna would be here (I needed surgery when I was 4 months pregnant with her) and I know Emily most likely would not be here so I am not knocking it altogether, but, they sure as sh*t got a ton of "practice" at my expense lately.

But back to my OB (for the record her hands are clean in all of this, she did not deliver my baby and was not present in any of the subsequent procedures)...so it is time to say good-bye to her.  She had tears welling up in her eyes...I have known her for almost 7 years now, she has seen me through my greatest joys and my lowest of sorrows...and now it was over...it was weird saying goodbye to her...it was kind of like when you break up with someone you still care about but you know it is for the best.  She told me that no matter what she is still my doctor and I can call her anytime I need her.  Now, I do really consider myself lucky to have had her as my doctor but I am hoping that our relationship will just be a fond memory.  But, if you read one of my earlier blogs you know that I am terrified that in addition to screwing up my c-section Romeo, the hairless kid wonder, also effed up tying my tubes.  Now to be honest I didn't do much research on the procedure and in my mind they were going to be tied into cute little bows and that would be it.    Well, in the past I have used Google for good...looking up recipes, toys, directions, etc.  Turns out you can use it for evil too.  Since I have had a ton of idle time on my hands lately I have been googling everything under the sun.  There are WAY more search results for "Tubal Ligation Failure Rates" than there is for straight up  "Tubal Ligation"...the web is full of medical studies, articles and a boatload of personal accounts of tied tubes failing.  I have seen stats saying up to 3 out of every 1,000 failing.  If you have been following my blog for the past two years you know the kind of luck I have...You know what?  Chuck and I are best friends...I think we will get along as plain old roommates just fine.

So my doctor says I can return to "regular activity" in two weeks.  She doesn't want me to push things and pop open the hole.  That means I get to go back to work in two weeks.  YAY!!  I am not saying one is better than the other, but, for me personally I like getting out and going to work.  I have a lot of respect for stay at home moms, that is the toughest job in the world!!  I am not cut out for it...someone would eventually lose their life and I am not saying who, but for the record I am bigger and stronger than all three of my children.  So you do the math...

So when all is said and done I will have been relatively inactive for 15 weeks.  I have been allowed to do daily living activities but nothing beyond that.  So that has not been helpful in trying to get the baby weight off.  Let's called a spade a spade...I am pretty soft around the middle theses days.  I would like to blame it all on the baby and the medical clusterf*ck that ensued that way I would not have to take any personal responsibility, but....my addiction to Dunkin' Donuts Salted Caramel Hot Chocolate and their Red Velvet Drizzle donut may or may not have played a part in my post baby weight issues.  The biggest mistake I made was taking my first sip...I was hooked from the get-go.  I am not going to lie it has become a big problem!  They say admitting it is the first step, right?  Well it has gotten so bad that I am making excuses to go get the most delicious combo every introduced.  Hey Sara, you didn't cry today?  Hot cocoa!  The baby is sleeping in the car?  Let me swing through the drive thru to kill some time.  This next one is the lowest...it was a snowy day and I was really jonesing for a salty car (that is my code for salted caramel hot chocolate) and I needed to come up with a plausible excuse to get my 4th in a week.  Here is what I came up with.  I decided to make spaghetti and meatballs for dinner...oops!  No garlic bread...hmm, what to do?  what to do?  I know!  When I pick Sara up from school we will go through the drive thru and get some french bread rolls (yes, they sell those at Dunks, you're welcome!) if I had to explain myself to anyone I could justify it by saying that it was the middle of a snowstorm, the weather was too bad to drag the baby out to the grocery store and my kids needed bread damn it!  Off to the Dunk we go...oh and since we are there I might as well get a salty car to go...why waste the trip?  See, I can justify anything and now you can see why I had to get off the pain meds ASAP!  Which leads me to my newest fantasy...I told you I was afraid to be alone in a room with my husband for fear of being the 1 out of a thousand that gets pregnant despite medical efforts not too...so now I've got The Coop...let me set the scene (don't worry, there is no way it will get sexual, give it a minute and you will see why)  So I am home alone and the doorbell rings.  I answer it.  Staring at me with his piercing blue eyes is the Silver Fox himself.  As if Anderson Cooper showing up at my door was not enough, he is holding a large Salted Caramel Hot Chocolate AND a Red Velvet Drizzled Donut!!  He comes in and we sit on the couch and get down to business, forget talking about the Bashar al-Assad Regime, forget the debacle that is Obamacare, forget keeping them honest...we go straight for the good stuff; little man babies, prancercising and Gerard Depardieu.  We giggle all night long sipping our cocoa's and nibbling on our donuts.  Some people have Cinemax, I have The Coop...

I need to nip this addiction in the bud soon...I really want to have a wardrobe that does not include maternity yoga pants...so if after the holidays you see me about to put any type of crap in my mouth feel free to slap it right out of my hand.

So thankfully this chapter of my life seems to be coming to a close and the girls get a kick-ass doctor's kit out of it.  I gave them all of the leftover medical supplies to play with, even the seaweed!  They have been witnesses to so much the past few months, as Chuck likes to say with a far away,knowing look in his eyes, "I have seen things...", the girls have been processing it through their play...their poor babies have been getting the brunt of it...Oh, and this morning Sara was playing "health insurance"...hopefully I haven't scarred them for life.

Lessons Learned

Emily is going to be 12 weeks old tomorrow.  3 months has gone by so fast, but, with all of the complications it can at times feel like a lifetime.  This experience has been a very humbling one for me.  I have had to learn how to ask for and accept help from others, learn to prioritize and how to let stuff go.  In reflecting on the past 84 days I have come to realize;


*  I have failed my children as a parent.  I always thought I was raising independent, strong girls filled with kindness and compassion for others.  NOPE!  When I was down and out they did not care!!  Apparently having a hole in your belly and a back that is revolting against you means nothing when your children want Lucky Charms.  At one point when I was literally crying out in pain one of my children asked why I was crying and I told her my back hurt really bad and she accused me of faking and then proceeded to ask me for a snack. 

*  My suspicion that our cat Lucy is out to kill me was validated.   I was in excruciating pain and I was leaning against the island in the kitchen for support.  The damn cat climbed up on my shoulder and snuggled around my neck like a flippin' fur stole.  She would not move and since I was unable to move I had to just stand there with her on my neck until she decided to get off.  I honestly believe she was hoping I would just die off from the pain.  Let me tell you, the thought to just give up did cross my mind  But Hah!  The friggin' joke was on her!  I waited her out.  I was not going to let that stupid cat win.  I waited  for a good 10 minutes...standing there motionless and contemplating what the hell happened to my life that I have a cat standing on my shoulders and there is not a damn thing I can do about... and then she finally gave up!  Point Mommy!!

*  The small town we moved to 4 years ago, the one I have been dying to get out of is filled with some pretty amazing people!!!  When all this crap went down people came out of the woodwork to help us out.  Whether it was offering to wait with the baby so I wouldn't have to take her out of the car at school drop-off or put the stroller in the trunk for me, to watching my kids, driving them to and from school and making meals...it was ALL appreciated!!  It has really made me rethink the whole moving away idea.  Along those lines I want to thank everyone for the emails, cards and phone calls of support they really helped lift my spirits.  I could not have kept my sanity if it were not for my parents, sister and mother in law.  They have gone above and beyond and we are so grateful.   I also really want to thank Laurie C. for setting up the meal delivery program...it was a HUGE help and I know Chuck and the girls truly appreciated it.  Nikki R., Renee C., and Dawn G. thank you for being surrogate moms to my girls the past 3 months.  It has been beyond stressful but thankfully when the girls were with you ladies I had one less thing to worry about.  "Thank you"  just doesn't seem adequate...

*   Don't trust anyone with your life who is named after a Shakespearean character.  Romeo may have been the Chief Resident, but I am thinking he may have won that distinction more because his fellow classmates felt bad he was stuck with a sh*tty name and less due to his medical skill set.

 *  The human body stinks.  Not figuratively, literally.  It does.  It stinks.  Not much more to say on that one.

*  I have let go of the small stuff.  I really had to rely on Chuck to keep everything running smoothly here at home.  He would work full time and then come home and have to do everything around here.  I couldn't do anything for a while.  I knew he was doing his best and I didn't want to look a gift horse in the mouth so I wouldn't complain when the small spoons were mixed in with the large spoons or when the kids dishes were kind of haphazardly thrown into the cabinet.  That kind of stuff always bothered me, but, you know what?  I have realized that really does it matter if the big, blue, plastic bowl is teetering on top of the small pink princess one?  No, it doesn't...get over it Erin don't waste your energy on the small insignificant stuff.  I am referring to this as the new "zen" Erin.  I know the kids have noticed a difference and I am hoping that this is one of the life lessons I don't forget in a few months. 

*  Your mom was right when she would tell you to make sure you have clean underwear on.  I am taking that one step further for the ladies and reminding you to make sure your "area" is part of your emergency preparedness plan.  You never know when you will be on full display for the entire medical community (and a random Chinese man), or when you will need to have a giant, super sticky bandage placed over it and ripped off by a new person every 3 days.  Do your self a favor and make  Nair a bathroom staple. 


*  Obama Care isn't the only thing driving up insurance premiums.  Case in point; during the height of my medical crisis I was getting supplies delivered to my home every day.  Had I wanted to, I could have opened up my own walk-in clinic.  After I ditched the wound vac I had a ton of set-ups for it.  The rental fee for the vac itself was $56 a day.  It needed a new canister ($6) and sponge/tubing set ($21) every 3 days.  Thankfully I have good health insurance that covered the cost.  However, when I no longer needed the vac the company would not take the supplies back, even though they were all sealed in its original, sterile packages.  What a waste!!!  So I asked my VNA nurse if she had any patients with wound vacs that don't have insurance that could use them.  It seemed so wasteful to throw them away.  She said she did.  Now, if that is true or not I can't say.  She may have passed them along to a needy patient or she may have set them up, surrounded them with incense and my picture and looks at them lovingly as that is the last connection she has to me.  Remember...she did have some stalker like tendencies towards me...could happen.

* Again, and this one I can not stess enough...if you are having surgery, general anesthesia is your friend!  Take it, embrace it and enjoy it.  Surgery with out it is just as unpleasent as you would imagine.  A lesson I wish I hadn't learned.  I just HAD to prove a point...

*  Chuck is an amazing guy.  I always knew he was, I mean, I married him after all.  But he has handled all of this in stride.  He has had to rearrange his work schedule on more than one occassion,  had to be both father and mother to the girls, laundry, grocery shopping, cooking, cleaning, working full time, planning  two birthday parties, packed my wound,...the list goes on and on.  Through it all he has not complained, not once!!  Thankfully he has a good sense of humor about life too.  A few weeks ago I had the worst headache of my life, now I know you are supposed to go to the ER if you ever have the worst headache ever, but I just couldn't do that to him.  He had fallen asleep on the couch and I couldn't wake him to go to the hospital with me again.  Suddenly I began to vomit.  It came on so fast I couldn't make it to the bathroom, it was violent.  It was everywhere, the floor, walls, on the dresser.  As I was puking up round two in the bathroom he got up and cleaned it all up.  I told him to leave it, I would do it, but he did it.  I just kept apologizing for the past couple of months and he said no need to and he just kept cleaning the puke.  Sounds crazy but it made me love him even more.   I am so glad I never settled on a mate.  He is so much more than I could have asked for in a husband.  And yes, I know how lucky I am to have him. 


*   As I look back over the past 12 weeks I go from being angry at being cheated out of the newborn bonding time with Emily, to feeling sad for all the chaos Sara and Anna have had to endure to feelings of indescribable gratitude for having been blessed with another healthy child after being told that was pretty much an impossibility.  This has been a difficult process both physically and emotionally and it is just now with hindsight I am realizing just how grueling it has been.  No matter what, I will do anything for my children...even have surgery without anesthesia!! I would do it all over again to have what I have.  They are the reason I get up everyday and I have come to realize that I am ONE TOUGH Mother!!!!!!

Baby's Got Back!

Problems that is!  So if having a putrid, festering hole in my belly were not enough, my body decided to betray me even more.  A few weeks ago my back started feeling stiff.  I figured it was from sitting around for 8 weeks.  I started to feel better so I decide to take a walk with the baby.  It was a short walk on a flat road.  Nothing strenuous.  Apparently  that was WAAAAAY too much excitement for my post partum self.  I always tell Chuck I am just not made to exercise.  At then end of the walk as I folded up the stroller my back went into a spasm.  OK, lesson learned no more exercise.  I am more than ok with that.  I figure I will rest overnight and wake up refreshed.  NOPE!!!  I woke up in even more pain.  It was so bad that I needed to go to the ER.  This time we opt for a local hospital.  After an exam, blood tests and some X-rays they determined due to 8 weeks of inactivity my core muscles had atrophied, who knew that had any strength to them to begin with? Hmm, you learn something new everyday! So due to the weak muscles my back had destabilized and went into a spasm that would not release.  Oh, and since I was 8 weeks post partum with a seroma (aka the hole) they had to check it to make sure that wasn't the issue.  So now in addition to everyone in the Boston area seeing my "area" we can add many members of the Central MA medical community to the list as well. They called in everyone, its not everyday you see a seroma...glad I could help with their education.  So they prescribe a muscle relaxant and send me on my way.  I sleep pretty much until the next morning.  Monday, November 18th.  My 7th wedding anniversary.  I wake up a little before 5 a.m. and try to get up to go to the bathroom.  I can not move.  Chuck needs to help me.  I take a Motrin and head back to bed.  Chuck takes the baby to his mom's house since I can't care for her while taking the muscle relaxant.  The girls get up and I have to help get them ready for school.  It takes all I have to get out of bed.  I have NEVER felt pain like this before.  It feels like a 500 pound Sumo wrestler is sitting on my shoulders and my lower back doesn't feel connected to my spine....my body feels like a real live Jenga game.  I feel like any minute my torso is going to fall right off of my hips.  The pain is beyond description.  With every step I am screaming out  some sort of primal, guttural noise.  You would think the girls would show some type of concern, maybe have a little compassion for their mother who at this point is on the verge of passing out from the pain.  Literally.  All of the sudden it sounds like a swarm of a thousand bees are buzzing in my ears and my vision is getting kind of tunneled.  Holy crap!  I am about to pass out while home alone with Sara and Anna.  I force myself onto the couch and have Sara grab me the phone.  I have to call 911.  I can't pass out here without another adult in the house.  Not so much for the psychological harm that may be caused my children seeing me in that state...more so for the fact that they probably wouldn't notice.  They would go about their morning and see this as a golden opportunity to eat Ho-ho's and Pringles for breakfast and though Sara knows how to call 911 I am almost certain she wouldn't because if I were unconscious she would have a slight opportunity of getting out of school for the day (her life's mission).  She wasn't going to do anything to jeopardize that chance, no matter how slight....if that meant sacrificing her mother's life for the greater good, so be it.  So back to the 911 call.  I have never called 911 before.  In my book that is reserved for true emergencies...not the BS calls I have seen made while working in the ER.  I have seen someone take an ambulance to the ER for their baby's diaper rash and once a dad called a rescue when his children were around someone with the swine flu, mind you they had no symptoms and were perfectly healthy but I guess you can never be too sure.  Now, I am not a health care auditor or anything but, I am pretty sure that is not a great use of resources.  So even though I am in the worst pain of my life I am still hesitant to make the call, but make it I do.  The dispatcher answers...I tell him I need an ambulance.  He asks for what and I say, "umm, to take me to the hospital?"..."yeah, I assumed that, but why?"  Ooops.  So I tell him my situation and he sends them right over.  In the meantime my friend comes to pick the girls up for school...take that Sara!!  The ambulance arrives and they have to figure out how to get me out of the house.  The problem being we have a ton of steep stairs out our front door so a stretcher is a no go.  They could put me in a chair and carry me out but they advise against that.  They say it is very uncomfortable and patients tell them it is extremely painful.  So that is out.  They decide to take me out the back door.  I can not move so they need to carry me.  One paramedic under each arm and gingerly drag me out of the house.  My toes are barely scraping the ground...imagine if you will one of those peaceful hippie protestors getting arrested.  You know how the police pick them up under the arms and the protestor kind of floats just above the ground?  Yeah, it was like that.  I can just imagine what the neighbors are thinking because you know they are looking out their windows.  Is she sick?   Is she hurt?  Is she protesting stores opening on Thanksgiving day?  But I didn't care...I needed help and boy did they make me feel good before we even left the driveway!  They got an IV in, meds running and my pain manageable.  So we go back to the same ER as the day before and I have the same clothes on...it was too painful to change.  I had on the same BRIGHT red shirt and of course it was the same nurse as the day before.  So this time they add pain meds to the muscle relaxants.  No pain now!!  So poor Chuck has to leave work early yet again and come spend our anniversary in the hospital.  This guy is a saint!  So the next 2 days are a blur...in my medication induced stupor I promised Sara a kitten, a puppy and a pool for the backyard.  I also had various phone conversations that I don't remember, so if I had a chat with you around the middle of November don't hold me to anything I may have said.  Again, no worries, the baby was safely with my Mother in Law.  After 2 days I stopped taking the muscle relaxant, I didn't like the way it made me feel at all.  After another couple of days I would only take the pain med if I really, really needed it.  It is a pretty addictive med and I kept thinking of all the stories that start with a back injury and end with an addict.  But by Friday I needed to get out of the house and I really wanted to do something special with the kids.  They have been getting the sh*t end of the stick lately.  So we make plans to go to Bass Pro Shop to see Santa.  I did need a little somethin', somethin' so I took some pain meds.  As we were driving to see the Big Guy the girls were asking how he got there...we explained that the elves must have dropped him off and they are scouring the skies to try and find his sleigh.  All of the sudden I scream out!  AHHH!  There they are!  I was looking up too and just at that moment a flock of geese fly by.  I swear on my children's lives when I say I was 100% certain that I had just seen Dasher and Dancer and the rest of the gang.  Chuck bursts out laughing because he knows I wasn't reacting like that just for the sake of the kids...he knows I think I really saw them.  He gives me a look as if to say, "you know they aren't real, right?"...between the over the top promises I have been making, the hallucinations and just not liking the way they make me feel I have decided to lay off the drugs all together. Though there was one time I was in agonizing pain, took a pill and felt like a million buck half an hour later and I told Chuck I was rethinking this whole drug addict thing and he told me he was OK with it...he really didn't want to be a single parent forever.

Another unpleasant side effect of this back injury is the inability to properly "cleanse myself" after using the bathroom.  I have, as Chuck likes to call them T-Rex arms.  He believes they are disproportionately shorter than the average persons.  I am not saying I completely agree, but, if Cee Lo Greene and I were to go in for a hand shake we would both have to make sure to have a breath mint ahead of time.  We would be getting kind of close.  So there is no front to back or even back to front going on at this time.  Now in a pinch all of us ladies have had to drip dry before and I decided albeit begrudgingly to go with that course of action...my thought process being; smelling like the Andrew Square T station after the St. Patty's Day Parade has got to be better than the putrid, festering stench coming from the hole in my belly, oh yeah, don't forget about that!  I did however, have to make the conscience, and completely unwise decision to not take care of any "other" bathroom business for a while.  A decision that would come back to bite me in the ass...later in the week I HAD to go, I couldn't wait any longer.  It was just as miserable as I had expected.  My back was still in a spasm and I was in unbelievalbe pain.  Now I had to do this too?  I was sure I was going to either blow out my back or ass.  Neither option was good.  I swear you could hear my scream clear across the country.  Yeah, it was that bad.

It is now a few weeks since my back problem and I am starting to feel good again.  I met with a plastic surgeon last week and finally got some good news.  The hole in my stomach is pretty much all filled in.  They burnt it again with the silver nitrate and Chuck gets to do that for me once a week.  I am sure in some weird, twisted way he might get a little satisfaction from putting that acid stick on my belly after all I have put him through.  I go back again next week and hopefully that will be it...no more hospital trips...A Christmas Miracle!  I am banking on that because if not there really is nothing medical left for them to do.  Chuck and I have been brainstorming though should we need a back up plan.  The biggest problem is the skin apron covering the hole...it can't get air in there to heal.  Chuck said we should install a chin up bar and get some of those boots so I could hang by my ankles..that would do the trick and is a lot less invasive than my idea of piercing my belly with one of those disc earrings with the large holes in them on either side of my belly button and then hoisting the skin apron up with some bungee cords attached to my shoulders...that would air it out real good.

On more than one occasion as I was sitting in my mesh undies (which Michelle Duggar may have 19 kids and counting, but she has nothing on me when it comes to the mesh undies...I still have about 2 years worth in my closet) I have said to Chuck if we send a picture to MTV of me in the undies with the wound vac and the breast pump hooked up there would no longer be a need for the show Teen Mom...they would wire their vaginas shut!!  Teen pregnancy would be wiped out completely.

So as my visits to the hospital begin to wind down I am having to say goodbye to some great nurses I have met along the way.  As one said goodbye she said she hopes that is it, that I don't have to come back.  Then it hit me like a ton of bricks and I was filled with panic and said, "oh Kendra...I am sure I will see you back here next year when I have my next baby."  She said, "what?  I thought you said Emily was your last child"..."she is supposed to be"  I said and then added, "but the ass clown that botched my c-section is the same person who tied my tubes..."

As easy as pulling duct tape off of raw pizza dough

Huh? What?  Pizza dough?  Don't worry my friends we will get there.  Let's catch up a bit.  Now where were we?  Let's see; I had a baby, she was delivered by Romeo (the hairless kid wonder), my stomach started bleeding two weeks later and we left off when I was at the hospital and they told me it was a lot of blood...

So much has happened I will give you the highlights, or more accurately, the low-lights.  So what happened?  Apparently a blood vessel was bleeding under my incision for quite some time.  They may have not clamped it off during the section, or it could have ruptured on its own.  I think they missed it during the section by a few things they said and how Romeo reacted when we crossed paths again.  But, it doesn't matter, it is what it is.  So here I am at OB triage bleeding from my belly.  They had to open up the incision and see what was what.  That was fun, shots to the belly are as pleasant as you would imagine.  Anyway, the blood had formed a pocket under my skin and now that it was released it left a 5 inch hole in its place.  The discussion was to either take me to the OR to take it down and fix it or give the wound the benefit of the doubt and trying packing it with the hopes it will close up.  The attending thought the best course of action was to give the wound a chance to heal with packing.  They packed it up with a few  feet of gauze and taught Chuck how to do it.  The gauze needed to be changed twice a day.  As we were heading out I asked what the chances were I would end up needing the surgery in the end.  A 40% chance.  I told him I didn't like those odds.  He tried to make me feel better by saying it is better than a 50-50 chance.  Yeah, I guess, but I told him if something weird were to happen...it was bound to happen to me.  A truer statement has never been spoken.

So we head home and try to relax the rest of the day.  7 p.m. comes and it is time to change the packing.  I lie down on the TV room floor, Chuck gets all the supplies ready and the girls get snacks.  Oh yeah, they couldn't wait to see the hole in my belly.  They get some Cheeze-its and step right up for a birds eye view.  Chuck grabs hold of the shoe lace shaped packing gauze and pulls.  He yells and drops the gauze.  Sara yells and Chuck grabs for some paper towels.  Apparently when teaching him how to pack it they neglected to tell it it may GUSH BLOOD when you remove the packing.  Poor thing was horrified!  The kids grimaced but kept on eating their Cheese-its.  It gets better though, he now needs to repack it...which really is a nice way of saying stuff a 4 foot bandage into your wife's abdomen using an over sized Q-tip.  So this plays out twice a day over the next several days.  Enter the visiting nurse.  So now I have a stranger coming into my home every day to pack the wound.  At this point so many people have seen the wound Chuck is convinced when all is said and done everyone in Massachusetts will see my vagina at some point.   Keep in mind my c-section scar is about and inch or two above the business end of my private parts.  Oh, and, I went into labor a week before my scheduled date...so in my mind I still had a week to "prepare"...catch my drift ladies?  Hey Bobo, I have your squatch right here (my nerdy Animal Planet watchers will get that reference)  Great, so not only do I have a newborn to care for and a hole in my belly now I have to make sure my house is clean everyday?  Great.  So the VNA nurse takes the packing out and complains that Chuck did it incorrectly and placed 2 pieces of gauze and that was absolutely not OK.  I assured her Chuck placed 1 piece of gauze.  I know he did.  I watched him.  So she repacked it with one long piece.  That night Chuck pulls the gauze out and it is only about 6 inches.  It is supposed to be about 4 feet.  Crap!  It broke.  So poor Chuck is digging around inside my belly with the Q-tip and can't find the other piece.  He is really poking around.  I felt so bad for him!  He kept saying he became an engineer for a reason!  It is now 8 at night.  I call the doc on call.  I am no doctor or nurse but I thought having a rouge piece of gauze free floating through my abdomen may warrant a call.  The on call doc seemed put out that I called.  Sorry to bother you lady.  She told me not to worry,  I had an appointment already scheduled for the next day...just pack the hole with MORE gauze.  Yup, on top of the missing piece!  I know right?  Seems like asking for trouble (or an infection perhaps?)...but, again, I am not a doctor or nurse...so who am I to question her thought process.

Well, you guessed it!  Infection!  By the time I get to the hospital the next day a distinct odor is wafting up from my belly.  The doctor takes one look at it and sends me right upstairs, upstairs being the operating room.  Yeah, I made it into the 40%, like we didn't see that coming.  So there I was sitting in the pre-op holding area with my smelly belly hooked up to a breast pump.  A great look.  A resident comes in with two way too eager medical students.  At this point I am exhausted, tired of having to tell my story over and over again and frustrated with my lack of privacy.  I am not sure if in order to be a doctor at this particular hospital you need to be missing the gene that remembers to close a door behind you.  Every single time someone would come in or leave the room they would leave the door wide open.  The majority of my visit was sans pants but no one cared.  I forget to mention earlier that when I was at the hospital the day the hole reared its ugly head while they were cutting the incision down they had the door and curtain open,  So a lovely Chinese man from across the hall ditched his wife in labor to come and check out my cooter clean out.  But I digress...back to the over eager students...I am muttering under my breath about Chuck's prediction coming true of everyone seeing my vagina.  The girl says, "oh, don't worry...it is totally normal for us to see it"...I let loose like never before!  "NORMAL?", "NORMAL?"..."there is NOTHING normal about me sitting here naked pumping milk out of my boobs in front of strangers, with a rancid hole in my belly stinking up the room while my newborn is home with a babysitter and not her mother."  The resident asked the students to leave and surprisingly I never saw them again.  Oh, and then the anesthesiologist tries to come in.  I say try because he can't figure out how to open the flippin sliding door?  Are you kidding me?  This person is the single person responsible for MY LIFE in about 10 minutes.  Not much confidence there.  They do the surgery and afterwards spring on me that I would need to be admitted overnight.  Hey, thanks for the heads up, it isn't like I have 3 kids and need to make arrangements or anything.  So I stay overnight.  Long story short, after a ton of miscommunication, a run in with Romeo...he said he was sorry I was in this situation, I said he was the one who delivered my baby, he asked if I was sure.  I said "yeah, pretty sure, there aren't very many Asian doctor's named Romeo"...what I really wanted to say was, "Is your malpractice insurance up to date?".  So they send me home with a wound vacuum.  It is a black sponge inserted into the hole, about 6 feet of clear plastic tubing attached to a vacuum pack that you carry around in a fanny pack.  So as to not bore you with all the details I will give you a few bullet points about "Vacky", that is what the girls nicknamed it...

        *It ticks.  Like a time bomb.  Constantly.  It seems to get very loud at night.  I kept thinking of Poe's Telltale Heart.  The night time ticking truly was making me insane.  I couldn't sleep, Chuck had to sleep on the couch, between the ticking and the extension cord wrapped up in the sheets it was just too much.

     *You could see the blood and other grossness being sucked through the tubing.  I didn't venture out much but when I did I just wanted to carry a huge neon sign explaining that it was not pee.  Somehow in my mind blood and pus is a bit more dignified to carry around in a fanny pack than urine.

     *You have to carry it everywhere. Many times I would forget and just get up and walk away.  It would bang Emily's crib when I would try to put her to sleep, it would bang her head at times.  In turn I would get pissed at it.  yeah, I know it is an inanimate object but I did harbor a lot of hatred for it.  One day it fell on the floor waking Emily up  and I was so pissed I kicked it across the floor.  Please take note, if in the future you find yourself the proud owner of a wound vac don't kick it across the floor.  It will never end well.  You're welcome.

     *The tubing was held in with an 8 x 10 piece of clear super sticky film.  It needed to be changed every 3 days.  I could only shower the day it was to be changed.  The smell was indescribable.  I think Cindy Anthony said it best when she said, "it smells like a damn dead body in there" (Nancy Grace watchers will appreciate that sound bite).  The smell was overwhelming.  You know when a dead body is found, the news always interviews a neighbor who made the call because of the really bad smell coming from the house.  I know of which they speak.  It was the most disgusting smell I have ever encountered.  I could not escape it either.  Remember the hole is right about my "area" when sitting down, which is pretty much all I was doing..the crotch to nose difference was only about 12, maybe 15 inches.  It friggin smelled!  It made me want to vomit.  The smell was everywhere.  My bedroom was the worst.  So now to the duct tape and pizza dough you have been wondering about.    The super sticky film barrier would need to be removed.  Emily is my third child.  I was 2 weeks post partum at the time.  There was nothing taut about my belly.  When the VNA would pull it off it would be as if she were pulling duct tape off of pizza dough.  Not easy to do.  Oh and don't forget I hadn't had taken care of business before delivery and now here I am even 2 weeks later, so every 3 days I got the pleasure of a free bikini wax from a stranger.  Oh, and every time they came to change the vac it would be a different nurse.  I was so sick of making small talk with strangers as they ripped off my skin, hair and dignity as they literally put their face in my crotch to analyze the smell.  To add insult to injury they didn't even buy me dinner afterwards!

So I had the vac in for 2 weeks.  As you can imagine it didn't go smoothly...it malfunctioned a time or two, I had to make several emergency trips in to the city to get it reattached.   At the 2 week mark the vac had not had a significant impact on the healing process and I was D.O.N.E--Done!!  I went back to my  OB's office with guns blazing.  I was not leaving with the vac.  I would chain myself to the exam table if need be.  So the medical assistant comes in.  She is a temp.  She is at least 80 years old if she is a day.  She is even wearing an old lady shawl.  She asks me how I am.  I lay into her, pleading my case as to why I am not leaving with the wound vac (the smell, the ticking, whacking Em in the head, waking her up when it bangs the crib, the removal of several layers of skin with each dressing change, etc., etc...She looks overwhelmed. Get a hold of yourself Erin, she is elderly.  Back off, she is wearing a shawl for Christ's sake!  A SHAWL!  So I apologize and wait for my OB to come in.  She does.  As soon as she walks in she comments on the smell.  She opens the dressing and proceeds to put her face in my crotch...I guess the pungent stench wasn't enough, she needed to really get a  good whiff.  The nurse comes in with some supplies, lasts a minute or two but needs to leave...THE SMELL WAS THAT BAD!!  She is an OB nurse...she smells gross things all the time.  My belly hole sent her over the edge.  I guess the saying is true, Go Big or Go Home!  Did I mention that I wasn't going home?  Not with that flippin wound vac anyway.  So the decision is made to send me back up to the OR.  At this point there has been so many miscommunications and dropped balls that I am questioning EVERYTHING, even the way they are breathing.  So I ask about the procedure.  They explain it to me.  I ask if this is something that can be done with just local anesthesia...I wanted to keep my eyes on them.  They relent and let me do it with out being put under.  OK, here is a tip for you...if you are ever given the option of having surgery done with anesthesia get knocked the eff out!!   What they did to me would not be allowed under The Geneva Conventions.  It was downright criminal.  Oh, and it turns out I am not as tough as I thought.  Halfway through I was dying!  Actually, dying may have been the easy way out at that point.  But I survived.  I can't say the same about a nursing student that was observing.  I am not sure if it was the god awful smell wafting from my stomach hole  or the brutality of the procedure but she left.  She never came back.  I think she may have given up medicine entirely...I am not quite sure but last week as I was driving by the Gap I could have sworn I saw her working the sales floor...

I did leave the hospital that night without the vac so I should be grateful for small miracles?  I am now 10 weeks post partum and I remain vacuum free...sadly, not hole free.  Since the vac removal the corrective procedure they did was not successful.  They tried packing with gauze again, fail!  They tried  packing it with seaweed, I sh*t you not, you read that correctly.  Other than making my wound smell like low tide (which is awesome since it is in such close proximity to my crotch...insert your own joke here) it also failed!  Last time I was at the hospital they tried using Silver Nitrate to speed the healing.  When I worked in the ER I remembered when burn patients came in they used something called Silverdene.  The patients loved it, it had a cooling effect.  For the mere fact of both things beginning with the word Silver I assumed the Silver Nitrate would be the same.  BIG MISTAKE!!!  I was laying on the exam table chatting with the doctor when she put it on.  I wanted to scream at her, "WTF?...you are burning me!!!", but since my 4 year old was in the room all I could say was, "wow, that feels kind of warm".  So all the other stuff didn't work I had no hope that charring my skin would make a difference and sadly, I was right.  In addition to the countless trips to the hospital, a gross skin infection (remember I have that lovely skin apron covering the hole...if you are a new blog reader check out my old post "My Body is a Wonderland"...that will explain the apron)  a VNA nurse who bordered on being a stalker (at one point Anna asked in front of her if she was the crazy nurse), we have had 2 birthday parties, school events and a few holidays.  This has been the most action packed 10 weeks ever!!  Not the maternity leave I had imagined!  So tomorrow I am meeting with a plastic surgeon to see where we go from here...I think I am going to lobby for them to throw in a free tummy tuck while they fix the hole.  It is the least they can do for all the trouble they caused me.  Today is my birthday...I am 41.  As a birthday gift to me she slept until 6:30 this morning!!  (She has been sleeping from 8 p.m. to 5:30 for a while now.  I think she believes if she is the best baby ever I will stop leaving her with sitters and actually spend some time with her.)  But no worries, Anna got up at 5:20 to remind me it was my birthday...she is so considerate like that!I keep telling myself this is the payback I get for having the nerve to have a baby after 40.  But I would do it all again 10 times over because I have my sweet Emily baby...

Sounds crazy right?  If all that weren't enough I had a whole other situation to deal with about 2 weeks ago....again, I can NOT make this stuff up!!  The next chapter involves an ambulance, flying reindeer and a puppy.  Stay tuned...

Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo?

Sorry for the long absence.  I hope the long delay has not driven off my faithful readers from Russia, England, Germany and Latvia!  I have been pretty busy.  I had my baby!!!  I had a beautiful baby girl at the end of September.  Emily is the sweetest, easiest baby ever!!   I am so in love with her!!  Of course, if you have been following my blog you know NOTHING with me is drama free.  Well, this has been NO exception.  So about 8 days before my planned c-section I was at work.  Nothing out of the ordinary...finished my dinner at about 5 and noticed I was having some sporadic contractions.  Again, not unusual, I had  Braxton Hicks for a few weeks.  I thought nothing of it since my section was still a week out.  I never went into labor on my own with the other two and if any of you have met Sara you know she would climb back in my uterus if she could.  By about 6:30 the contractions were coming a bit more frequently and were making me sit up and take notice.  One of the nurses walks by and says, "Are you in labor?"  (Hi Sue!!)...I ask, "why do you say that?"...she replies, "because you are really pale and sweaty"..."well, I am having some contractions and it feels like a watermelon is coming out of my ass" I reply.  Someone else sitting close by said it sounds like labor starting and I shouldn't ignore it.  So I head for home at 7 still contracting.  I come home and fill Chuck in on the situation.  I put Anna to bed and tell Chuck I think I will call my doctor.  He asks me why? and what are you going to tell them?  Again, I mention the frequent, uncomfortable contractions and the watermelon trying to escape out of my ass.  He sighs...he does not want to spend the night in OB triage only to be sent home at 2 a.m.  (He later admitted that Breaking Bad was coming on and he didn't want to miss it...thank God for DVR).  I call and have the MD on call paged.  It takes over an hour for him to call back.  He tells me to head in.  Sara is NOT happy.  I tell her that I will probably be back in a few hours, she tells me she really wants me to have the baby tonight.  Don't get your hopes up kid...I am not a woman who goes into labor...it will be another 8 days.

We get to the hospital at about 11:45 p.m.  So we are in the OB registration area, they give me my bracelet and then quickly mention something about The Today Show is there filming in the maternity unit would we be OK with it?  Sure I say not really understanding what they are asking me.  The registrar has us wait for someone from PR to come and chat with us.  This really perky, fresh faced girl comes strolling in, did I mention it is almost midnight on a Sunday?    She explains to me that the Today Show is filming at 3 hospitals around the country hoping to catch a live birth on TV.  Would we be interested in participating?  Now, usually I am of the school of thought that the only ones allowed in the delivery room should only be the ones there when the baby was created...plus the appropriate medical personnel.  Sorry, I don't want my mom, sister or kids there.  That being said, how cool would it be for Sara and Anna to watch their new sibling born live?...Plus, 1) it would make a cool birth story for the baby, 2) I was having a c-section so I knew for a fact that I would not sh*t myself as I pushed out my kid and, more importantly, in the same vain I knew I would not fart on live TV.  I'm in!!  The one stipulation was the baby had to be born in between 9-11 a.m.  OK, we shall see!

Back to my contractions...I head up to OB triage, they hook me up to the monitor and guess what?  I AM in labor...the contractions were every 2-4 minutes!  They decide that since I am past 38 weeks they are just going to section me at 2 a.m. There goes the Today Show, but we will finally get to meet this little person inside of me.  I am so excited, and Sara is even more so.  She was practically vibrating with excitement when we left. I couldn't wait to call her in the morning and tell her she is a big sister again.  2 a.m. comes and goes and I am still not in the OR, but it is all happening so fast the next 2 hours fly by.  I am being wheeled into the OR by a twenty-something, Asian doctor named Romeo.  Technically he pronounces it Roh-May-Oh, but I like the traditional Shakespearean pronunciation better.  So I am sticking with that. So as I am getting prepped for surgery I should be contemplating the new life that is about to come out of my womb, but instead, I sh*t you not I kept hearing over and over in my head, "Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou...arm hair?"  I have never felt a smoother arm in my life!  He was holding my hand as they were inserting my epidural.  He was  rubbing it in this awkward kind of way, almost like he read the chapter on "Bedside Manner" and it  mentioned comforting your patient with a therapeutic touch and this was his attempt at translating it into his clinical practice.  Um, yeah...it didn't work.  But I was fascinated none the less.  There was not one strand of hair  to be found.  I was zoned out just rubbing his arm, almost trance like.  But I digress...don't worry though my friends... you will hear about Romeo again...

So it's show time...the c-section is underway and the baby comes out!!  IT'S A....girl...I hope you read that with a slightly defeated tone to your voice, because that is how Chuck said it.  Don't go thinking he is an ass, it is just we were all convinced it was a boy, really there was no doubt, and truth be told it would have been nice to have a boy in the mix..but we were just as thrilled with a girl.  At this point I am thoroughly exhausted.  It is about 4:30 a.m. I have been up for almost 24 hours, but, then through the haze I am hearing things like, 'meconium'...'respiratory distress' and 'NICU'...so of course I am automatically thinking, 'ECMO' and fast forwarding to me having a drug withdrawal baby in the NICU.  They take the baby to the NICU and I send Chuck with her.  Fortunately, everything turns out fine with Emily.  Me, however, not so much...but that won't show itself for a few weeks.

Because I had a c-section and since it was overnight Sunday into Monday I got the pleasure of staying in the hospital until Friday.  I delivered at a teaching hospital known for its birthing center, some say a factory if you will.  I went through hell for 3 years to have Emily (another story for another day) so I was floating on clouds.  Whoever wanted to come in was welcome.  You have a nursing student?  Sure.  You want to show them how to feel my fundus? Have at it.  Oh, you need a baby for a med student demonstration of the Brazelton Developmental Assessment?  Sure, you can use Emily.  What you say?  You want to have someone observe how a breastfed baby latches.  No problem, pull up a seat.  A study is underway to compare language development in full term and premature babies and you would like to get an MRI of my baby's brain while listening to music?  Where would you like me to sign?  I was a model patient.  I took care of all of my needs and only pushed the call button twice during my 5 day stay.  I was absolutely thrilled to be a mom again and I wanted everyone to bask in my post partum glory.  I had an amazing night time view of the Boston skyline, I got a lot of quality bonding time with just me and Emme.  It was a great experience.  The only thing that marred my stay was the reaction I would get each and every time someone would come in and look at my incision site.  I would pull back the blankets and they would recoil in horror.  They would all comment on the bruise.  "wow, that is a huge bruise"..."that is the biggest bruise I have ever seen"..."do you usually get such big bruises?", there was ALWAYS a comment on my bruise.  Since my belly was still swollen I couldn't see the bruise so I had no idea what they were talking about.

Anyway, we go home and we have a wonderful week at home.  Emily is fitting in great with the family.  The girls love her and all is right in our little world.  It is a Sunday morning and Chuck is going back to work the next day.  I decide to take advantage of his last day home and I get up to take a nap.  I notice the front of my black sweat pants (aka my uniform) are soaked all across the front of my belly.  Hmm, I had just nursed the baby, can't be leaky boobs.  No one was sitting on me so it wasn't pee.  I know I hadn't spilled anything.  I put my hand on it to see what it was.  When I looked my hand was red.  It was blood.  I panic!  I tell Chuck that my c-section scar had opened up and I was bleeding.  He says "are you sure its not just from your vagina?".  Um...I am 40 years old.  I think I know where my belly is and where my vagina is and this was definitely belly blood.  We go into the bedroom so I can lay down and we can survey the damage.  Of course Thing One and Thing Two (Sara and Anna) tag along.  I am terrified that when I pull down my undies my uterus and other slimy innards are going to be falling out.  Thankfully they aren't.  Chuck tucks a hand towel under my skin apron (long time blog readers know all about my skin apron) and stops the bleeding.  He says it looks like the incision just came apart a tiny bit at the end.  Just hang out for a while and you'll be fine.  Sara on the other hand grabs the phone and asks if I want to call my doctor.  I go with Sara's plan of action.  I call the doctor and they tell me to come in town.  My dad is on his way to watch the kids but he is about an hour and a half away.  No worries.  No worries that is until I take a shower and blood is dripping all over the floor.  I call a local friend to come and watch the kids.  This is totally the 3rd kid because when she gets here  I introduce her to Emily who is only 13 days old, show her where the bottles are and head out the door in a matter of 5 minutes.  I figure she has two kids she has kept alive and well for 7 years now, she'll be fine.  

We get to OB triage, I am slightly nervous but not overly worried.  While working in the ER I always remember patients saying it was a ton of blood, or a ton of vomit and the staff reassuring them that it always looks like a lot more than it is.  The doc and nurse come in and start to check things out...the nurse is making some pretty disturbing faces.  "I don't like the faces you are making Kendra" I say to her.  I tell them that I am sure that I was over reacting when I said it was a lot of blood to the doctor on the phone.  "Oh, no, you did the right thing by coming in...it was a lot of blood"...Dunt, dunt duhh....

TO BE CONTINUED!


  Chuck said I would bore everyone if I tried to blog about the past two and a half months in one post.  Stay tuned to see what happens next...vacuums, seaweed and potentially a stalker.  I seriously could not make this stuff up!!!

You can NOT make this sh*t up!!

Sorry I haven't blogged in a while...I had my baby!!!  A beautiful, sweet little girl named Emily.  She was born just over two and a half weeks ago.  Like everything else in my life this event was NOT drama free.  I had some complications and needed surgery the other day.  I will most likely need to have another surgery in another week or so.  I promise to blog about it in the next few days and trust me it will be a good one...here are just a few samples of what you are in for...the doctor on call was a twenty something Asian whose God given name was Romeo.  I sh*t you not!!  My anesthesiologist could not for the life of him figure out the simple sliding door into my room...I had to call out to him from the other side of the door instructing him on how to open it and I lost my sh*t on some poor med student.  I am almost certain he has quit medicine all together and is now working at The Gap, oh, and I get to have this not so awesome vacuum attached to my stomach collecting bodily fluids in a canister that I carry around in a fanny pack....all that and more!! 

Stay tuned...

The 45 Day Freak OUT!!

So on a recent Saturday I realized that I am, in fact, having another child in 45 days!!  Holy Sh*t…is pretty much all that went through my mind that day.  I literally had a freak out.  A melt down if you will.  If I did not spend most of my time at work seeing the effects of drug withdrawal babies I probably would have had a glass of wine (or 10).  But since self medication was out of the question I needed to deal with this straight on.  I will be the first to tell you (only because I want to beat Chuck to the punch) that I did not handle this sudden realization that I am going to be the mother to 3 kids in a matter of mere weeks well at all.

Now, I am sure you are thinking, yeah but come on…you are just about 34 weeks pregnant why are you just now figuring out the end result is going to be another child.  Well my friends…denial is an amazing thing.  I never thought that I would have any more children after Anna.  We were quite surprised to find out another little one was on the way.  Since I never thought this scenario would actually be a possibility I never really let myself believe it were true.  Until Saturday…then it hit me like a ton of bricks!!  Up until now I never really considered myself “really” pregnant.  I know you either are pregnant or not, but in my mind I was only kind of pregnant…not as far along as I am.  To the outside world I look like I should have delivered this kid about 4 weeks ago, but it hadn’t seemed real yet…

So the four of us are home and I have a To-Do list a mile long and to me crossing everything off of it seemed like a matter of life and death.  I need to find the Baby Bjorn! Oh and the Boppy!  I need the friggin Boppy!  WHERE THE HELL IS THE BOPPY?  We need a car seat, but we don't know the sex of the baby so we can't decide on a pattern, what the f*ck are we going to do?  The kid is going to be born and will need to live in the hospital because I can not choose between sage-green and black!!  The day just went down hill from there.  We switched rooms with the girls so changing out the closets was on the agenda.  I had about 4 huge trash bags of clothes to weed through and in my anal retentive nesting ways I even divided the closet (with a sign WITH arrows!) by size.  I cleaned out the girls drawers, because we can not in good conscience bring a child into this home if the girls underwear drawer was disorganized.  I think it may even say that in the hospital discharge instruction sheet.  So as I weeded through their undies I was overwhelmed...turns out they had at least 75 pairs of underwear.  I gave up counting.  Really?  Who needs that many pairs?  Oh and Sara had 6 bras in there.  She is 5.  I am 40.  I went in and counted my bras.  Four.  4 flippin bras that fit me!  2 white and 2 black.  How is that fair?  Well, sadly I am now down to 3.  While at work the other day an under-wire gave out.  The poor thin piece of metal just gave way under the strain.  In its defense I have been asking a lot of it lately.  So there I was at work with a torpedo shaped belly and one wonky looking boob.  So now on top of everything else I need to add "buy bras" to my ever growing To-Do list...But I digress...

This sense of having to get everything done now continued for about 2 weeks and slowly I was crossing everything off of my list.  Fast forward to yesterday...a rainy holiday off.  I was once again swept up in the whole nesting phase of being pregnant.  I told Chuck we should have a baby every year and a half or so because that is the magical time when I can see dirt that is not visible to the naked eye.  I knew I was being neurotic so this time I tried really hard to keep my neurosis to myself.  I let Chuck and the girls go about their day, all the while thinking it would be uncivilized to bring an innocent child into this home...My God, we  have dust on the top of the curtain rods for Christ's sake.  The couch was off center by a good inch and a half.  Who the hell lives like that?  The poor baby would see that the empty hangers in my closet were mixed in between the clothes and not properly stored at the end of the clothing rack and would think to itself, "they sent me home with white trash, there must have been a mix up in the hospital!"  

Now with 28 days until the baby arrives I can happily report that the house has never been cleaner, all of our underwear drawers are weeded through and organized and Chuck bought me a new Boppy pillow.  We have a lovely sage-green and grey car seat and all the supplies a baby could need from diapers, wipes and even butt paste (thanks Declan!), to a tub, clothes and everything in between.  Now we just sit and wait for the baby, and I will secretly pray none of my housemates undo all of my hard work.  Fingers crossed!!!

Heidi Klum is a wolf in sheep's clothing.

Yeah, I am going there.  I know that Ms. Klum, the host of Project Runway and now America's Got Talent is beloved by many...but not by me.  Let me tell you why.  In addition to being an iconic super model and TV host she designs maternity clothes.  Now I know that at 5 foot 1 my hopes of ever being a supermodel are long since dashed, but, for some reason I thought by purchasing and donning clothes designed by a super model I would somehow transform into one...sadly that did not happen.

This is my last pregnancy.  I wanted to do it right this time and that included dressing the part.  When I was pregnant the first time around I bought anything marked "maternity" whether it looked good or not.  That was 6 years ago...not a huge amount of time, but in terms of fashion a lifetime.  Back then the style for maternity wear was boxy and loose with the shirts tying in the back.     I get a big belly.  No other way to describe it.  My ankles are still chicken ankles... it is an odd look.  But that is what I have to work with.  So add to that unique look the boxy, flowy style and I looked like a bell.  I swear when I would rock side to side you could hear a faint "ding, dong."  Fast forward to 2013 and a 40 year old me.  I wanted to rock the pregnancy look....embrace it if you will.  Now, I am well aware that when I step out my door to see the world, the world also sees me.  I try to make a slight effort when out and about. Disclaimer; this does not apply to morning preschool drop off...I mean wasn't that what baseball hats were created for?

So shopping the maternity stores I have noticed that the look is a more fitted, show off the belly look.  OK.  I can do that.  Also, fashion designers are in on the game.  I get a bunch of stuff.  Not bad I think.  I push the envelope and get a dress for my brother's wedding.  It is white and navy striped, fitted and fashion forward.  I think to myself, "it doesn't look horrible" so I am pretty happy.  I tried it on for Chuck when I get home and the first words out of his mouth were, "wow, horizontal stripes...that is a bold choice for a pregnant woman."  He claimed he was just kidding and he very well may have been but I tend to believe gut reactions in myself so I extend that to everyone.  I ended up wearing the striped dress to the rehearsal dinner and chose a simple "little" black dress...yes, I know that description is ironic.

So my belly expands and I need some more clothes.  This time I enlist the help of Heidi Klum.  I get some of her skinny jeans and tops to go with them.  I think I am looking good.  I feel like I should be in a maternity magazine.  Heidi's pants have the word "LOVED" embroidered on the big stretchy belly band.  So every time you pull them up you see it.  That is the name of her maternity clothing line.  Loved.  At first I think, oh, how sweet.  The growing baby ensconced in my womb is loved.  Not only do I know that intrinsically, but now my pants tell me so!  Well, as time went on and I spent time interacting in the real world I realized that there was a different meaning to the embroidered word.  A more sinister meaning.  The truth behind the phrase really means Heidi "loved" the fact she could pull the wool over your eyes.  Yeah, turns out I do not look like a super model.  I mentioned I am short and way back in another post I described my pregnant self as looking like a Volkswagon Bug tipped in its side.  Apparently, it doesn't matter who designs my maternity clothes...even a super model...I still look enormous.  But, I do have to hand it to her...it is a brilliant idea...an advertising agencies dream.  A tall, beautiful super model hawking clothing to average, American pregnant ladies.  I went for it hook, line and sinker.  How did I figure out the look wasn't working for me?  Two reasons; 1.  There was another guy, who has gone through several pregnancies with his wife, so he knows that you need to be somewhat sensitive when broaching a pregnant ladies size...  Well, I come around a corner just as he is walking out and he says, "Wow!  Erin you are REALLY pregnant!!  That shirt really puts it out there!"  I had a new shirt on.  It was red and white striped...the stripes were "V" shaped with the point of the V pointing down.  I paired it with my white skinny jeans.  They were both from the "Loved" collection.  I tried it on in the store...I wasn't sure about it, I thought I really liked it but had some reservations.  I thought the colors slightly resembled a circus tent.  But nope, the saleslady reassured me it looked amazing and really pulled me together.  So I got it.  Remember when I said I should have trusted my gut?  Yeah, I should have.  Now every time I see that shirt all I can hear is "dut, dut, duta-dut, dut, dut, duta-dut"...cue the circus music.

So while on vacation I threw caution to the wind and wore that outfit again when we went out to dinner.  Sara took my picture.  I was floored when I saw it.  Horrified may be a more apt description.  She took the picture from her vantage point.  Holy sh*t!!!  That is what I look like to my children?  And the children of the world?  I am shocked that parents did not shield their children's eyes as I passed by...or at least warn them to not look directly at me as their corneas may burn out.  There was nothing loving about this look.  You will be happy to know that the red and white shirt has never seen the light of day again.  I am thinking of putting it on ebay and selling it as a circus tent.  Maybe I can make some of my money back?

So I have given up on Heidi Klum...turns out she is not the sweet, loving being she portrays to the world.  She is an evil, vain women who designs clothes to highlight others imperfections in an effort to make sure no one else looks as good as she does.  She wants all the glory for herself.  B*tch.  So I have moved on...I have started wearing Jessica Simpson maternity clothes.  Yeah, she wore a lot of mumus when she was with child but surprisingly her maternity clothes are quite fashionable and designed with real women in mind.  I have received so many compliments on her clothes...so she may play the part as a dumb blond, but to that I say, well played Jessica, well played...you are smart like a fox...no wonder you are worth a billion dollars.

12 Angry Men? Try 1 Angry Pregnant Lady!

I am writing this post, literally writing it in long hand, in a composition notebook while I sit captive waiting to see if I get selected as a jury member.  Yup, you guessed it....I was summoned for jury duty.  Lucky me!  When I originally received the summons that last statement, "Lucky Me" did not have a hint of sarcasm in it.  I get so excited when I receive a notice to appear for jury duty.  I am by my own account a civic-minded nerd.  I get super excited for election day- I get up early and head to the polls to cast my vote...I even drag the girls with me--I want to instill in them the importance of letting their voice be heard; especially as a woman.  Waiting for the results to me is as electric as Christmas Eve.  Sadly, living in Massachusetts more often than not my candidate does't win--but I don't let that deter me...I press on.

Fulfilling my civic obligation by showing up for jury duty is also something I strongly believe in.  I know most people try to come up with a reason to be excused--not me--I see my summons letter as a golden ticket to watching first hand our legal system in action.  I love me some Nancy Grace.  I know most sane people find her to be more annoying than listening to nails on a chalkboard while strapped naked to a chair being rubbed with poison ivy. Not me!!  Plus, I am her friend.  She says so every night at the end of her show~ "Goodnight Friend."  In addition to Miss Grace I am an avid court TV watcher.  Jodi Arias trial~you bet I watched every minute of her and her crooked finger trying to get away with murder.  Casey Anthony?  Check!  Still disgusted over that one.  Seriously how can Jose Biaz and Cheney Mason sleep at night?  Locally we have had some interesting cases in front of the court recently.  Frustrated that cameras aren't allowed in Federal Court because I would  have loved to watch the Bulger trial...but I have been following it through the media.  I have been in front of the TV for all the Aaron Hernandez proceedings , even  saw him arrested live on TV.  Plus, if I or someone I loved were ever on trial I would hope for a jury full of conscientious jurors that take their obligation seriously.

Sooo, when I got my latest notice to appear I was excited.  Maybe this was the time I would be called upon to render a decision~to decide someone's guilt or innocence...I get called for jury duty A LOT!  This is my 5th time being called...I have never been selected for a jury though.  Last year I was called for Federal Jury Duty.  I had to call in every Friday for the entire summer.   I figured I would have to appear at some point.  Nope, never called.

But today here I sit in the jury holding unit.  My excitement has long since faded.  Stupid nerdy me showed up on time WITH all my paperwork filled out.  Apparently the instructions they send you are just suggestions.  My fellow jury pool members think the words "Arrive before 8 a.m." means stroll in anytime you want up until 9:45.  "Bring you completed jury questionnaire with you" loosely translates to~ if you think of it, bring a crumpled up, coffee stained, blank copy of your questionnaire-or not, totally up to you.

So Miss Rule Follower is sitting here freshly showered (sadly I can't say the same for others), in ironed clothes writing in my notebook I brought in case I needed to take notes...instead I am writing a blog post to keep me from becoming a story on the local news, "Potential Juror Loses it and Attacks Smelly Fellow Potential Juror and Jackass Court Officer."

Since I am at the courthouse let me plead my case....

I arrive on time~with a packed lunch, snacks and a drink...yes, in a lunchbox with an icepack.  I told you I was a nerd.  I sign in and take my seat at 7:50~again, I was told to arrive BEFORE 8 a.m.  At 8:15 they play a video explaining the importance of jury service...no need to explain it to me...come on, it is in the Constitution after all!

The video ends and the court officer tells us, basically, we are being held captive in this room until 1 p.m.   Then a small break for lunch and back again until 4.  Oh yeah, he adds there is no TV anymore...cable was too expensive...so the 4 large flat screen TVs will remain blank...there is no wi-fi and all you are allowed to drink in the courtrooms is bottled water.  Not to fear, a lady comes in with a cart selling snacks and water. I only brought a can of Minute Maid Pink Lemonade that I just finished.  Well it turns out she only takes cash.  Awesome- I am hugely pregnant and constantly hot and thirsty.  Since I am held prisoner I ask the court officer if he could run to the ATM for me, I explain that I am really going to need something to drink in the next 5 hours.  Nope sorry!  Then the little f*cker walks over, buys a bottle of water and starts drinking it in front of me!  I wanted to kill him.  I walk away mumbling about how the criminals are being treated with more respect than the law abiding citizens giving up their time and how with so much tax money going towards defending frivolous lawsuits brought against the state the least they could do was provide us with a flippin bottle of water. Apparently they have instituted a new rule that you are unable to leave the room, their reason was smokers would leave for a cigarette break and never come back...so we are all punished for their sins.  This was not explained in any of the juror instructions, I know, I read them cover to cover before coming today.  All the other times we have been able to go to the vending machine or court cafe...so I thought I was safe.  So today  of all days I decide to live like it is 2013~no cash, only plastic...no books or magazines, I only bring the ipad so I literally have nothing left to drink and nothing to do.  It is about 85 degrees in here.  I asked to turn on the AC.  The jackass tells me it is already on the coolest setting.  I have taken off my pretty shirt off and I am just wearing a tank top...I have decided if the court has no respect for me, I have no respect for it.  My next move is to take one of these ungodly, uncomfortable chairs and move it into the bathroom.  It is slightly cooler in there...plus I won't have to smell the stench from the old guy in the room that has been farting non stop since he sat down.  I am tempted to take my pen cap and shove it up his ass to plug that sh*t up!!

I am sure my fellow jury pool members hate me-  I am up and down to the bathroom every 5 minutes to pee but more importantly to cool off.  I have sweat beads running down my back, under my boobs and belly and from my temples.  I look hot and not in a good way.  I am that A-hole that is sitting here snapping my gum...I need to do something with my building fury---I am about to let loose with a profanity laced, cranky, pregnant lady rant...or at the least knock the bottle of water out of that mother f*ckers hands.

I may be coming delerious from the heat.  An idea just went through my head and for a fleeting moment it sounded rational.  The plan was to write "Guilty" across my forehead with my purple pen and run around the room screaming, "he did it!  he did it!! The voices in my head told me so!" My thought process being that they would have to dismiss me for the day.  But for the moment I have thought better of it. 

I have become so disillusioned in our justice system.  If I didn't have my super accommodating, new sister in law I would have had to pay $80 for a sitter and $15 for parking  to attend today.  Pretty expensive price to pay for a mandatory civic obligation...then to be held a virtual prisoner on one of my precious few days off before the baby comes.  I am almost certain the criminals downstairs have more rights than me and at this moment are probably sipping a nice, cold Poland Springs.

So here I sit writing my blog, where once again I find a bit of sanity in writing amidst the chaos that is my life.  So thank you for listening...you have been instrumental in saving the life of a district court officer.

Update:

*  At 10:57 I did start to lose my sh*t and announce loudly, "it is so frigging hot in here"...which did get the up until now silent group chatting...so that has helped ease some of my boredom.  To be continued....

*  I am going to switch careers.  I am going to apply to be the court officer that sits guard over the potential jury pool.  As far as I can tell it is the easiest job in the world.  You cross people's names of a list, hit play for the video and then just sit, drink water and surf the net all the while ignoring the people you are holding against their will.  I am sure they have good benefits, holidays off and a good pension.

*  Just thinking out loud here...would it be wrong to go into the bathroom, splash water on the crotch of my pants and pretend my water broke?  They would have to dismiss me, right?  If they investigated I could always claim I peed myself and confused it for my water breaking...happens all the time.

*NOON...I AM FREE!!!!!  I could not have run out of that room faster if a snake were chasing me.  I am so coming up with an excuse next time I receive a summons in the mail...I have more than fulfilled my civic duty today.

Help! My ass is broken and I can't get up...

OK, so maybe it isn’t really broken, but it sure feels like it.  I have been having issues with my sciatic nerve.  So about a week and a half ago the back of my thigh was starting to get achy.  Oh here we go I thought.  When I was pregnant with the girls I had some sciatic pain…nothing too bad, I could usually change positions and get relief…just more of an annoyance than anything.  So I was prepared for what was headed my way.  Or so I thought…oh no my friends…I had no idea what was about to happen.  So for a day or two this annoying ass ache persists.  Then a week ago Saturday I woke up to a whole new level of pain.  It was something I would not wish on my worst enemy.  Pain from the middle of my butt check down about 18 inches.  Not a huge space physically but the ramifications of said ass pain reverberated through my whole body.  I could not escape this pain.  Sitting, standing, walking, laying down it did not make a difference.  There was absolutely no relief.  I don’t think my housemates understood the depth of my pain.  It hurt so bad yet I would half laugh half cry and since it was my butt, and as I say to the girls all the time butts are always funny they just would make jokes about my broken bum. 

By the 3^rd day something odd happened…now if it happened to anyone else or if it weren’t so painful and infringing on the quality of my life I would have found it fascinating.  But since it was so painful and was infringing on the quality of my life I wasn’t that amused.  Let me explain the phenomenon to you...every now and then when I would attempt to go from a sitting position to a standing one I would get stuck.  Not stuck as in the pain was too much and I was too wimpy to push through it…oh no…I was literally stuck as in my body was no longer functioning.  The first couple of times it happened when I was on the couch or getting out of bed.  Chuck and the girls would have to come and pull me to an upright position.  And then the unthinkable happened…I got stuck mid stance as I was getting off the toilet.  There I was pants around my ankles hovering precariously over the pot.  What to do?  What to do?  Now Chuck and I have a very open and honest relationship.  He has painted my toe nails for me when my pregnant belly gets in the way, he had rubbed my fake tanning lotion on my back for me and helped me in the hospital after the girls were born but even this was too much for our relationship to survive.  I had to go to plan B.  I called for Anna, my 3 year old.  I knew she would have my back.  NOPE!!!  Wrong, I asked her to come in to the bathroom to help me.  She stood outside the door and she answered with a resounding NO and a voice dripping with utter disgust.  Are you friggin kidding me Anna?  This is the same girl who will barge in  and pull the shower curtain back so she can hand me a juice box to open, or walk in while I am mid pee asking where her Strawberry Shortcake Pez dispenser, that she hasn’t seen in over 3 months, is.  Apparently she had completely forgotten the hundreds of diapers I changed for her, all the poopie accidents I cleaned while she was toilet training, the ultimate sacrifices I would make when I would give her my last Pop-Tarts…she could not help me with this one simple request.  Finally Chuck convinced her and she came in and lent a hand…and boy did she delight in telling everyone she had to help me off the toilet.

So this pain persists all weekend long.  8:30 Monday morning could not come fast enough.  At 8:29 and a half I started dialing my OB’s number.  I get through right away, they recommend PT but I would need to see my primary MD to set it up.  Great.  Her office doesn’t open for another 30 minutes!!  Thankfully I live to see 9 a.m.  I call and they squeeze me in later that morning.  Yup, sure enough it is my sciatic nerve and I will need PT.  She sets me up with one in my home town.  I decide to stop in on my way home…that way they can see exactly how miserable I am…I was scared that they might not get it if I were just to call and set it up.  They got it!  I was able to snag an appointment for the next day.  Crap!!  I was supposed to work the next day.  How the hell was I supposed to do that.  I can barely pull my pants on how was I actually going to work with teeny, tiny babies.  I was nervous I would be sitting holding one, the parents would come in and they would expect me to stand up and hand over their child.  What if I got stuck?  They would think I was some weirdo refusing to hand their kid over, security would be called and I would still be stuck unable to pass the baby off, a taser may be involved, perhaps some type of child endangerment charge…but then it hit me…an even worse fate.  I am 7.5 months pregnant.  I have to pee, a lot.  I would more likely than not have to pee several times during my shift at work.  What if I got stuck on the toilet at work?  That would be a disaster.  There is a locker room with 3 toilets.  I could take my chance in there, but it could be hours before someone came in and then they would have to crawl under the stall to help me.  I could use one of the single toilet staff bathrooms but I would need to leave it unlocked in case of emergency but then someone could just walk in on me  then they run the risk of burning their corneas if they saw my belly in all its glory…or I could use the single bathroom that is reserved for the overnight call rooms, it has a call light with a pull string attached to it.  I could use that but then I run the risk of a whole slew of people coming to my rescue and that would be overkill.  It was decided.  I needed to call out.  I ended up having to take 2 days off...

So I go for my first PT appointment.  I had no idea what to expect.  It was a very odd experience to say the least.  At 40 years old I was the youngest in the facility by a good 40 years.  But I soldiered on.  I meet the therapist, he seems nice enough.  He asks me questions, has me walk and do a few other little exercises to see my range of motion etc.  Then he has me get on a table while he tries to "release" the pinched nerve.  Sounds good to me.  Well, turns out it was kind of awkward.  He is pushing and rubbing my butt.  He was totally professional and was all business and I had all my clothes on, but it was weird to have a man I met about 15 minutes ago massaging my ass. But I quickly got over my little wig out when it started to feel slightly better.  As I was leaving he told me that it would probably get worse before it gets better.   Truer words have never been spoken.  I went home feeling a little better, I woke up the next day still feeling pretty good.  I got down on the floor to do my exercises and it happened.  I got stuck!!  Sara and Anna tried to help but I don't think the biggest construction crane would have been able to move me.  It was awful.  I had them drag a chair over in the hopes I would be able to kind of climb up it, to no avail.  After 15 minutes pass I have them get the phone and I call Chuck at work.  Not that he can do anything...he is 45 minutes away but I felt the responsible thing to do was at least tell another adult that I was stuck on the floor.  I told him that I would give it another 10-15 minutes and then I would need to go to plan B...not sure what plan B was going to be but something was going to have to give and soon!  In the meantime I was asking Sara to show me how she would call for help if I were really hurt.  She knows how to call 911, she knows our address etc.  So I move on to Anna, might as well use this down time (pun intended) to create a teachable moment.  So as I am teaching her how to call 911 I am surveying the room.  If there were a true need to call 911 I would most likely lose my children to the state.  The house looked like something out of The Lord of the Flies.  There was half eaten cereal bowls lying around, drinks from the past few days littering the sides of the couches...Anna God love her looked like she just walked out of a third world slum.  Her hair hadn't been washed in days (I was unable to bathe myself let alone bend over a tub to wash them), she had Nutella smeared from her mouth up to her eye brows...her shirt had marker all over it and there were no pants to speak of, just undies.  Fortuantlely about 5 minutes after realizing I was only a few more empty goldfish packages away from starring in an episode of Hoarders the nerve released and I was able to get up.  Good thing I did because just as I stood up the girls were right there to knock me back down.  Figuratively, not literally.  Sara starts in with, "You are ruining our summer", "you said we were going to have play dates and cousin sleepovers", "you don't take us to the park, you don't do crafts or play with us anymore and you don't even clean the house anymore"...so of course her partner in crime chimes is with, "yeah mom, you ruined our summer!"  I lost it and just burst into tears.  I hadn't slept in 5 days, I was in excruciating pain, my kids hate me and oh yeah, I am still pregnant.  They see me sobbing and they are stunned.  They just stare at me horrified and then Sara says, "don't cry mom, when we see people cry it makes our eyes water."  But I couldn't stop...the tears just kept coming and coming.  They slink off and return a few minutes later with a picutre of a heart with a handwritten note that says, I love u mom.  They also announce that I didn't ruin their whole summer, just some of it.  So of course that makes me cry more.  Sara very quietly asks if daddy can come home.  I tell them he is still at work but will be home in 4 hours.  They beg for me to call him to come home.  I think they were afraid of me.  I am so beat down I call.  He comes home.  I end up taking some Benadryl and get a few hours sleep.  To make ammends they try to help me with my stretches.  The first time Anna is sitting above me on a chair.  I am laying on the floor.  She leans over a little too far and falls on me.  Then a few minutes later she is playing with a plastic sword and drops it on my face.  Another time they are in charge of counting to 30 while I do this incredibly painful stretch.  Anna skips a number, Sara reprimands her and suggests they start over.  I am yelling, "You are on 15...for the love of God just start back up at 16!!" So it goes like this for a few days but by the time Friday rolls around I am managing to walk a little better and I am not getting stuck so I drag my sorry self to work...I would have rented a Hoveround at this point....I needed to get out of the house and away from the kids.  I think they were just as happy that I went out for a little while.

I woke up yesterday feeling absolutely fine.  It was as if the whole sciatic nerve thing never happened.  I ended up going to the doctor for an ultrasound, just to make sure things were going well...I was feeling a little different and was told to come in.  Turns out the baby has now turned into this weird position but I will take it.  Apparently the way the baby had been laying was most likely pressing on my nerve causing the problem.  The tech said not to worry, that there was still time for the baby to move back into position.  I told her I hope not, I am delivering by c-section...this baby can stay right side up and backwards until I am wheeled into the OR!!  I am not one to pray but I am sending out some requests that this baby does not get back into that awful position.  Oh, and as I was leaving the nurse practioner tells me, "this is going to be a monster of a baby"...that is nice to hear...yesterday the estimated weight was already 4.7 pounds.  I still have 9 weeks to go.  Let that sink in for a minute....