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....

On being a Roll Model...

No, in case you were wondering, that was not a typo.  So as the mother of two, young, impressionable girls I try very hard to be a good role model to them.  I try to always act appropriately in front of them with the hopes of gently guiding them so they become kind, compassionate, contributing members of society.  I want them to give back, volunteer, treat others with the respect that they themselves will want to be treated with.  Overall just be good people.  Now, don't get me wrong...I slip up from time to time...I have been known to swear, yell, give them yodels for breakfast, explain to them why the planet Uranus is funny and let them watch questionable TV shows (Sara's current favorite is Naked and Afraid on Discovery Channel...she giggles every time she sees a butt).  The one thing I am always conscience of is the fact that since I am the same sex parent to them they watch my EVERY move.  I try very hard never to put myself down in front of them, call myself fat or complain about the way I look.  I really want them to have a strong sense of self, high self esteem and feel  they are worthy of and deserving to be in this world.  I do from time to time compliment them if they look pretty, what girl doesn't want to hear that? But the majority of my compliments are about how they are a great artist, how they are doing a great job problem solving, how when they are trying to work something out in their head like spelling a new word I tell them how I like the way they are thinking...I try to always point out their strong characteristics that are really going to mean something later in life. 

All that being said sometimes I hate having to be a role model.  Case in point...our recent vacation.  Don't get me wrong, we had a wonderful time.  It was nice to get away as a family of four before the new little one arrives in 75 days from today, but who is counting?  So we were heading to a beach town for a week.  So that means we will be going to the beach.  Which in turn means we will need to wear bathing suits.  UGH!!!  If you have not seen me in person lately I will let you in on a not so little secret...I am absolutely HUGE!!!!!  Remember back to the last blog post regarding people commenting on my size...well, while on vacation my belly expanded exponentially!!  Overnight, literally overnight, my belly grew a whole shirt size.  But anyway, back to the bathing suit.  I needed one.  Chuck suggested I just wear shorts and a T shirt in the water.  First, maternity shorts have a huge, hot belly band that comes up to my arm pits so in the hot sun that really is not practical, second, I personally think that when someone wears a t-shirt over their bathing suit in the water it draws more attention to them, not less.  I am going to be drawing enough stares...I don't need to attract any more than necessary and third, and most importantly, I don't want the girls to think I am embarrassed by my body, that it was something to hide.  I had a bathing suit from when I was preggo with Sara but it was pink and white flowers, with a skirt and really, really ugly.  Plus, I lent it out to someone and couldn't remember who.  So off I went, with the girls of course to go maternity bathing suit shopping.  It is a pain to have them with me when I am shopping but the upside is they are brutally honest on how things look.  So I try on about 10 swim suits, and all 10 get the thumbs down.  The last one I try on, a simple black one piece with some colored strips across the top,  and all 3 of us agree that it looks OK, not fantastic but OK....

So I get home and try the suit on and show my betrothed and he says, "oh, I thought you would get one with a skirt." I sigh and go change.  But, I press on...spending the next few days before vaca slathering myself with Neutragenia Build a Tan so I am not shocking white.  If you have never met me in real life I am white.  Very much so.  Years ago I worked for an agency in Roxbury, MA...I was the only white person around literally for miles.  One day one of the kids said to me as he noticed   blue veins underneath my skin, "you are so white you are see thru."    But I digress...We get to the cottage, settle in and head to the beach.  It is late in the afternoon and there are not many people left.  We find a spot, set up our stuff and start playing with the girls.  I casually notice that there is a blanket set up next to us.  Just a blanket and 2 towels...no pails and shovels so I am thinking adults.  Well a few minutes pass and there I am standing on the beach my big belly out in all its glory for the world to see.  As I stand there looking at my husband and kids playing in the sand I am thinking life is good.  Just as I complete that thought in my head it happens.  A beautiful girl comes walking out of the surf in a string bikini.  It is happening in slow motion, kind of like that slow motion movie scene where Christy Brinkley comes out of the pool looking stunningly beautiful.  Yeah, it was like that.  Only this girl goes one further...she is just as pregnant as I am!!!  Her beautiful, smooth, taut swollen pregnant belly does not have a stretch mark on it....her boobs are big and beautiful, not droopy and discolored...I don't see any imperfection on her at all.  It is as if she were there on a photo shoot for maternity swimwear.  Any ounce of confidence I had goes flying out of me.  Then I think to myself...yeah, but I am the real deal, I represent the average American woman.  But wait, we are in Maine not the glamorous south of France...she is a real American woman too.  So I resign myself to the fact that even pregnant people come in all shapes and sizes.  But I did get a small sense of satisfaction when I saw her significant other...he kind of looked like Chum Lee from that pawn show...so at least I win in the significant other category.

Another unfortunate bathing suit incident happened while on vacation.  We were at the pool and I got out and was drying off with my towel.  This time I had on a tankini.  Chuck is still in the pool and he is trying to get my attention.  I have no idea what he is getting at.  After a few minutes of trying to decode his mime skills I figure it out.  The top of the tankini has ridden up a bit and my belly was showing.  Not the pregnant part of my belly, oh no my friends, it was my skin apron.  It was hanging over the top of my bathing suit bottom.  It looked kind of like pasta dough as it is coming out of a pasta press....flat, pale and floppy.  Chuck asked how I could not feel it...I have had 4 abdominal surgeries...it is so numb now I could probably cut it off with kitchen shears and not feel it, how was I supposed to feel it flapping in the warm summer breeze?  Wardrobe malfunction at its worst!!!   But through it all I let it all roll off my back and didn't let the girls in on the fact that sometimes I hate being a "roll" model....

Here are some other random thoughts and ideas...some from vacation...some just from whatever....

**  So the girls have really been getting along great lately but there were a few occasions when things didn't go so well....

        One morning Sara pissed Anna off and Anna declares, "you ruined my life Sara."  So sad having your whole life ruined at the tender age of 3.

    Another time they were fighting and again in a fit of anger Anna starts singing to Sara, "I hate you, we are never, ever, ever getting back together...like ever!"  It took all I had not to burst out laughing.

I have noticed that every single roll of toilet paper we put out inevitably ends up with tiny 3 year old finger sized divets in the ends.  She can not resist the urge to poke....

Oh, and last but not least...you know what makes pregnancy even better?  The third heat wave of the summer!!!

I effin' hate people!

There, I said it.  I do.  Now you may think that I am just a cranky pregnant lady and in a more rational state I would probably agree with you.  However, in a relatively short period of time I have come to realize that many, many people are just uncivilized.  The past couple of days Chuck and I have been out and about with the girls.  Being pregnant I spend much of that time in public restrooms.  Not where I really want to be taking care of business but when nature calls and my options are limited I can't really be picky.  People are gross.  Today, for instance I was in a stall when all of the sudden I hear Maroon 5 start blaring...it was a fellow stallmates ring tone, she answers it, flushes...and we all know how loud industrial strength toilets are...first off, I would not take a call if I were mid stream, but hey, that is just me...I definitely would not flush, lest the caller know I was in the bathroom...nope, not this lady...she does one better...she TELLS the caller she was going to the bathroom as she is flushing and then walks out of the bathroom.  No, I did not leave anything out...she did NOT wash her hands.  So now not only are her hands filthy, but so is the phone she was holding with her pee and potentially poop covered hands!  The same phone that at some point she will probably put down on the restaurant table!!!  Sadly, she was not the exception...but more of the rule.  I guess I am in the small minority of people that find the need to clean my hands after using the restroom.  One lady not only skipped the hand washing, she took her pants off and changed right there in the bathroom...guess she couldn't have taken care of that while in the stall...she needed to stand right in front of the sink....so she did know they had one available, just chose not to partake in the societal ritual of cleansing oneself...and moon everyone instead.  Sadly, this was repeated over and over in every bathroom I visited.  Oh, and yesterday I was in a public pool and this lady with a huge, open wound comes strolling in.  She must be there to sit and have a drink, perhaps catch some rays?....Surely she was not going to take a dip in the pool.  Holy Sh*t!  She was heading straight for the water...you have NEVER seen a pregnant woman move so fast!!  Now, I think public pools are literally human secretion stew, but, I sucked it up and got in for the sake of the girls...no way, they were on their own with Chuck...I just imagined MRSA or some other gross disease oozing from her leg and crawling up my vagina and giving my unborn leprosy.  Strangely today when the girls asked if they could go swimming Chuck and I had an excuse ready to go.  So, life lesson reaffirmed; people are disgusting.

But my friends, that is not all that is bothering me lately...sadly, I have been the victim of a hate crime.  Yup...on more than once occasion.  Now technically that may not be totally true in the legal sense of the definition, but I really think I need to contact my local legislatures and have pregnant women defined as a protected class of citizens.  If you are with child, apparently you are fair game for insensitive and down right rude comments.  Here are a few examples from just the past 3 days!!  Yesterday we went to the store to get some beach stuff.  Pretty benign, right?  Nope!  It took a turn for the worse as soon as I stepped out of the minivan.  There was a lady sitting in her car right next to us.  Her window was down.  Chuck and Sara got out on the other side and were already half way to the store...Anna and I were a bit more leisurely.  So this lady yells out the window, "WOW!  You look like you are ready to pop any minute!"  I just kind of smile and take Anna's hand and start to walk away.  "When are you due?"...not for 12 more weeks I answer and keep walking.  "NO WAY!!!...you look like you are going to drop that kid out now....they have to be wrong!"....nope, I still have a way to go...."wow, you are going to have that kid soon...they must be wrong...there is probably 2 in there!"....nope, just one and I am pretty sure they are right with my due date....I am trying hard to get out of there, but this lady goes on and on..."you better have that thing soon or you will explode"...no, I really don't want to have "it" anytime soon...it is way too early.  I will be fine though, thank you.  "you are having a boy!  It must weigh 8 or 9 pounds by now"...nope, 2.6 pounds give or take 185 grams...now I was getting pissed.  Seriously lady?  What gives you the right to be so mean to me?  I did nothing to bother you...if I were not in front of my children I would have channeled my inner Anderson Cooper and gone all catty on that biatch.  Kind of like I did the other day....let me set the scene for you...I stopped at Dunkin Donuts for an iced coffee.  Yes, I know that caffeine is not the preferred drink for expectant moms...however, my OB has declared it absolutely fine for me to have a coffee or 2 each week...and since she specializes in maternal fetal medicine, more specifically maternal cardiac issues I am going to accept her medical opinion and quite frankly ignore all others that may have an opinion on how I should handle my pregnancy, yet have no medical training at all....Back to my story... I am minding my own business and order my drink.  This lady next to me (who is the epitome of white trash...complete with the requisite black shirt with the white etched wolves howling at the moon on it...seriously where the hell does one buy a shirt like that anyway....a thick smell of cigarette smoke on her and a few sporadically placed teeth...now, normally I don't care about how someone looks, how they dress or conduct their lives, but once you insert yourself into mine...you are fair game...consider yourselves warned)  chimes in and says, "umm, people that are pregnant should not drink caffeine"....I am exhausted, hot, physically uncomfortable and 6 hours away from starting my vacation...in other words; I HAVE HAD IT!!!  I look directly at her and say, "people that have lungs should not smoke and people without teeth shouldn't have sugar"...I turn and storm out.  Not so much for effect, more so that she does not attack and kill me.  Oh, the silver fox would have been so proud of me!!

Another thing that bothers me is strangers that touch a pregnant ladies belly.   Yes, on occasion I have had the urge to rub an old bald man's head and make a wish or pinch the chubby cheeks of a baby.  But guess what?  I don't!!  Why?  Because #1 I am civilized and #2 we are strangers!!!  So here are my rules about touching my belly.  If you are living under the same roof as me you can have unlimited belly rubbing access.  If you are a child under the age of 14 and you include the prefix "Auntie" before my name you can sneak in a rub or two.  If we have a preexisting relationship and we know each others children and husbands name's and I can call on you in an emergency then you can also touch my belly other than that if you are not a direct member of my health care team, back the f*ck up!! 

In that same vain...once the baby is born the same general rules apply to asking me about my decision to breast feed or not.  Once after Sara was born I was at the store picking a few things up and this lady behind me in line asked me if I were breastfeeding or not.  I told her, "No, she prefers to drink Coke from her bottle."  Another time I was out in public and another lady, a complete stranger asked if I were breastfeeding or not and I asked her, "when was the last time someone sucked your boobs?"...she just looked at me horrified...yeah, that was the reaction I was looking for. 

So here is my proposal to the legislatures...if you touch a pregnant belly without permission it should be considered assault.  If you ask someone, "are you sure there aren't two in there?"  that is harassment.  If you continue the verbal assault with more than one inappropriate or insensitive remark that is stalking.  I am also going to push that the 3 strikes rule applies here...if you do any combo and it amounts to 3 offenses sorry, you lose...you will be locked up for life and your punishment will be to wear a simulated pregnancy belly and walk through society for the rest of your natural life to get a taste of your own medicine. 

So today while out and about on a family adventure I had someone ask when I was due...I lied.  I said in 2 weeks.  She smiled and said "good luck"...I guess until government passes my law of classifying pregnant women as a protected class that should just be my standard answer...makes life simpler.