Prolly All the Time

iso new ob/gyn

Now, let me be clear on something...  I, unlike BMC, do not have a defensible reason for seeking a new care provider.  My OB has been nothing but understanding, sympathetic and attentive.  Her staff is equally competent, patient and professional...  No, my desire to find a new baby doctor is totally predicated upon the fact that I can no longer show my face in her office after this afternoon.

Allow me a brief but important digression...  I was raised by a woman who so severely limited her ability to frequent, shop or attend events at local businesses based on certain embarrassing episodes she would have whilst visiting these establishments. Eventually, we would have to move so that she could just get a pedicure. My father, in a fit of despair over yet another trip to procure feminine hygiene products from the local drugstore, once wondered aloud if these recurring episodes weren't just a clever ploy to get her out of having to run certain undesirable errands. (and lest you think my father a neanderthal for not wanting to buy my mom's kotex, don't. he is also the man who suggested radical thinking to my husband upon the birth of Bean... "have you ever noticed that 'woman's work' is always the shit that no one else wants to do..." Also know that my mother has been known to take certain liberties with my father's generosity of spirit.)  I swore that this fate, like the rest of my mom's less than endearing traits that I seem to be sporting lately, would not be mine.  Alas... we all know how this story ends. (have y'all noticed lately that my digressions are starting to look a lot like posts in their own rite?)

So, today, I had my 12 week appointment with the aforementioned,OB.  And despite my ongoing feeling of foreboding around this pregnancy, she assured me that all was well.  My weight looked great, my pee was picture perfect and my blood pressure was something to behold.  I left feeling... well, honestly, feeling relieved.  For the first time since blessing that pee stick, I felt comfortable about the reality of Garbanzo's arrival.  Fast forward, four hours and a hummus and veggie pita later...

Around 2:30 pm today, I began experiencing what can only be described as severe cramping, belly-bunching, doubled over gut pain.  In retrospect, it is clear to me that I panicked per my earlier feelings of foreboding...  that said, in the heat of the moment and the midst of the pain, my reactions are completely ridiculous justified.

I called my doctor's office and explained the completely apocalyptic nature of the situation and when asked to describe the cramping, broke down completely and sobbed that the nurse was not taking me seriously did my best to calmly describe the sensation of one's lower abdomen being smashed in an apple press.  After she attempted to gather some additional details from me (rather unsuccessfully) including what I had eaten for the past 6-8 hours, she asked me to go lie down for 10 minutes and relax...  not to call anyone else, not to send any emails, just go rest for a little bit and to call her back once that 10 minutes had passed. 

I followed her order, albeit reluctantly. After about 7 minutes, as I was beginning to drift off to nappy land, I let go of the loudest, stinkiest, and most disgusting sounding fart that I have produced in these short 30 years of life. It smelled worse than a dog fart... worse than that time I was sprayed by the hippos at the zoo.  I almost threw up, it smelled so bad.  If anyone else had been at home, I would have blamed N. or the dog.  And just as suddenly, the horrible gut pain was miraculously cured.  Go figure. 

I still, however, had to call the nurse back.  I stalled another 10 minutes...  trying to think of how to explain the sudden disapperance of any symptoms.  I even contemplated calling the phone company to quickly change my phone number in the event that she called back before I could think of something clever to say.

Nothing came to mind.  I just called and told her that I felt much better, thank you.  She then discussed the additional signs that I would need to keep an eye out for in the next 24 hours, and I sheepishly admitted that I was probably fine, but thanks again for her time.  She then added that sometimes our bodies give us very clear signals that it is time to rest when we are stressed, tired or over-extended.  I again thanked her, trying to get out of the conversation as quickly as possible, and explained that I was pretty sure that I knew what happened and that all was fine. At which point, she chuckled and added that I should perhaps go easy on the hummus and raw veggies in the future. 

So, you see... I can't possibly go back there now.  I am the big, crazy-ass gas passer.  I know that she told everybody that story.  Shit, if I were her, I would tell everybody in that office about my sorry butt.

Maybe, I am just immature like that...

food for thought (aka my product placement post)

I love the fries at Chi*k-Fil-A...  adore them.  I often find it hard to make it home with an order of these fries in tact...  I think that it is the waffle-cut that makes them so particularly difficult to resist.  I would venture that it is the perfect cut for a fry, maximizing both potato-y goodness and available square inches for fried surface and thus a crispy texture. (the only exception would be that yucky end piece that gets fed to the dog) It is the perfect compromise between the steak fry (way too starchy) and a McDon*ald's fry (excellent fried surface and texture, but sometimes it is all fry and no potato). 

On my ride home with the bag at my side, this mental ode to the CFA fry began a longer daydream about the perfect fast food meal.  If able to defy the limitations of time AND space (and not to mention health and overall feeling of physical fitness), and provided only $10 to craft the perfect fast food meal -- what would the elements be?  and most importantly, where would I go to get them... 

It seems to me the possibilities are endless, particularly given the rash of "fast-casual" that can be considered in this same space. And since the ride from Chi*k-Fil-A to my front door is only 15 minutes, I had to limit my postulating to your typical fast food establishments and the typical fast food meal, which for me conjures images of cheeseburgers, fries, beverage and just for good measure and to ensure the onset of heart disease AND type-2 diabetes a chocolate shake. 180 lbs here I come!!!

I have already established the fries would be from CFA...  so, lets move on to the cheeseburger, which IMHO is a no contest event.  Others might as well not even show up and for those of you who have not had the privilege of tasting one of these beefy wonders, my apologies.  I weep for you.

• In and Ou*t -- Single with Cheese.

Next, we move on to the beverage for which I have to rely on a pizza establishment, which kind of breaks the aforementioned rule. This is due mostly to one of the founding principles of my love for N. which is our complete agreement on the fact that any soda tastes better when it arrives at your table in a giant, red plastic cup (preferably with the brand name emblazoned on the side).  This selection also is somewhat flawed as I do not know of a fast food chain that serves this brand of cola, but whatever... it is my freaking fantasy.

• RC Cola in a big-ass red plastic cup.

And then finally, there is the chocolate shake to consider...  and this is by far a more difficult choice.  In my mind, there are two contenders, each strong in their own right.  First, there is We*ndy's Frosty. Some would argue (and I see the logic) that it isn't a shake since you can dunk a fry in it and it will stand at attention (and tell me that a Frosty-frosted fry is not just about the best combination of salty-sweet known to man).  They are also offering it as a mixer with cookie pieces, etc. which kind of puts it more in the category of a DQ Bli*zzard, at which point we then have to consider it side by side with a local fave called the Wallybanger. But, I digress. Back to the shake.

The other option in this category has more to do with a kind of childhood association than any real quality. When I was little and my mom was on this ridiculous health kick... my dad would sneak us out of the house and get milkshakes, snickers and york peppermint patties and we would eat them in the safety of his car.  It is one of my dearest memories of my dad, and whenever I feel just a little too far from home...  you can find my ass sitting in my car scarfing down a shake and pattie for old time's sake.

• McDon*ald's Chocolate Shake

So, that is it...  I, of course, have opinions on the best pizza, chicken nugget or strip, chicken sandwich, etc. and of course there is always the Wallybanger.  But, for the purposes of this mental exercise THAT is my dream menu.

Now, I know that professing a love of fast food in this day and age is akin to kicking baby seals and that there are mothers everywhere that have dropped their ground flax seed and soy yogurt in order to organize to save my children from all that is evil. (Ladies, please don't stop by until AFTER 4 PM. Bean will be very busy until that time, watching all manner of inappropriate TV whilst playing with scissors and eating animal lard from a plastic plate that I put in the microwave.  He gets very testy when interrupted.)

But, for those of you out there raised on happy meals...  where's YOUR beef?

Damn you, titty fairy!

Apologies to my male readers and to any who might be offended by the following post, but I need to get something off my chest, literally.

I hate that bitch!

I know that many a husband (or partner, as the case may be) has planned ticker-tape parades in the titty fairy's honor, petitioned Congress to enact a National Holiday to recognize her contributions to society, and erected small shrines in the back of the garage making offerings to ensure that the ample bosoms remain even after the suckling child reaches puberty.  I also hear (though am unable to comprehend) that some women feel the same way.  That these delusional smaller-chested sisters erect may-poles celebrating the way that they now fill out their t-shirts and bras with their newly delivered C-cups...

But, for those of us already endowed with more than our fair share of mammarian reserve... let me just say a hearty "No fucking thank you! Don't let my foot clip your wings as I show you the way out!"

Last time I was pregnant, my boobs stayed a respectable size until the last few weeks of pregnancy.  They then ballooned to comic proportions following delivery, which was a particularly bitter pill since I wasn't even able to breastfeed. I was, however, able to rest plates and bowls on my decolletage so as to remove the need for hands and/or utensils while eating. And they never really went back to their original size. What is that they say about the pregnancy boobs curse?.. big-busts stay bigger, little-busts get smaller... (lucky!)

N. was thrilled, because really how many men get to have their wives' boobs go up three cup sizes without a $5-8K investment.

I can only assume that the titty fairy has signed some kind of distribution deal with UPS to maximize her business, because her ass has been a lot more "efficient" in delivering the size this time around. In eight short weeks, I have surpassed my size two days before Bean was born...  my heart (and back and shoulders) all shudder to consider where we go from here.  I am considering moving and leaving no forwarding address. I had to go get fitted for a new set of bras, which in and of itself is a horrifying experience.* The resulting set of elastic, hooks, and ugly-ass material is enough to frighten any teenage boy into the priesthood.  And, I don't even want to talk about the fact that these monstrosities cost TWICE as much as your average over the shoulder bolder holder.

OK, I feel a little better.  But any of you who are interested in taking this boob-boosting bitch out, drop me a line.  I am formulating a plan...

*I am willing to bet that any and all among you with ample ta-tas have had to be "fitted" once in your life.  If not, you should.  A good bra will do wonders for your posture and profile.  That said, there is nothing more embarrassing and life-altering than being felt up by someone's grandma in a 10x12 ft booth.

psst...

This is my 100th contribution to the blogging world.  Initially, I had intended to do that ubiquitous "100 things about me" post here, as it has a nice symmetry... but something even better has come along to mark this momentous occasion.

I could also pretend that all of my ridiculous hiatuses (hiati?) in less than nine months were all part of an elaborate plan to make this happen, but lets face it...  I can't even get my shopping synced up so that I don't have to make a trip on Saturday to get diapers and another on Sunday for the freaking wipes.

Lets just cut to the chase, shall we?  After much hand-wringing and continued fretting about plans and timing...  The t'pons are completely freaked out thrilled to share the news that we will be welcoming a new Bean into the family in December. (holy shit, now that I write that down... it seems really soon, like right around the corner... this year.  Last time, we at least had the ILLUSION of more time -- getting pregnant in one year and delivering in the next...)

And the new Bean's name shall be... Garbanzo! (Chick Pea, for short) Don't you just love Garbanzo Beans?  I do.

So, yes.  It appears that I have some new material to work with, but before we embark on this journey together, lets just lay some ground rules:

• I will NOT allow pictures of my fat and stretch marked beautiful pregnant belly to be posted on the Internet. I get enough weird search results as it is ("french-kissing my dog"), no need to add creepy image searches to the list.
• I will do my best to keep the hormone-inspired, sentimental crap at a minimum. I am already experiencing all day nausea, no need to drag the rest of you down with me. 
• I will spend a great deal of time marveling at my re-discovered gift for all things gas and flatulence-related.  For me, this is possibly the best part of being pregnant.  For those of you with husbands like N., back me up! There is nothing quite like the look of admiration and pure love that comes from being able to make the seat of the leather chair vibrate and to wake the dog with a start with your belching.
• I will encourage you all to buy stock in Tums, as I am already well on my way to raising their bottom-line revenue by 38% in the next 32 weeks.
• We will not divulge Garbanzo's sex.  Actually, we are currently in the midst of a hot debate as to whether or not we will find out ourselves.  We did not find out for Butterbean -- I loved every minute of the surprise, N. felt it was worse than being forced to watch an all day marathon of "So NoTORIous" without being able to fast-forward through the tampon commercials. This, like all major decisions in our marriage, will be decided by best two out of three in "Rock, Paper, Scissors." (of which, I am the household champion... have you seen that Simpsons episode?  It is eerily familiar.)

So, there we are... the big news. My 100th post. Whew!

I think that I need a nap.

all by myself...

I spent the day on Friday taking care of t'pon -- I needed the break.  Between work, Bean's recent run in with the devil, and an alarming sleepless trend that has developed over the past few weeks, I was five seconds short of rocking the day away in the front yard wearing my old, grayed out maternity underwear. Clearly, the time had come for a mental health holiday.

My original plan was to simply veg out all day, watching piteously bad TV, indulging in the worst possible assortment of "food" and napping as the mood struck me... but then I remembered that it is a tad bit awkward to sloth around the house mossy-toothed, un-showered, in your ratty ass pajamas, while someone else cares for your child and washes your clothes.  So, that only lasted until about 11 AM.  At that point, it became abundantly clear that an alternative plan was needed.

(We also won't dwell on the fact that I spent the better part of the morning clinging to my laptop, checking messages every 15 minutes waiting for someone to chuck a flaming pile of shit into my inbox forcing me back to work...  I have boundary issues.  I know this.  I checked in with work from my honeymoon, OK?  I only made it three weeks into my maternity leave before I called in to see how things were going with work. So, one day off... yeah, I am going to check the email.)

So, on Friday, faced with the contrasting needs of recharging and getting out of the house...  I did something that I have not done in easily 7 years.  Something that had once been such an important part of my leisure time, I actually completed the equivalent of a minor in the subject in college and applied to grad schools, based solely on the intent to justify spending more time doing it.

I went to the movies, by myself.  And it was AWESOME!  I had forgotten how great it is to go see a movie with no expectations, to simply enjoy sitting in a cool, quiet place and not having to try to think about ANYTHING that matters to ANYONE. I didn't have to shoosh anyone, I could sit wherever I wanted to sit, I ate an entire bag of popcorn and a box of milk duds by myself.  And best of all, when I left the movie...  it didn't matter if anyone else liked it.

It was exactly what I needed, and as such, I am thinking about adding a new feature to my little corner of the Internet -- "Guilty Mama's Cinematic Adventure." I am thinking that it would work something like this.  I pledge to see one movie a week, mostly by myself (I might take N. if he begs...) and I will report on the movie here.  I will tell you if it is worth two to three (in some cases almost four) hours of your precious "no-child" time based on a scale of one to five guilty points. (hopefully, it won't be too confusing -- the more points, the more guilty I feel about not spending the time making Bean into a better person... so a five point movie would most definitely not be recommended.)  Here is the bonus...  I will see just about anything. I am not all that picky, or intellectual for that matter, so make a recommendation.

For those interested, this week's adventure was... "Stick It" -- the tale of a rebellious teenager forced to face the music and come to terms with her competitive gymnastics talent and her competitive fears through the guidance of an unconventional coach. 

I found it incredibly entertaining in the way that only teen movies can be...  great one-liners; fantastic attitude; great tricks; unrealistic, yet completely predictable plot twists; and of course, an important growth message that I hope to one day impart on Bean...

Given the already extraordinary length of this post, I will cut to the chase on this one... I give "Stick It" a big thumbs up...  ONE guilty point (catchy icons coming soon!).

So, Wubbies...  what am I seeing this week?