Some Thoughts on Jessica Simpson

If I see one more headline talking about Jessica Simpson being pregnant again "just" seven months after giving birth, I'm going to smack someone.

I'm sure somewhere in my archives is the story of how I got pregnant "just" six months after having Ironflower, but I'm too ticked off to look for it. So let me summarize: I got pregnant with Lovebug six months after I had Ironflower and didn't even realize it for five months. My periods had been totally erratic, I had no morning sickness and I figured exhaustion was normal for a working mom of a baby. Even the fact that I suddenly stopped losing baby weight - and in fact started gaining it - I blamed on my stressful work environment and exhaustion.

Anyway, I'm having a "Leave Britney alone!" moment. Well, without the crying. Or the vlogging.

Use this picture of an unknowingly pregnant me to humanize my rant. I'm so not vlogging. 

Leave Jessica alone, for the love of God! She doesn't need to be reminded of how quickly she got pregnant again, or how she'll soon have to handle two kids under two. She's in the process of dealing with a lot of emotions right now and pointing it out on magazine covers isn't helping. You don't get all judgey when someone has twins through IVF or uses a surrogate or has kids 15 years apart or whatever else is different from the norm. Why this? Stop trying to turn her into Octomom. 

Ahem. 

The tabloid reader* in me also does not care to hear about Jessica's pregnancy. Much as I feel for her right now, I don't find her interesting. She's preggers again. Okay. Let's move on to something more interesting, like which Downton Abbey actors hang out together in real life. Or how many Tea Party politicians are cheating on their spouses right this minute. 

On a final note, my 15 months apart kids? Are the best of friends. It was hard on me, but it's been a blessing for them. 

*I do not actually purchase tabloids. But I would if they took some of my ideas to heart. 

Do The Crips Do Makeovers?

My dad is on the mend - awake, cognitive and asking for his pain medication. Thanks again for good thoughts and prayers.

Today there was a Halloween shindig at the local environmental center. Since it was a gorgeous day, and the event was free, we decided to go. I really didn't think it would be all that crowded, since no one ever goes to the environmental center. And since most people around here don't exactly need to attend free activities.

Apparently our present economic situation is even affecting people around here, because the center was PACKED. And the county organizers were not prepared for this kind of turnout. So instead of lining up logically, people just smooshed together and complained about the fact that there weren't organized lines. Well, they complained until they managed to push their kid into the bouncy castle ahead of all the kids who had been waiting patiently. I knew there was craziness in the air when a woman tried to push her fourteen month old into the bouncer. Luckily someone stopped her before the clueless baby was trampled by hyper preschoolers.

Then we tried to find a hot dog. The line was SO long - maybe we really are in a depression. The hayride line was almost as bad. It was like being at Disney World during a school vacation. And when people bumped into me - I guess they have forgotten how to look down - they glared at ME. Sorry my unborn child got in your way, assholes.

Of course, my current walking style may have put them off. You see, I am no longer waddling. Waddling would imply that I could move my hips separately. Which I can't anymore. I have to swagger these days, so descended is my child. I look like a gangbanger wannabe trapped in a pregnant woman's body. Hell, even my pants are falling down. And the only thing the hides the belly is a hoodie. And my hair is completely out of control - maybe I should just get a do-rag to complete the picture?

And if anyone stares at me too long, I could just tell them to suck my dick.

(Thanks, Roseanne)

Damn, now I'm sorry we didn't stay and wait in all the long lines. Instead, we went to a local nursery and paid for hayrides. Which was probably the better choice, seeing as the whole thing was supposed to be for the children's enjoyment - and not a way for me to take out my hostility on the world at large.

(Speaking of which, Amy Poehler had her baby yesterday. I am so bitter - I thought she was due after me!)

Adventures in Extreme Pregnancy

You know you're really freaking pregnant when:

1. You finally get a good freaking parking space at the speech therapist's, but you can't open your car door wide enough to get out.

2. The only pair of shoes that you can jam on your feet is a wretched, stinky pair of slip on sneakers. And you can't even wear them with socks.

3. Every woman you run into looks at you with pity.

4. Your cankles are wider than your calves.

5. Just being in the sun - even though this sun is shining on New Jersey in October - makes you sweat profusely.

6. Your fingers resemble sausages.

7. You develop a cold, simply because you're not suffering enough.

8. You have one pair of pants that stays up high enough and two shirts that come down low enough to cover your belly.

9. You have developed new damn stretch marks.

10. Suddenly you have an inkling of what it would be like to "go postal".

11. Standing up means having to pee.

12. Standing up also means having to waddle.

13. Standing up means odd pelvic pains too.

14. In fact, standing up is something to be avoided at all costs.

15. You are jealous of an old classmate because - even though you were at the same level of pregnancy - she has given birth already. And you forget the fact that she has given birth to triplets, which you could never handle in million years.

16. You cannot shut up about the fact that you are NINE MONTHS PREGNANT, DAMMIT.

How Do You Dress A Grapefruit?

It's been several days since I whined, hasn't it? I hope so.

So I went for my check-up today. I also got yet another ultrasound, as last time I was "measuring big" (see? I told you I had turned into a grapefruit). So I have the ultrasound and the very experienced tech is muttering things like, "wow".

I figured wow wasn't something to be overly concerned about, but I still found myself grinding my teeth while waiting for her to say something helpful. Instead she checked my chart and quizzed me to affirm that I am 34 weeks along. And then she told me that my son weighs six pounds, 7 ounces. NOW. His size is in the 100th percentile on everything.

At first, I was kinda excited by this. Because my back has been aching so much and I've been having so much trouble lifting kids and climbing the stairs, I was worried that I had just turned into a wimp with this pregnancy. To know I'm already carrying a term-sized baby makes my wimpiness more acceptable, somehow. Then she dropped the other bombshell. The one that says unless I had pre-eclampsia or something (which I don't, my blood pressure is great) there's is NO WAY they will let me go before week 39.

I'm scheduled to have my c-section five weeks from tomorrow. By which time NewBaby will be HUGE. And I will barely be able to walk. My son is not even trying to get out, folks. He's lying sideways, although sometimes he goes breech to kick my bladder. I'm not going to go into labor early. I'm just going to keep growing into an ever larger grapefruit. Seriously. Between my ever numbing and painful carpal tunnel and my giant stomach, there's going to come a time when I won't be able to get out of bed. At least not without help.

I tried talking to the doctor. But since his daughter was born at 8 pounds, but three and a half weeks early and still had a preemie lung infection he really didn't care to hear my opinion. I mean, I wasn't really expecting him to say he'd check me into the hospital next week or anything. But even one week earlier would have made me feel better. But noooo. Week 39 or bust.

Have I mentioned that most of my maternity pants won't go over my belly now? And I have very few shirts still long enough to cover things when the pants have to stay under the belly. Nevermind the pain and exhaustion, what the hell am I going to WEAR for the next five weeks?

Any advice will be much appreciated.

Navel Gazing

Last night I had a horrifying experience in the shower. Even though I look like a grapefruit with legs, three pregnancies have taught me lots of neat tricks. I can shave my legs without injury right up until giving birth. I can give myself (an admittedly crappy) pedicure. I pride myself all being able to maintain all of my grooming practices throughout a pregnancy (for those of you who see me in real life and who are questioning this because my hair usually looks crappy, let me tell you, my hair always looks crappy). So while I may completely let my weight go while baby growing, I want to assure you that I don't let everything go during this time.

In the interests of not letting things go, last night I even used my fancy shower gel. As I was scrubbing myself, I reached down to clean my belly button. I've always been an extreme innie, so even while enormously pregnant my belly button doesn't pop out - it just gets shallower. Anyway, I reached to clean it. . . . .AND IT WASN'T FUCKING THERE.

I dropped the washcloth and immediately began sliding my fingers over the belly. I must have gone back and forth over where it had been just the other day three or four times. But the skin was smooth. I tried to look but of course I couldn't see anything. Finally, right before I was about to climb out and yell for Hot Guy to come upstairs and find my freaking belly button, I thought that maybe I should check for my belly button a little bit lower.

And there it was. My belly button had MOVED. DOWN.

My belly button is SAGGING. How that is even possible, I don't know.

I've accepted the carpal tunnel, the heartburn, the back pain, the grapefruit body, the teenage-like skin (although my skin was actually better than this when I was a teenager), the imperfect breasts, the stretch marks and the fact that my hair no longer grows evenly. I try not to whine too much (I said try, okay?) or ask for a lot of help. I'm trying to be a good sport.

But my belly button sagging? Seriously? I don't think I can take much more of this.

Over-Sensitive or Over-Worked?

I was talking to my neighbor last week and she said something that I just can't get over. I know I should. She wasn't trying to make me feel bad. She's a very sweet person. Really. We've bonded a lot while gossiping about the OBs at the practice we both go to (she's a trimester behind me). But as I apologized for my dirty sweats by explaining that I was cleaning that day, she said something that just . . .just BOTHERED me.

She said, "Just make your husband do it. It's too hard to clean when you're pregnant. My husband does all the cleaning now."

This is a woman who does not have a job outside the home. She doesn't even blog! And she's in great shape. And her husband works long hours. And I am so jealous I could spit.

I mean, Hot Guy helps. When he's home. And what he does that's REALLY spectacular is never complain about how messy the house gets. Sometimes he asks for clean underwear (but I want to say - in my defense - is that he's only asking because I haven't put the laundry away, not that I haven't washed it) but that's it. And I took on the cleaning (such as it is) and the laundry when I became a stay-at-home. So it's not like I feel that I have it so tough.

But still, not having to clean for the next 8 weeks would be so AWESOME. Is it normal for men to take over the cleaning when their wives are pregnant? Have I been gypped? Should I invite my neighbor's husband over and flaunt my belly at him?

Does This Make Me Resourceful or Tacky?

If you know me IRL and are the sensitive type, you might want to skip this post.

This morning while Ironflower was at camp, I took Lovebug to a park. I drove a few towns over to hit one of the few shady playgrounds I know, but Lovebug still got quite worn out. And I had to pee.  I decided to hit the Walgreen's near Ironflower's school, as we still had at least forty-five minutes before pick-up. But naturally Lovebug fell asleep. I didn't want to wake him up because I knew he was exhausted and an exhausted Lovebug would make pick-up a pain in the ass.

I drove slowly closer to Ironflower's school, trying to think of a safe way to allow Lovebug to sleep and me to pee. My bladder seemed to grow exponentially, the way it does when you're pregnant ( I realize I'm only five months, but my body seems to think I'm seven months - in size and bladder issues, anyway. Whoever said the third time's a charm was NOT talking about pregnancy.) Things were getting desperate.

Especially when I remembered that the Walgreen's doesn't have a public restroom. My other options were: McDonald's (where Lovebug would have a fit because we weren't staying), Starbuck's (where I would have to buy something I didn't want) or dragging Lovebug into Ironflower's school, peeing, and dragging him back out again (or hanging in the hallway for thirty minutes).

Then I remembered Ironflower's potty. It's her own personal porta-potty right in the back of the minivan. It was the perfect solution. I pulled down a quiet residential street. Reluctant to climb through the van, I climbed out and went around to the back. I climbed in and even managed to shut the door (those doors, BTW, are not designed to be closed from the inside). I glanced around. Seeing no one, I pulled down my pants and sat on the teeny, tiny potty (meanwhile, Lovebug slept on). I filled the damn thing, but nothing spilled. I used a baby wipe.

I stood up (as much as possible, anyway) and noticed a woman and her little girl walking straight at the minivan. I sat down (meanwhile, Lovebug slept on).

I stood up after they passed by, wanting nothing more in the world but to pull my pants up. I got them halfway up before seeing the woman with the dog. I knelt down and struggled to pull my pants the rest of the way up while hiding behind Lovebug's seat (meanwhile, Lovebug slept on). Then I climbed over the stroller and . . . .

realized that I couldn't get out the back door. So I squeezed through the middle seats (meanwhile, Lovebug slept on) and . . .

realized that I couldn't get out the side doors, either. I was going to have to climb to the front seat (meanwhile, Lovebug slept on).

I tried to close the little table that sits between the two front seats but it seemed stuck. All this had taken quite awhile, so I became concerned that we'd actually be late for pick-up. I didn't relish calling the school to tell them that I would be late because I was stuck in the back of my own minivan. So I started to climb.

It took about five minutes for me to cover the two feet (meanwhile, Lovebug slept on). But I did it.

Then I went out the front door, walked around to the back, tried to look innocent while yet another woman walked by, and removed the potty. I surreptitiously dumped it on a nearby lawn. (Because what if Ironflower wanted to use it after I picked her up? She couldn't have, it was TOTALLY full. I HAD to empty it.)

Then I slunk back into the car and we went to pick Ironflower up at school. Lovebug slept through the whole shebang.

He's STILL Fine

So today I had a fetal echocardiogram (The spellcheck says that's wrong. But I disagree. And). Basically a specialized ultrasound where an actual doctor checks out the baby's heart.

The doctor was nice, I liked her even more after she said that everything looked good. But then she had to ruin it by explaining the things she couldn't see yet, that can happen to any newborn. I'm pretty sure I didn't need to hear about them.

The reason I had the echo-whatever was because of that long ago nuchal translucency test, which turned out to be a whole lotta worry about nothing. You know what? I am fucking sick of worrying about nothing.

If anyone wants my opinion (that's why you're reading, right?), skip the whole freaking nuchal test and just have an amnio. They are much safer now (problems with 1 in 1600)and they are CONCLUSIVE about genetic problems. I have read so many stories of people who had increased nuchal tests and perfectly healthy babies. Or skip the whole testing thing altogether. I mean, I've had so many ultrasounds this time around that I barely even get excited anymore. And I'm only halfway done!

Today's doc and I were talking about "advance maternal age" and what a painful term it is and she told me this: they are thinking of LOWERING it so insurance companies will pay for more amnios. Probably because the nuchal translucency test isn't so great. Or so everyone can make more money from keeping pregnant women paranoid.

I am so ticked off right now. I have gone through so much drama because of that one increased measurement - everything else in my pregnancy has been just fine. Well, except that I'm already huge and plagued with carpal tunnel. But neither of those things affect the baby.

Baby Shower Gift

When I was pregnant with Ironflower, the first thing I purchased was pregnancy books - What To Expect When You're Expecting and Pregnancy Week By Week. I didn't buy a pregnancy journal because they were all just basically blank and what I really craved was information. Each new month and each new week made me so happy. I reread everything while I was pregnant with Lovebug. I didn't journal much with either pregnancy. It was felt like my mind was spinning out of control or total mush.

My mind still feels the same with number three - too schizophrenic for proper journaling. And having basically memorized my pregnancy books, I hadn't read much this time around. Although I may have been a little possessive with all the magazines in the OB's office (I returned them. Honest.) Then the wonderful people at MotherTalk asked if I wanted to review The Pregnancy Journal.



I LOVE this one. Every single DAY has new information. Right this minute, for example, NewBaby is growing eyebrows. Okay, that may not seem exciting to you, but it thrills me to know that. (This is what happens when Jerseygirl can't drink. Obsession with minutiae.) In addition to all the fun daily baby growing info, there are short sections for recording feelings (and weight - which I'm skipping. There doesn't need to be a written record of my weight outside the doctor's office. And I'm not even sure they really need one). There are also snippets of info about birth rituals in other cultures.

I wish I had had this when I was pregnant with Ironflower (seriously, how can they have come up with so many cool books and new products in less than four years?) and Lovebug. But it's probably nice that number three will have something new that's just for him as he's getting a lot of hand-me-downs and garage sale finds.

I think this journal would be a fantastic baby shower gift or a great way to commemorate a second (or third or fourth) pregnancy. Even for a mom-to-be who "hates" writing, the journal would be great. Each writing section has a place for one word answers on moods and a few lines for writing. There are also questions at the beginning and ending of the journal. And even if a mom skips all the writing prompts, she still gets new info about her baby every single day. And THAT is cool.

Enough With The Drama Already

I like to think of myself as strong. As someone who doesn't take any crap (at least, not since I left my first husband). I like to think of myself as the kind of person who HANDLES things.

But as I've read over your comments on my last few posts, I realize that that woman seems to have left the building. Why am I taking all this crap and letting these people scare me? I'm THIRTEEN WEEKS today. This is when the FUN part starts. I should be happy. Soon nausea and exhaustion will be a faint memory, my maternity pants will stay up and the threat of miscarriage is now tiny. When I got to do this date with Ironflower, I was filled with joy.

Now it seems every week there's been a new fear, a new stress. And I resent that. This is my last pregnancy. I should be happy, not shaking because the doctors are convinced that my old age (not one of them has mentioned my being overweight already, which you'd think would make a bigger difference) is turning this pregnancy into a melodrama.

Thank you guys for being so supportive and kind about the fact that my backbone went on vacation. It's back now (no pun intended). So I checked out midwife options, but unfortunately I don't really have any. All the (few) midwives around here seem to be about home births, which is not an option for a c-section veteran like myself (I know some people have VBACs, but I'm not going to be one of them, trust me). So I'm going to see a new doctor in my practice next week - one that the women in my playgroup say they like. If I don't like her, I'm going to look for a new practice. I'm also going to ask her to explain in detail why they think I need all these tests and make the decision for my ownself. (Although the idea of finding out NewBaby's gender in just three weeks makes a compelling argument for the early anatomy scan)

I promise I'm going to try to catch up on all of your blogs this weekend. I'm sorry I've been such a bad bloggy friend. Oh, I'm also going to try to catch up on emails, for those of you who've emailed me in the past month. :) I promise.

You've Gotta Be Kidding Me

So this morning my regular OB's office calls me (the whole nuchal translucency thing was done by the high-risk pregnancy office) and asks me if I've scheduled my early anatomy scan with the high risk people yet.

HUH?

The office girl (you don't think it was a nurse or a doctor who called me, do you?) says that because of the high measurement, I need to have the twenty week ultrasound done at 16 weeks, and it should be done by the specialists. I mention my normal blood tests and the fact that the genetic counselor didn't mention this.

Office girl doesn't have my blood tests, but she says that the OB I saw last month (whom I disliked) says I need it. Because of the nuchal measurement.

Now then, part of me says - hey, it's another ultrasound! If NewBaby is cooperative, I could find out the sex early. But the other part of me says, if this is necessary, why didn't the genetic counselor mention it when she mentioned the blood test I need at 16 weeks and the fetal echocardiagram I need at 20? (BTW, I am using the term "need" loosely)

I cannot express how deeply I want to go back to my doctor in Kansas City, who had a sense of humor and never freaked out. Or possibly I should try to find a mid-wife, thanks to comments on my previous post.

Any thoughts? Suggestions? Ways to soothe my nerves that don't involve beer or Brie?

Or Maybe Just Put The Tequila Into The Sippy Cup

Wow, the kids in bars post sure inspired a lot of discussion. For the record, I do think it's different if we're talking about restaurants with bars attached. But not at ten p.m. on a Friday night. And to all of you who said, "I go to bars to get away from children," - I say, "Hell yeah, sistahs!"

And I'm just joking about the tequila in the sippy cups - I think my kids should start off with something sweeter, like rum. Or possibly Valium. Why is it that the more exhausted I feel the more energy they have? So far they haven't figured out that my throwing the ball as far as I can and telling them to run and catch it isn't really a game, but I fear it's only a matter of time. They're pretty smart.

In other news, I had my ultrasound tonight and everything looks fine! Once again, you all were right. Though you all could have mentioned that at these early ones they do it vaginally. Wasn't prepared for THAT. Luckily it didn't last long since apparently by the time you get to #3 your uterus has moved permanently up. Was that too much information?

And I am happy to report that there's only one in there. After throwing up in the shower last night (I highly recommend it - such easy clean up) - something I never did with Ironflower or Lovebug - I was afraid that all these excess hormones meant I was having twins. But apparently it just means that the third time's the charm. Or something like that.

In other baby'-related news, Leslie over at My Mommy's Place is having her little girl tomorrow. Stop by to wish her an easy time and continue stopping by until you read the guest post I did for her. I'm not sure when it will be up (or if, to be honest - I'm not that happy with it and I told Leslie I wouldn't be offended if she didn't use it) but her posts are great and I'm sure her other guests' posts will be awesome. Plus, there'll be newborn pictures!

Oh, and I apologize profusely if I haven't dropped by your blog much lately. I will be there soon, I promise.

You Know That Really Needy Friend? Always Demanding Support and Advice?

I am now her. Feel free to let the machine pick up.

For those of you givers still here, this is today's issue:

When did you first hear the baby's heartbeat?

Because I didn't hear it today. I will be ten weeks tomorrow and I heard Ironflower at nine weeks. I don't think this doctor was all that good with the doppler and she seemed to think it was too early but I am unnerved. She thought everything felt fine. But still.

Because I am old this time around (36! Call the gerontologists!), I get to have an ultrasound next Tuesday. So I have to wait until Tuesday to make sure everything is okay. Patience is not one of my virtues.

So please, please, tell me that you didn't hear heartbeats this early either and that everything was fine. Because I believe in you, internets. And I'm very, very, needy.

(Also, this time I get to have genetic testing. Wahoo. Anyone got any opinions on amnio? I don't know whether to risk the test or not. There's no history or anything. But now I'm over 35, that magic age when your eggs go crazy.)

Top Ten Signs That You're Pregnant

Well, the top ten signs that I'm pregnant, anyway.

10. Parmesan cheese is the most revolting food on the planet.

9. Except for fish.

8. And whatever the houseguests cooked for breakfast.

7. Watching A Baby Story has suddenly become somewhat entertaining.

6. Twelve hours of sleep is really not enough.

5. Nausea only stops when you're eating.

4. Obedience is a virtue that your children, husband and neighbors need to develop immediately.

3. Your chin looks like a small, mountainous country.

2. Nothing fits but yoga pants and fleece pullovers.

1. You desperately need ONE REAL DIET PEPSI, Tiger Balm for your sore shoulders, Zyrtec for your allergies, acne cream for your chin, a COLD club sandwich, some Brie and to dye your roots but you can't because you've read that all of these things will deform your baby.

(Er, if anyone has any stories of doing these things while pregnant and having a healthy baby, please share. )

PS - Thank you all again for your support and good thoughts. You all rock. Even if it takes me the next three weeks to catch up on your blogs, I will.

Haiku Friday - First Trimester

Nausea, exhaustion

all from a little round grape

I want my caffeine!

 

If the general first trimester yuckiness wasn't enough, this is the advice I got from my weekly pregnancy newsletter this morning:

Start a daily ritual to connect with your baby. Diane Sanford, a clinical psychologist who focuses on pregnancy and postpartum adjustment, encourages women to set aside two five- to ten-minute periods a day to think about their baby. Just after waking up and before going to sleep works well for many expectant moms. During these times, sit quietly and gently rest your hands on your belly. Focus on your breathing and then start thinking about your baby (your hopes and dreams, your intentions as a parent, etc.). It's a great way to initiate the bonding process and to help you plan for the kind of parent you want to be.

I hate advice like this. And had I read this crap when I was pregnant with Ironflower, I would have felt so guilty. At that time, I was working. I fell asleep as soon as I got into bed and rolled out when the alarm went off for the third time in the morning. Sure, I chatted with her when I drove to work and at other points in the day, but I never sat quietly and focused on my breathing while thinking about her. It's just not my way. I chat with the Grape (that's this week's fetus size) often, too. But when I have a chance to sit quietly, I'll be sleeping, thanks.

 

But what about "initiating the bonding process"? Give me a break. This makes the bonding process sound all complicated, like it's something you have to work at. Granted, there are people who take longer to bond with their babies than "normal", but it's still something that just happens - it's not rocket science. And it happens even when a woman doesn't carry her child, so why stress out a woman in the first trimester with advice like this? (Though if you choose to do this, I'm not judging. Go right ahead, as long as it actually makes you happy.)

It Sounded Like A Good Idea. . .

I am a wimp.

I started a work at home job this week, doing some research and writing for a website-to-be. It's only 15 hours a week, so it's not like it's THAT taxing. Recently I also signed up to be an assistant organizer for our ENORMOUS playgroup and that inspired me to host a playdate. Which I did on Friday. After obsessively cleaning the first floor on Thursday. I also got the bright idea a few weeks back that we should get up early this morning for a trip on the Easter Bunny train. And right now I seriously feel like I haven't slept in a week.

The only reason I'm not vegging on the couch right now is that I promised the kids that they could watch Lazytown. And Sportacus creeps me out.

Anyway, I feel like such a wimp.

The playdate was fun. The kids were great about sharing their toys and being friendly. The bunny train was basically fun. Although Lovebug cried when approached by all the costumed characters (Easter Bunny, Snoopy, Sylvester and Tweety) and peed so much that it leaked onto my skirt (don't be impressed by the skirt wearing, all my real pants were dirty). Luckily I brought extra pants for him. And then Ironflower needed the potty, which was so revolting and dirty I almost threw up all over it. Then I used a Wet One to disinfect myself and got nauseous all over again (apparently NewBaby doesn't like the smell of Wet Ones). But my parents came too and took us out for a lovely lunch after.

But I feel like I just ran a marathon.

(I've been doing my "energy moves" every morning too - the ones that I got from Health magazine that seemed to be helping. Until today.)

Hubby and my mother contend that I can't be feeling so rotten from the pregnancy already. But I think it had better be the pregnancy, otherwise I've developed mono or something. Any thoughts?

(Some of you are probably thinking, "Dude, this is your THIRD pregnancy, don't you know?" Uh, no. With Ironflower, the feelings of crappiness held off until week 8. And with Lovebug I had no symptoms until he started kicking. )

The Latest Addition

Rather than answer you all through the comments, I'd thought I'd write another post. But first, thank you so much for your warm wishes and congratulations. I really appreciate them, especially since I'm still in shock.

Yes, this will be #3.

And no, we weren't trying. You could even say that we were actively NOT trying. But apparently we are very, very fertile.

We had left open the possibility of having a third someday down the road, when we were more financially stable. I guess "down the road" is relative, because it feels like we've only gone about a block. And honestly, we really didn't think we'd get to a point where we felt comfortable having another child. I guess it's a good thing we've got 35 weeks (or so) to get used to it.

Of course we will love NewBaby and of course s/he will have clothes and such. But once again I'll be scouring Craigslist and garage sales for baby stuff (having sold and given most of ours away already) instead of my imagined shopping sprees at BuyBuyBaby. And that's okay. I know NewBaby won't care.

To be honest, I'm pretty much swinging between excitement, fear (I won't have enough hands! We don't have enough money!) and nausea. I guess that's normal, right?

Wordless Wednesday - Surprise!

Check out my new ticker.

A Public Service Announcement from Jerseygirl89

Most people know not to utter racial or sexual slurs, at least not in public. Most people refrain from insulting people's looks or fashion choices to their faces. Most people understand the rules of civilized society.

But for some reason they think that those rules don't apply to pregnant women.

"You're so big!" they say with a smile. "Are you having twins?" they ask sweetly. "Looks like you're having a linebacker!" they exclaim cheerfully.

Would they say those things if someone was just fat? I think not.

I am short. And what little height I do have is in my legs. The space between my hip bone and my bottom rib fits nothing larger than a four month fetus. So when I was pregnant, I went from barely noticeable to needing maternity clothes very quickly. And then I had good-sized babies. So by the end of each pregnancy I was a freaking HOUSE. And I knew this. I mean, it's hard not to notice when you've turned into such a water buffalo that half of your maternity clothes don't fit.

Yet people still felt compelled to comment on my size. And I was too exhausted (I actually got more sleep after my babies were born that I did for the final months of my pregnancies) and too emotional (pregnancy hormones and all) to react properly. Because all I would say is, "Yeah, I know, right."

So, essentially, I let those rude people get away with disrespecting me. So, to those of you who are currently pregnant, DON'T LET THEM DO IT.

Here are some appropriate responses:

1. Did you just call me fat?
2. My baby and I are healthy, thank you so much for inquiring.
3. You're so tall/short/fat/thin/old!
4. Bless your heart, you're so rude.
5. Are you trying to hurt my feelings, or are you just stupid?
6. It's okay to keep some thoughts to yourself, you know.
7. The doctor says I'm as big as I'm supposed to be.

And for all of you who feel compelled to make comments about pregnant women's sizes, SHUT UP.

This has been a Public Service Announcement brought to you the SO BIG Pregnant Women's Foundation of America.

Blessed

I just discovered a wonderful blog called Stirrup Queens and Sperm Palace Jesters. It deals with infertility, pregnancy loss and adoption and is an amazing resource for people going through those challenges. The sidebar has the longest blogroll I have ever seen, filled with blogs talking about people's struggles to become parents. As I read it, checking out a few blogs here and there, it was all I could do not to run upstairs and kiss my children. (Which would have woken them up, so I didn't. Barring natural disasters and other dangers, there's no way I'm waking them up. Because while I may be feeling joy at their existence, they would be feeling annoyance at being woken up and instead of a touching scene of love and cuddling, there would be tears and crankiness.)

I did not have Ironflower until I was 33. Not super late, but not exactly early, either. And I thought I would have trouble conceiving her. Because I was in my thirties. Because I was a smoker (I quit when I was pregnant - calm down). Because it seemed that all the mommies I knew had spent time "trying", charting their cycles and propping their legs in the air.

Instead, Hot Guy and I got lax about birth control. We were living together, engaged but not in any rush to make it legal. And surprise! Along came Ironflower. I spent the first trimester in a state of shock (when I wasn't too nauseous and tired to have any emotions at all, of course). I felt a bit like an impostor, not having even tried to get pregnant yet. But by the time she came along we were (sort of ) ready for her and for parenthood.

When Ironflower was 11 months old, we found out I was pregnant again. Four months pregnant. I hadn't had a regular cycle, what with the breastfeeding. My clothes were tight, but I'd attributed it to the chocolate I was eating to deal with the horrible conditions at work. The weird tummy flutterings? I assumed they were gas. Really. (I have ulcerative colitis and weird feelings in my tummy are pretty normal for me)

So I actually got pregnant with Lovebug while trying NOT to get pregnant. After the shock, and having to admit to the world that I was four months pregnant and HADN'T NOTICED, a whirlwind of activity began. Thus Lovebug was not forced to wear his sister's pink clothing or sleep in a purple butterfly bumpered crib.

But I began to feel guilty. Why had it been so damn easy for me? Why was I so blessed? I felt bad when talking to people who were struggling to conceive or adopt. I wanted to apologize, to say I'm sorry it was so easy for me. A little part of me always does.

But finally someone pointed out to me that if I wanted to feel guilty about something, I could also feel guilty about the fact that I get (more than) enough to eat, that I have a nice place to live, that I can walk, that crazy militias aren't roaming my town, that I don't live in a war zone. . . . . .

And so instead of feeling guilty about things I can't control, I'm working on feeling blessed. All the time, not just when I'm reminded of it. Even when Lovebug humiliates me in the grocery store, I am blessed. Even when Ironflower's whining makes me want to bang my head against a wall, I am blessed.