Six Things I No Longer Worry About in Pregnancy

I was obsessed with a lot of stupid things when I was pregnant with my son.  How stupid?  See the list of things I'm no longer concerned about and judge for yourself.

My belly button - I was such a total spaz about keeping an innie that I actually would poke my belly button for several minutes each day in an attempt to keep it in.  I never did pop an outie, but I can't really say if all my navel poking had anything to do with that outcome.  This time around, I just don't care what happens to my belly button because suddenly sporting an outie would hardly be the worst thing I've ever experienced.

Weight gain - I really obsessed over my daily eating while I was PG with my son.  I credit that attention with keeping my weight gain to a sensible 27-pounds.  You know, I have totally given up any worries about weight this time around and am only eating while following my body's cues of hunger and fullness.  I'm also only listening to my body when it comes to what I eat - with the exception of looking for calcium wherever I can handle it.  Guess what?  I've gained significantly fewer pounds at this point in pregnancy than I did before.

Stretch marks - I didn't get a single stretch mark on my body during pregnancy and that's great, but I did end up with a roadmap of stretch marks on my breasts once my boobs finished growing and breastfeeding began.  Those stretch marks used to bug me, but I stopped caring about them when I realized that the only reason I had them is because my breasts grew so heavy with the milk that nourished my baby.  I'm proud of what my breasts did and the stretch marks are just a souvenir of a very special time.  I'm not saying that I want stretch marks from pregnancy, but I'm not particularly concerned about them either.

Hairy breasts - I don't have dog tits or anything, but sometimes I do get a few of these weird dark hairs around my areolas.  I suppose it's a hormonal thing because it's not really a problem when I'm not PG.  I used to be mortified by those hairs (as if I walk around topless all the time and everyone can see them or something), but find that simply plucking them out is a solution that easily works.  And I guess that I don't really care about random hairs now since I just admitted to having them on a public site.

Acne - I suffered with severe acne as a teenager/young adult and it's a big deal to me when I get even a single pimple.  I felt so horrible about the occasional breakout that I'd experience while pregnant that I'd have rather gained an additional 27-pounds of pregnancy weight than have another zit.  I don't know if I can thank the progesterone or what, but I have a raging case of bacne right now (with a few facial pimples thrown in for god measure) and it's not that big of a deal because, let's face it, a few zits is hardly the end of the world.

Childbirth - I've previously detailed that a drug-free vaginal birth is like my personal holy grail.  I felt like a failure for YEARS not achieving that outcome when I delivered my son.  I changed my feelings toward my son's birth a few months ago in the wake of my failed natural miscarriage and I realize now that I just don't care how my children are born as long as they are born healthy and I am able to care for them.  Cut out or pushed out, I just don't care.


Have I mellowed out because I'm older?  Because I tried so hard to get pregnant?  Or because it's old hat when it's the second, third, or forth time around?  I don't know.  I just find myself thinking about things that I feel matter more than these.  You know, things like fetal heartbeats and the like.

What things did you worry about in pregnancy?  Did you worry about any of these things?  Did you find your concerns were lessened in subsequent pregnancies?

Not So Inspired Today

I woke up feeling an odd sense of dread.  I'm 10w2d pregnant and this is the exact point that I learned my last baby had died last January.  I can't help but run to the restroom to check out every drop of moisture down below, which means I'm always in the restroom since I'm still on the twice daily progesterone regimen and it feels that there's always something wet in my britches.

I finally put my fears about this pregnancy aside and was enjoying a good day.  I received a phone call late this afternoon/early this evening that completely ruined my day and spiked my blood pressure through the roof.  I'm furious that I received such a phone call in the first place and I'm doubly furious that I received it on what is such a high-tension day for me.

I had a blog post that I was prepared to write, but I'm working on my desktop computer (which I hate using) as my laptop won't boot up for some dang reason.  That's just freaking wonderful because I'm apparently made of cash. . .at least, I gather that's the perception that some people have.  Those who know me know that's not true at all and I'm actually very careful with money. 

My financial health is neither here nor there.  At the moment I'm far more concerned about my emotional and physical health.  To be more accurate, the health of my baby and the condition of my heart.  Not the heart that pumps blood throughout your body, the heart that is the seat of your emotional health.  I feel hurt and disgusted and concerned and, as a result, I'm just not very inspired at all to write the blog post I had planned.

Hm, it would appear that I had far more to write than I anticipated.

Joy + Fear = ?

Have you ever really wanted to say something (shout it from the rooftops, really), but were afraid to do so because you don't want to jinx it somehow?  I'm in that spot at the moment.  I know exactly what I want to write, but I'm afraid to be bold.

I tried to come up with another topic to blog about, but this one is all I can think about at the moment.  I find it interesting that my joy and my fear are woven together in such a perfectly seamless tapestry of emotion.  I can't feel one emotion without the other and that's frustrating to me.  I want to only know the joy, but experience has taught me to know the fear as well.

Until I find the courage, the strength, to say what I want, know that there's something brewing over here.  Something big, something special, something marvelously wonderful.  Something I just can't bring myself to write about at this moment.

Toddler with a 'Tude - Part II

Toddlers are a funny bunch.  They clearly want to be big kids, but they cling to the babyhood that they are still experiencing.  They sport the mercurial attitudes of teenagers with limited communication ability.  Of course, there are many times that I'm thankful my son can't quite bust out the, "you have to let me learn from my own mistakes" line of bull - not to mention the other nonsense that teenagers are so fond of saying.  They may not have the crazy hormones that fuel most teen angst, but they certainly have out of control emotions and a decided lack of impulse control.

My son has really been upset by the events of the last several weeks (I think it started when I was battling such severe morning sickness) and he's having trouble expressing himself.  The easiest way to get attention?  Act out, of course! 

It started with potty accidents.  The kid has been potty trained for nearly a year and he started having potty accidents out of the blue.  At first, I chalked it up to not wanting to miss any fun with his friends.  Then I noticed that he'd have accidents any old time even if nothing particularly fun or exciting was going on.  He's improved dramatically over a several week period and even goes #2 all by himself these days (I still wipe him though), but he's still not 100% again.

Then he started asking for things he hasn't done in ages.  A couple of weeks ago, he began to snuggle up to me and ask if he could take his nap in the pouch.  I ordinarily wouldn't mind letting him do so, but we've had so many sleep difficulties that I wasn't willing to get him used to being worn for naps again.  I'd remind him that his bed is for sleeping and the pouch is for riding in when Mama wears him and that seemed to satisfy.  By the way, I've learned why he refuses to sleep in his toddler bed.  He says the twin bed is his bed, but that the toddler bed is a "baby bed." 

He's also started playing with toys that he hasn't played with in ages.  He protested when I packed up baby toys and convinced me to let him keep a "baby caterpillar" that he last touched when he was less than a year old.  He's been playing with that dumb toy for weeks now and shows no sign of boredom with it.  He  rejoiced when he recognized the cloth "baby diapers" that I unpacked for the baby.  Yeah, I kinda jumped the gun there, didn't I?

Weirdest of all, he's developed (or redeveloped) a desire for nursing.  He was weaned a long time ago and he still has a strange fascination for boobs (he's either too young or too old for this, right?), but he hasn't tried to cop a feel in a long time.  He crawled up to me the other night and immediately started sucking on my breast through my shirt.  My milk dried up months ago, but he was totally trying for it.

I pulled him off my breast and gave him a hug.  I told him that he'll always be my sweet boy and offered him big boy milk in a cup.  He gladly accepted the milk, but wanted to sit on my lap and be cuddled like a baby while he drained his cup.

I've tried to give him love and understanding, but my buttons are being pushed every single day and I find myself wondering if I can take it until he's old enough to go to pre-school.  I worry that one more shriek or defiant "NO!" will send me over the edge.  And that's not even getting into the daily battles over stupid things like not screwing with curtains and blinds or to stay out of the fridge and the pantry.

I know that this is just a temporary phase, but it's really been getting old since I've been housebound.  Does anyone have any suggestions to keep my sanity?  I'm tempted to flout my driving restrictions just so I can get the heck out of this house. . .of course, I won't because I'm scared to death of the very real threat of a lawsuit should I actually get in an accident when I shouldn't be driving.  Dangit!  Only a little more than week left and I can rejoin civilization.

Anecdotes Are Not Science

It seems to me that society is much more wary of western medicine than it was even just a few short years ago.  Perhaps it's because we are less prosperous and can't afford it as easily so we choose not to value it?  Maybe it's because we have gained incredible amounts of information via the internet and we figure that our Google research is just as good as an educated doctor's opinion?  Is it simply that fear-based marketing is  more effective than actual science at whipping the masses into a frenzy?

Something persuaded me to revisit my stance on vaccines.  Unlike Thomas Dolby, who was handicapped by science, I was blinded with the crazy on the internet.  There seems to be a severe lack of understanding of how vaccination works, particularly as it relates to herd immunity, efficacy rates, and what passes for scientific evidence. 

Ordinarily, I don't worry about how other people raise their children.  I may think that breast is best, but I don't really care if you choose to use formula from the first feeding session.  I may think that it's unnecessary and potentially unhealthy for young infants to have any solids, but I don't really care if you believe a bit of cereal makes your baby sleep through the night.  I may think that vaccines are the greatest accomplishment for the good of all mankind (and there were a lot of accomplishments!), but I don't care if you are willing to risk your child's safety by eschewing vaccines.

Ha!  Just threw that last part out there to see if you were paying attention.  Yes, I do care if other parents vaccinate their children because their personal choice may negatively impact my child.  That's how vaccination works.  If the full herd isn't immunized, the herd has chinks in it's armor against pretty horrible illnesses.  Did you get that?  Every unvaccinated person offers the potential for deadly diseases to sweep through society.  Every time that you choose not to get a booster, that illness has a chance to overwhelm your immune system.

I know what you're thinking, "But if you're vaccinated, why do you care?"  Glad you asked!  That's where an understanding of efficacy rates comes into play.  Very few things offer 100% guarantees and vaccines are not an exception.  That's why it is even more important that everyone gets their shots.  If everyone is immunized, an 80% efficacy rate isn't that big a deal because the illness is highly unlikely to gain a foothold and spread.  Those unvaxed folks, well, their super-awesome immune systems (and they all claim to have one) don't exactly stop a virus from reproducing and spreading.

If you're thinking that these diseases aren't all that deadly, I have to say that the vaccines have worked altogether too well.  No one remembers the days when children were disfigured, permanently crippled, or killed by illnesses we immunize against.  We eradicated smallpox.  We have the technology to eradicate so many more of these horrible viruses.

Ignorance is one thing, but submitting anecdotes and claiming they are science is far worse.  I've read some heartbreaking stories of perfectly wonderful little children who received some shot and were dead just days later.  That's sad and that's a shame.  But that does not prove that a shot is the reason for the child's death.  To say otherwise is disingenuous at best and it would be like me saying that Five Guys killed my brother.  He never ate there before, but he ate there the day before he died.  So, therefore, Five Guys is the reason my brother died.  Doesn't really make sense, does it?  Guess what?  It's also not scientific evidence.

Perhaps you are saying, "But all of these diseases aren't that bad; you had chicken pox and you ended up fine."  Yes, I did have chicken pox.  I was lucky to have it as a young child because it is far more debilitating for adults.  I missed a week or so of school and I was fortunate that I didn't end up with any scars from the horribly itchy blisters.  However, my bout with chicken pox also means that I can get shingles later in life.  See, the varicella-zoster virus (the same one that causes chicken pox) still lives somewhere around my spinal cord, as it does for all who have suffered chicken pox.  Years from now, that virus can somehow reactivate and result in shingles.  Do you know about shingles?  I've known two men who have suffered bouts of shingles and both swear it was impossibly painful.  As a bonus, through part of the outbreak, you can infect others so that they can then get chicken pox.  Hm, do I vaccinate my son against a harmless virus like little ol' chicken pox or do I let him succumb to a virus that can kill him and that might potentially reactivate in a spectacularly painful fashion many years later?

Unvaccinated people are society's parasites.  I don't mean that as an insult, I mean it in the most literal sense.  They are enjoying good health thanks to the actions of others.  I believe that, like paying taxes and obeying the law, getting your shots should be included in the price to live in a civilized society.  However, I don't run the country (yet!) so my thoughts on the matter really don't matter.  Parents are free to opt out of vaccinations and put their children at risk.  Unfortunately, their choice also puts my child at risk.

I don't always agree with their conclusions, but Penn & Teller did a Bullsh*t episode on vaccines that you might find interesting.  Enjoy!

No Five Guys for This Gal

I'm not exactly superstitious, but I do get crazy notions from time to time.  Here's a crazy notion for you:  My husband suggested that we might eat lunch at Five Guys the other day.  For those of you not in the know, I guess Five Guys is giving In N Out a run for their money as the best fast food burger.

At the mention of Five Guys, I whipped my head around, eyes wide, "No!"

Before the poor guy could make a comment, I continued, "My brother ate at Five Guys one day and he died the very next day."

My husband was nonplussed and finally asked mildly, "Do you think that Derek died because he ate at Five Guys?"

I replied that I didn't know, but I do know that I will never eat a Five Guys burger.

Irrational?  Yes, I suppose.  My brother died of aortic dissection, not a bad burger.  Is my refusal to eat at Five Guys somewhat justified?  In my opinion, yes.  Five Guys burgers may not have been the reason my brother passed away (okay, I know they aren't), but I would never be able to eat there because I'd remember that it's where he ate the last time he dined out.

Sorry, Five Guys, I'll be sticking with In N Out.

My Biggest Fear

Some people fear public speaking above anything - even above death! As someone who likes having an audience in her hands, I find that hard to believe, but okay. Personally, I'm terrified of death. I'm not afraid of what will happen to me when I die, I'm remarkably unconcerned about that, but I am afraid of what will happen to my husband and my son. Being separated from my family is my biggest fear and I don't want to leave my husband to raise our son all alone. I'd imagine all parents have the same fear.

When my son was about 7-weeks old, I suffered migraines for a solid week. These weren't typical migraines. I mean, I can still find a way to function when my head hurts so bad that I can't function. No, these were much, much worse. One morning I woke up to discover that I couldn't intelligibly speak. I knew in my mind what I was trying to say, but I couldn't form the words and the only sound coming from my mouth was gibberish. I ultimately ended up totally losing the vision in one eye and losing most of the vision in the other eye. I was afraid that I was stroking out and thought that I might die, abandoning my sweet young son. But, no, they were just really horrible migraines. The good news is that the lochia finally stopped just days before the headaches began so at least I didn't have to deal with the baby, the pain (the c-section incision still hurt), and the crazy headaches while feeling like I was bleeding to death.

About a week ago, I told my husband that I'd want to follow him to the grave if anything happened to him, but I have an obligation to raise our son and that responsibility would keep me tethered here on Earth. I don't believe that I'd remarry because there is no way that I would ever find such a wonderful husband, or loving father for our son, ever again. I know it's important for boys to have a man around to emulate and I don't know how I would address that, but my son does have two uncles who leave nearby and I know that I'd be able to count on them when it comes to man-stuff that I just can't do or don't know about.

If anything happened to me. . .well, my husband didn't think that he'd remarry for reasons similar to mine. We're both 1-1 for marriages and the odds of experiencing another awesome relationship just aren't that great. I would want him to remarry though, I can't bear to think of him being lonely and sad. And I want my son to have a mother. I'd prefer it to be me, but if not, I would want him to have a loving step-mother.

Death comes to us all and you never really know when your time is up so it's best to make the most of the time you have. Be kind to your family, be generous with affection, let them know they are loved.

SCUBA = Stupid Crap Unless Being Attacked

We're celebrating Easter tomorrow with good friends who we haven't seen in far too long. They are a great couple who have had to suffer through the worst heartbreak I can ever imagine. I'm really looking forward to having some fun with them tomorrow.

I'm pretty open to new things. I'm willing to try damn near anything at least once. I'm even willing to try things that I know I won't like. Take SCUBA, for instance.

Our friends met while diving. He was a divemaster at the time and she was a student. Their story is pretty interesting and they enjoyed diving together for a long time. His son was my husband's diving partner. Our friend joined his son and my husband on the occasion of their last dive. . .

Anyway, I'm not really a fan of SCUBA diving. I kind of feel that I would have been born with gills if I was meant to breathe underwater. I don't even like to put my face in water; I won't even do that in the bathtub. But my ex-husband was really, really into diving, so I gave diving a shot.

What a freaking mistake!

Though I wasn't yet certified, he told me I should purchase all of my own gear. For those not in the know, SCUBA gear is freaking expensive. But he was hassling me, so I dropped a mint just to shut him the eff up.

Then we started taking classes. He was already certified, but he wanted to take the classes with me. He knew that I don't like my head submerged. He knew that I'm not very comfortable in open water; frankly, I'm not terribly fond of being in swimming pools either. He knew that death by drowning and death by fire are my two big fears. I'm also prone to sea-sickness. All in all, I'm not really someone who would enjoy diving. But I tried it.

Our classes were relatively uneventful, but Mr. Know-It-All sometimes would advise me to do something that ran counter to what our instructor said. Needless to say, I wasn't particularly comfortable with my dive partner disregarding what the instructor said to do. But whatever.

So we reached the point where we only had two dives left to do. Jerkoff swam away from me while I was, in my mind, being attacked by kelp. I finally found my way out and surfaced. I went back to the boat, wondering where A-hole was. When he finally saw fit to rejoin the group and board the boat, he had the nerve to say that he was in trouble and I was nowhere around to help.

I should repeat that he was already a certified diver; he'd been diving for years. He was very comfortable underwater. And, most importantly for the purpose of this story, HE SWAM AWAY FROM ME!!!

Years later, I still feel completely pissed at this. I have never felt so vulnerable in my life as I did in those frantic moments. Hearing my own heart pound in my head, sucking air down so fast that my tank was nearly empty by the time I boarded the boat.

Feeling attacked, I gave as good as I got. We created quite the spectacle. The other students averted their gazes or went below deck. Our instructor finally grabbed the two of us and took us aside. He chewed us both out for leaving our partner. Then he told us to straighten up before our final dive or there would be no final dive.

I took off my suit and went below deck. For me, there would never be another dive again.

Was I wrong? Perhaps. I just knew that I would feel uncomfortable with him underwater. I was sure that he would get behind me, close off my air, hold me down, easily overpower me, and drown me.

SCUBA. . .the only way I'll ever do it again is if my very life is in danger and it is my only escape.

Oh, and when we divorced, the creep kept all of my gear. Prick!