Friday, January 30, 2015

Tummy Tuesday:: 30 Weeks

Right now, I am sitting here, laughing at myself.  I took what I thought were some reasonable photos....only to find out that there is a STAIN on my shirt. These are clothes I dug out of the "archives", so they all had to be washed before I wore them.  I am really sad to see that my cute little turtle neck from Victoria's Secret has one of those tricky stains that never comes out.  I am also really sad to admit that I am far too lazy to start taking a whole new set of pictures.  Unfortunately, that's not much of an option, as I am a little rounder/larger than I was when I took these photos a couple of weeks ago.

The funny part of all this is I have photo editing software.  Software that I have no idea how to use!  I have never been able to figure it out, but I felt oh so proud of myself for purchasing it on Amazon.  Hahahahaaa!  It's official.  I am OLD!  I remember laughing at my Daddy for buying all these gadgets and technology that he had no idea how to work.  He would have all of us trying to figure it out for him.  Nine times out of ten, he would have thrown away the instructions, thinking that "smart kiddos like us could just figure these things out" and teach it to him.  So funny that I am now in that boat, laughing at myself the same way I laugh at Daddy.  Talk about coming full circle!

Lesson Learned!  From now on, I will upload, preview, and edit on the spot instead of waiting weeks to see the photos I have taken.  Until then, you will have to laugh with me about the stain on my shirt and just have faith that all my clothes are 100% freshly washed and clean, as I am highly allergic to dust.

This week has been a hot mess and I have just been sitting around, laughing at myself all week.  Literally.  Seeing this stain is just icing on a very large cake-- Ha!  I have been emotional, stressed, exhausted, and I have fallen behind on all my plans, hence posting this Tuesday post on a Friday.

Over the weekend, The Hubs and I had an argument.  I was exhausted and needed some help with the housework and he didn't do it when I asked. Classic issue between men and women.  Women say, "Honey do..." and men hear "Do it when you feel like it..."  This week, I have been so tired and I have been having contractions, so when things don't get done, my crazy-preggo mind starts to panic.  Thankfully, I married a man who does really take seriously being able to care for his wife.  We talked about how unprepared we are and how I need the house to stay clean just in case something crazy happens.

I have these irrational thoughts about going into labor and coming home to a wild mess of chores.  And then I dream that my stitches come undone while I am cleaning my apartment with a baby hanging from my tit and my guts spill out.  OK, reading this now makes me laugh at myself because it's so absurd...horrific, but absurd.  Surely in real life, I would just take rest, right?  Seriously, I have problems!  I thought the crazy dreams stopped after the first trimester, but not this time for me.  This entire pregnancy has been about my crazy dreams.  I have been having so many horrible dreams about labor, delivery, and coming home to recover.  I explained these nightmares to The Hubs and we both agreed that I should take a maternity class or two to help with the nightmares.

To say that the maternity class was a bad idea is a huge understatement.  First, I was awake with insomnia until 5:30am and we had to get up at 8am to be ready to leave.  I didn't shower... I just figured if anyone wanted to know why I smelled like taco meat, I would blame it on the hormones.  I barely combed my hair.  If anyone asked, I would say the hormones make my hair particularly unruly and that it's unsafe for pregnant women to put their hands up.  There.  I had a plan for my slightly unkempt appearance.  The Hubs, mind you, was freshly shaved, showered, and in clean clothes.

Of course, I get to the class and I feel like a fool because every preggo there was dressed in cute winter maternity attire with their hair perfectly coiffed and full faces of make up on.  Even the women who you knew were otherwise sloppy humans brought their A-game that morning.  I'm sorry, but three hours of sleep isn't enough for me to bother with my appearance.

The nurse doing the class was awesome.  Then she stopped talking and put in a video.  The video was a little annoying.  It is 2015.  Why oh WHY are training classes still showing films from 1983?  I was BORN in 1983!  The Salt'n'Peppa asymmetrical curly bob hair cuts, the side ponytails, and the matching short suits with horrible prints and bows.  I was so distracted......... and then someone's vagina exploded.  Well, that woke me right up, didn't it?

Not only did I watch FOUR vaginal deliveries, placenta and all, but the man-child behind me had sound effects for each one.  He also made it a point to laugh as loud as he respectfully could at the fact that I was gagging, jumping, shaking, and covering my eyes.  I don't do anything medical, bloody, gruesome, or "too real".  Hell, I can barely pull off my own Band-Aids!  Yes, I have given birth.  Yes, my hubs was there.  Neither of knows what the hell happened.  We had a game plan:  DO NOT FUCKING LOOK DOWN!!!!!!!!!!  No matter what happened.  The nurse could have said I am birthing a great Asian water buffalo and we wouldn't have looked.

Long story short-- We weren't ready!  Thankfully, The Hubs wasn't as rude or childish as the man behind us.  He was clearly perturbed, however.  He lost all color in his skin and he was holding onto the armrests of his seat so tightly, you would have thought some invisible force was trying to suction him from his seat.  This class literally had the opposite effect!  It was supposed to make me feel better.  Instead, it brought flashbacks to the pain and everything I felt as my epidural wore off shortly before delivery.  Seeing The Hubs in that seat reminded me of his sweating profusely and begging me to get an epidural, likely so that he could handle the situation rather than worrying about my pain management.

I should have stayed for the rest of the class, but I was exhausted and stressed out.  I wanted a steak and to get as far away from that damn hospital as possible. So we went to a steakhouse and high tailed it home to sleep.

This week, I also got a mani/pedi.  I needed one so badly.  Several weeks ago, when handling the skin on my feet wasn't such a challenge, I used the PedEgg on my feet.  Unfortunately, I have been allergic to EVERYTHING I could moisturize my skin with, so I didn't put anything on after removing the rough skin.  Basically, my skin dried out and cut down to the core.  I totally can't see my feet anymore, and I no idea what was causing so much pain.  I just wandered about my on my tiptoes all day.  Finally, I figured it out.  After the cuts healed, I went to get a real pedicure and manicure.
The sweet old Asian lady spoke no English, but she got her point across as she made a huge deal about how neglected my hands and feet were.  I'd gotten a few pedicures in my day, but only 3 because I like to handle it myself.  I have never gotten a manicure.  I never will get another one again!  I needed it because I was getting witchy troll fingers with creepy nails growing all over and overgrown cuticles.  Mama Asia went a little hard on my fingers, and I am sure she cut off a piece of my hand at one point.  Rather than giving me a Band-Aid and letting me be, she smashed my fingers in some sort of Aikido death grip and then doused it in this acid rain potion.  I wanted to scream.  I didn't, but I totally peed my pants from the pain.  LOL!  Thankfully no one could tell.... or at least I don't think they knew, but they were all pointing and laughing at me throughout my entire procedure.  I would have laughed as well.  You would have thought that I was undergoing medieval torture during the manicure.  Never. Ever. Again.
For the rest of the week, I slept.  Like most of all day.  Between my allergies and my contractions and being constipated, I am too fatigued to do anything.  I promised my Little Darling I would  stay awake, and that's when it hit me that I never posted anything this week.  Whew!  I am feeling a little like the ultimate failure, but it is what it is.  I don't take myself or life all that seriously.  I clearly have no problems sharing TMI moments, my fears, and my setbacks.

I am not afraid to admit that, I was in the hospital during my prenatal appointment trying to twerk in the bathroom after finding out that I gained another 5 pounds and my uterus is finally measuring on time with my growing baby.  Yes, I twerk in happiness.  Why not?  I am not afraid to admit that I considered booty sex to alleviate my constipation, but then I managed to go on my own, which I totally celebrated by singing "The Hills Are Alive" from The Sound of Music in full voice throughout my entire time in the bathroom.  I am not afraid to admit that I really need maternity clothes at this point, but I only have two months left, so I am walking around my city with my baby guts out.  I am completely unapologetic about it and I laugh at myself along with those who point and chuckle at my poor wardrobe choices.  Life is too short to waste time on keeping up appearances and wallowing in embarrassment.

Have a great weekend!

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