Stretch and the paint job

I have become stretched. Literally and figuratively. My stomach stretches out more than I have ever seen it and I'm not even halfway done. I have to tell myself that this is good, but the little bulimic in me is saying that I look like a cow. Maybe when it comes out a little more and looks more round and pregnant I will appreciate this look more, right now the small pop out looks to me like a beer belly. I'm somewhere in between looking pregnant and fat. I know a lot of women find it rude when people ask about your pregnancy but I really enjoy it. I'm always happy to hear they could tell I have a baby in there and I'm not just a bunch of burgers and fried chicken coagulating.

 I don't normally care about celebrities but now I have a lot of sympathy for Kim Kardashian as I remember all the tabloids blasting her weight while she was pregnant. I thank the universe that there isn't paparazzi following me around snapping unflattering photos and announcing the existence of my "elbow fat" to the whole entire world. On the upside my nails are long, sturdy, and look better than they ever have. 

As far as the figurative stretch I am being pulled so thin between human making, work, moving, and school. I'm considering leaving work since I have a lot of other things to focus on and the extra $150 weekly (my hours have been cut drastically) just isn't worth the mental and physical strain. I try to take care of things as need be, then forget about them when they're not in front of me, and move on with whatever needs to be done next. If I actually saw it all laid out before me on a planner I might cry. Whatever, it could be worse. I could be walking 5 miles through jungle to a river bank infested with piranhas to get myself some drinking water. Women still have children in places like that, I shouldn't be so spoiled to think I deserve an easy ride.  

Today we painted the room that will be ours out at Bruce's house. It was a nice surprise to be able to paint. I read my last blog to Joshua, although he was happy that I could find upsides to this whole moving situation I guess he also felt a little hurt that we should be uprooting instead of nesting. To remedy that, he decided we could paint. The room we are moving into was his childhood bedroom. As a little boy he was given the honor of picking the paint color and carpet color. He chose paint in blue and carpet in green, like the sky and the grass. As adorable as that is, and neat in theory, it was absolutely hideous. So today, we covered it with this lovely shade Valspar Satin: Pillow Talk. 

As the cornflower blue began to disappear under layers of pillow talk I began to think about the future. Will the dusty-gold person I am today be covered by a pale shade of mom? I know kids change everything, and I know I will change but will I still be the same at all? Will I still laugh in delight at gore and horror movies? Can I still wear my weed shirt or will people shake their heads in disgust instead of saying "hey nice shirt!" Will I still feel cool and edgy while I listen to MSI, even if I'm holding butt-ointment  and sporting a vomit stain? To put it short: I like who I am and I am afraid to change. I don't want to start reading dirty romance novels or bore my friends with talk of what my child spit-up that day. Can you be yourself while also being a good mom? I hope so. 

Goodnight!

Uprooting:nesting::destroying:creating

For the last few days both good and bad luck have befallen our family. We have the option to live somewhere rent free which will save us a considerable amount of money, but that means we have to pack everything up and move again during this pregnancy. This place we are moving to is out in Micanopy, which is great because I hate Gainesville like Westboro Baptist hates sanity. Currently, he is in physical rehab after a surgery and he has given us the O.K. to clear out a room and move things around how we need. The problem is I'm a little anxious about moving around (and throwing away) stuff belonging to someone who is not present so I don't have the option of asking "do you need this pile of plywood? Or this faded print of some ducks? What about this inner tube cover?" Nerve wracking decisions to be made. Anyway, living here will give us a chance to save up money and get our own house out here, but in return we are going to be pseudo nurses as he recovers from a hip surgery.

I'm not entirely sure how I feel about this right now. I used to really like this Crass song "Big A Little a." The song is essentially a reminder that you are in control of your own life and you are able to change whatever situation you find yourself in. Lately I believe that's not entirely true. Sometimes you just have roll with circumstance and do something excruciating right now to make tomorrow a little easier. (If only I had thought of that out of high school and went to college instead of party, travel, and bum around! LOL I COULD BE DONE BY NOW!) I want to do like all preg. women and paint and set up a cute baby room, buy some stuffed animals it won't be able to use for a few years and put up wooden letters that spell out it's name in case it forgets, you know normal mom things. Instead I am moving a stockpile and taking apart a home gym while sweeping bug carcasses and cobwebs from what will be our room. I'm not thrilled about this but the money says we don't have a choice and I figure I will do as I do best and just deal with it. Even when we told the landlady that we had to break lease she wasn't upset, not only because she is an angel, but because she said she knew that we couldn't afford to stay there. Well goodbye Duckpond, it was nice pretending to be rich!

More on the positive side of things, we have already cleared out what will be our room and we don't have too much stuff to bring over. Also Bruce has a really nice marmalade cat named Walter and our small tuxedo cat, Memphis, gets along with him famously. We actually got our big cat, Djinn, after moving out of Bruce's house and watching Memphis cry room to room searching for Walter. We thought a cat pal would put him in a better mood, but the thing with cats is no two are alike and instead of bringing home a new buddy, we brought home a big fat bully. So at least Memphis will be happy to be reunited with his bestbud and Djinn will now have 2 little nerds to pick on.
Bruce likes a lot of the same things we do. He has a decent sized garden in the backyard with tomatoes, squash, peppers, and green beans. It will be a lot of fun to help care for it and plant some things of my own. The yard itself, though littered with rotting tarps and rusted junk, is pretty spacious and after some work it will be nice to have an outside space to enjoy. At our apartment we are welcome to use the landlady's yard but she has three dogs, one of which is a vicious mongrel that snarls and barks like it's waiting to bite me in the ass. This dog is ironically named "Sugar," I think "Cayenne" would be more appropriate, maybe "Cumin" cause I hate it.

Bruce also likes to dabble in oil painting, something I have just started last half semester at Santa Fe. Maybe he can teach me some techniques and let me use a few of his supplies? This house is also better suited to creative-type mess-making. I haven't been painting too much in the apt. for fear of ruining everything.

Everything will be O.K.!
Stay tuned.

Time Traveling

I really wish I had started this blog earlier because telling the tale from the second trimester it seems like my life hasn't been affected all that much. I can relate to you the horrors and trials of the first trimester, but I'm afraid it won't be as genuine as if I was still experiencing it. Anyway I will do my best.

As I expressed in the previous blog I took the positive pregnancy test with a few heaping scoops of doubtfulness and protective cynicism. At the time I found out I was actually trying to plan my wedding. Just as there is a lot to plan and consider during pregnancy, I could've made a whole blog dedicated to wedding planning. Perhaps it would've helped as my plans never seemed "right." I love my family, I really do, but at times it seemed like we could never see eye-to-eye. Wedding planning was one of those times. When I chose a small venue at a nice place my parents insisted that distant relatives would be crushed if not invited, they scoffed at the price, and attempted to steer me to a dreary windowless courthouse closer to them. When I picked a large backyard location at my soon to be father-in-laws house you could see see the disgust behind their pursed lips, and the way they said "oh yeah ok this is nice" like their words were saturated with lemon juice. Anything I liked just wasn't good enough and I began to feel extremely exhausted with the whole process. The lovely dream in my head of people outside with me, all laughing and drinking, streamers and lights hanging from old oaks, flowers in my hair and a beautiful hi-low dress, it dried up like wet footprints in the Florida sun. Then I became pregnant and that dream was replaced with another, one where Joshua and I have a healthy child, and in the future that child will be there to participate in the wedding.

Today, the wedding is still on hold until the distant future. Of course after the pregnancy announcement there was all kinds of clever talk like "why did you postpone the wedding! If anything you should've moved it up!", "it's not expensive to sign the paper, just go to the courthouse!" and "haha you are supposed to wait until after you get married!" Well folks, this is my life and there is no road map, I take things as they come and that's the way it is. Why they believe I should just get the paper signed is beyond me, like our baby will be any less loved or cared for because we aren't courthouse official. To suggest that I just go ahead and get the paper is robbing me of the wedding experience. If you know me, you know I don't give a rat's ass about the courthouse or legal issues, the ONLY important thing IS the ceremony! The celebration! The memory created at such a monumental time. I'd even have a ceremony and NOT sign any paper. To push a hurried and unceremonious wedding on me during pregnancy is just disgusting.

Anyway, I got a little off-topic there. When I found out, I forgot all about the wedding planning and began to tentatively get the ball rolling on this whole pregnancy thing. At that time, Joshua was the only other person on earth who knew about it. I had decided I wouldn't tell a soul beside him until I knew the cell clump wouldn't kick it, that way in case of failure I could avoid the sickening chorus of "not your time! god blah blah! For the best..." So without any aid from real, more adulty-type adults I delved into government assistance and got accepted into WIC, foodstamps, Medicaid, and MomCare. I made an appointment with a midwife at North Florida Regional Medical Center and everything seemed to be going ok. In retrospect it might have been more wise to get real adults involved because I was not aware that I was still covered by my mom's rich people health insurance and now I have an $800 backlog of copays which I will never be paying and I can't use my medicaid only that shit which I can not afford :3 So I guess the moral of that is no matter how clever and put together you are, you still have to communicate with adult types. One way or another the world will have to say "I told you so, this is for the best!" Ugh I was so proud too. Couldn't I just have this? T^T

My first trimester was like holding in a horrible secret with no rewards for your diligence. You know you're pregnant but no one else does so no one is excited for you and you don't have the bump as proof. you have nothing but nausea.  I hid my exhaustion and morning sickness from coworkers, friends, and family while still being hounded about wedding plans, attending school, working full-time, and moving into a new place. I spent all of my spare time watching a gruesome crime show about people being kidnapped and murdered while mumbling under my breath about never letting my future child leave the house, I would always fall asleep and welcome nothingness as I never dream during naps.

I really have to give Joshua major good-boy points and an unlimited supply of chicken tennies because without so much as a second thought he began to work thrice as hard at the job and at home. I really also have to give my respects and astonishment to single mothers because I don't think I would've been able to survive this time on my own. Joshua moved our entire household by himself (save the fishtank, my family helped with that), began cooking meals regularly for me (despite the fact that nausea had made me a picky customer), and kept the house in the kind of working order I thrive on. I remember one time after coming home from Santa Fe a horrible, stomach churning smell greeted me at the front door. As I stepped inside, Joshua beamed at me from in the kitchen. "I made you dinner! I think this is my best curry yet!"  My heart sank. I love his cooking and I always try to be grateful and supportive of anything he does but at this time there was NO WAY that I could eat that stuff. Trying my very best not to be salty, I put on a stone solid poker face and make a little bowl. After one or two bits I nearly gagged so I sighed "I'm sorry, I just can't do this. It's too strong and it's gonna make me barf everywhere."  I expected him to be mad, after all a good curry is a lot of work and he did do it special for me. However he was more than understanding and even whipped me up a small alternative dish (which I have forgotten.) That night I knew I could count on Joshua to be there for me through this trying time as my unshakable foundation and ever-understanding near-husband type. He has been ever since.

The pregnancy beans got spilled one day at work when I was vomiting uncontrollably. I would run out of the building unannounced every fifteen minutes to barf in a trashcan outside and as I continued in this fashion I began to see my manager's face darken like she was getting ready to blow up on me for stepping out so much. Outside gasping through gags while doubled over a smelly trashcan, I decided it couldn't go on and I had to let her know. It seemed such an awkward thing to tell someone so it came out as a breathless run-on. "sorryIdidn'twanttotellyoulikethisbutIcan'tstopvomitingsoIthinkyoushouldknowthatI'mdoingitbecause.......I AM PREGNANT!" I gasped for air then stood there silently before her for some reason expecting a roar of anger. She responded with "oh shit! Well congrats, that's cool as fuck!" Later that day I ended up in the ER because the vomiting never stopped and it had never been that bad before. Turned out I had a case of Gastroenteritis.

In my first trimester I was fated to visit the ER once more, this time for a serious migraine causing more vomiting so I was unable to keep anything down for two days. Through this I learned that I really enjoy getting saline drip IV's.

That's all I have to say about that. Till next time.

"In the beginning God created man..."

Well not really. In this story, the beginning was really an end.
It's not entirely true to say that this is my first pregnancy. I was briefly pregnant once before and it resulted in a miscarriage. I will never forget the stabbing pains and the messy crimson blood, being left alone in a hospital bed to wonder what was happening to me and my cell clump. By the time I was taken back for an ultrasound the little thing had already evacuated and I was let back into the world. I wondered why this had happened to me instead of someone else. Everyone I knew who had gotten pregnant had beautiful children with no complications, why was it that I had a traumatic experience instead? Well anyone who has access to Google knows that many women experience miscarriages, usually the cause is something as simple as a few messed up cells making the thing unable to survive and that's the way it goes. But just because you understand the science doesn't mean you feel any better about it. The worst part was people forcing sympathies on me. All kinds of useless, thoughtless, and heartless anecdotes meant to make me feel better or explain why it happened. "You just weren't ready." "It wasn't time yet" "God has a plan" A whole assortment of garbage from the mouths of my friends and family. It's no wonder I decided to withdraw.

For five years I didn't consider myself a woman. What good is a woman who is unable to bring life into the world? That's what we were designed for, but to fail at it made me feel like I was just a wraith. A meaningless occurrence, here on earth for no particular reason other than working dead-end jobs to afford a meager life till I decide to kill myself and end the monotony. In retrospect I guess I was being dramatic, but that's how I honestly felt. Anyway, five years later with the right man in the right place I became pregnant again. This is where we are today. If I didn't tell that back story you may not understand my lack of excitement. I'm thrilled yes, but only experiencing failure on my first attempt, I am hesitant to let myself feel elation. Until the baby is here, in my arms and doing well, I am withholding a lot of the giddiness that often accompanies most first-time mothers. Today I am 4 and a half months pregnant. Past the risks of miscarriages but I'm still wary of a stillbirth. The thing is I can't imagine being a mother. Usually when I can't imagine something ever happening, it doesn't happen but perhaps I can't imagine it because there is nothing like it and I won't know until it happens. Either way, the previous miscarriage has made me very morose through this pregnancy and at this point I wish I could just relax and be happy. All of my blood tests have been pretty good, despite high white blood cell count, all of my previous ultrasounds and heartbeats have been good, all screenings clear of any genetic mishaps, I'm active and feeling well in my second trimester so WHY can't I just stop worrying?  Maybe because this is what mothers do for their entire lives, worry.

I worry about a healthy birth almost as much as I worry about stillbirth. WHAT THE HELL DO WE DO NEXT? It's easy when you think vaguely about the essentials. A baby needs to poop, eat, be bathed, and sleep. So we need a crib, a working pair of ta-tas (hopefully mine will do), a plastic tub in the kitchen sink, and some diapers. Not too bad. Then we actually went to Toys R Us and looked at the baby stuff. "A crib" becomes double-decker convertible crib with 3 tier drawers and covered changing station, "working ta-tas" becomes million-dollar milker machine with dual suction and 3 suction speeds, warming bags, ergonomic bottles, and carrying case, "plastic tub" becomes baby's first luxury spa with massage jets and handheld shower head with 5 adjustable settings (why the hell does a baby need a massage anyway? Are they stressed out from all the sleeping, eating, and general relaxing they do?) and "poop catching butt bags" (diapers) come in so many variations I don't even know what to do. A lot of this baby stuff  has so many unnecessary frills I don't even know where to start. The best we can do is discuss what we want and what we don't want, do a little research, then make the purchase and see how it works in our family. As for the money to afford all this junk, I may just have to get my pregnant ass up on the pole!

So here ya go kids, here's how my pregnancy is going. Stressful, stressful. stressful.

The best I can do is take it one day at a time and tell myself that babies have been born and raised just fine before any of this junk was even invented. (How did your grandparents even survive being newborns without their "baby's first luxury spa?") We will find economic, environmentally conscious ways to give this baby what it needs.We are loving and hardworking, as a team you will never meet a closer couple, it's the biggest challenge yet but I'm sure Joshua and I can do it.
(besides jobless, lazy, welfare queen, knuckleheads have kids all the time, why not regular type knuckleheads?)