Saturday, January 15, 2011
Well, I haven't blogged in a while for fear of it turning into a screaming rant. Which it undoubtably will. Nick got to stay, and of course I am grateful with every fiber of my soul, but I'm in such a state right now that if he continues to breathe in the living room while I'm in it, I might run him over with the car. I'm irritable, irrational, annoyed, uncomfortable, huge, hungry, naseaus, sore, exhausted, unable to sleep- you name it, I feel it, probably once an hour. I cannot stand to be touched by anyone other than Warren, even a slight brush to my arm. I want to snuggle nonstop with Warren, and luckily, he seems to be in a really snuggly mood lately, so that works. I can't bend over, which is fine because I don't feel like picking up anyway. The floor is covered with cheerios and other crumbs and I honestly don't even care. At all. I'm not even interested in tv anymore. I just lay around watching the minutes tick by. If you're wondering, we have 372 hours left. That's 22320 minutes. That's a LOT of minutes.
Ugh. I had an appointment last week with Dr. No Personality, and I finally made it over two hundred. All that hard work with Weight Watchers and I feel like it was all for nothing. So I quit, and today I ate an entire 9x13 pan of brownies. I don't exercise anymore because I'm so hot when I walk outside, and when I get on the EFX my giant belly and significantly larger-than-I'm-accustomed-to boobs bounce too much. REALLY making me rethink my plans for a tummy tuck/boob job/lipo. I also don't exercise because I'm a big lazy slob. So I'll probably be two twenty when I deliver.
Incidently, I went to see The Fighter the other day and on more than one occasion they mentioned that Marky Mark weighs one hundred and sixty two pounds. That's forty pounds LESS than yours truly. I weigh forty pounds more than Marky Mark, with all his muscles and height and those abs....does that seem fair? Honestly? To outweigh Marky Mark?
Anyway, at my appointment, she scheduled my c section for the 31st, which I knew was a possibility, but I was still really upset about it. She said they only do it on Mondays and Fridays. I'm sorry, what?!?! I mean, I knew that this hospital wasn't exactly NMCP, but seriously, they only schedule sections twice a week? At Portsmouth, we delivered ten babies a DAY. TEN A DAY! THEN she continued to remind me of how much I can't stand her by saying that they already had an induction scheduled for that day, so there's a chance I can get bumped to the NEXT FRIDAY. As in Friday, Feb Fourth. My ACTUAL due date. Now, I realize that she's a great, unfailing Doctor of Medicine, and I'm just a lowly out of practice RN, but still, I sort of remember that the REASON you schedule someone's FOURTH C SECTION is to AVOID them going into labor, avoid them putting ANY stress on the weakened scar, avoid their uterus RUPTURING and killing both mom and baby. So no, I don't think it's acceptable that you can't handle an induction and a section on the same day. YOU USED TO WORK AT PORTSMOUTH!!!! YOU USED TO DELIVER TEN BABIES A DAY, WHAT THE HELL IS YOUR PROBLEM!!!
I really cannot stand that woman. I get to see my beloved Dr. Staben next time, and everyone better pray for EVERYONE else's sake that they don't change that appt and stick me with Dr. No Personality again. Because I'll kill her. I will literally end her life. I don't care if she does my surgery, but I will REFUSE to see her as an outpatient again, you can mark my words.
Even the kids are scared of me. They probably don't like not knowing if I'm about to yell or sob, so when I go in my room and lay down, they don't follow me. They sort of tiptoe around. It's like I'm one of those alcoholic mothers where the kids have to adjust their lives accordingly, know what I'm talking about?
My friend Brandi last night, from a very safe distance, said, very gently, that I've been a little moodier than she remembers from past pregnancies. And she's been with me for all of them, so she knows. SHE KNOWS. Nick doesn't know what he's talking about.
So that's why I haven't been blogging. I don't want to let my crazy lose on the world.
Want to know what I want more than anything else? What I'm craving above all else? I want to go to Target. I want to spread my purse out in a red cart, get a fountain diet Coke and a popcorn from the snack bar, and walk around Target with no kids. I want to look at all the stuff in the stationary department. I want to fill my cart with chewable motrin, Kleenex toilet paper, baked Cheetos, everything that I took for granted before and now miss more than anything else. I just want to walk around Target like I don't have a care in the world. Is that too much to ask? Seriously? I've been pregnant for 36 of the last 72 months. That's like half. That's not fair. I'm done. I am done. I hate this.
I cannot possibly last another sixteen days ya'll. So, we obviously know prayer works, because as I'm typing this, the USS Houston is under water somewhere and my husband is in the bathroom giving those nasty rotten kids their bath. So let's all get together and start praying. I know it's selfish, I know Daisy needs to stay in as long as she can to grow and develop and get some fat on those nasty chicken legs, but I'm done. I need to go into labor. Preferably, just my water breaking, no serious contractions, because I'm a little nervous about rupture. I read somewhere (google) that if your uterus DOES rupture, you only have like twenty minutes before the baby dies. So that's not what I'm looking for. Just my water breaking, and then a few noticeable contractions to get us all in gear. I can't help it. I just can't do this anymore.