Well hellllooooo nurse!

Animaniacs, anybody?

I have attempted to write on this here blog no less than eleventy-billion times this week but I just end up staring at a blank screen until I give up and go back to playing Mahjong. I haven't had the energy for anything and I'm generally apathetic about everything (except the bully situation my kid is dealing with at school - I've been obsessing about that and fantasizing about slapping said bully right upside the head eleventy-billion times for hurting my baby girl).

I don't want this to turn into the diary of a very complain-y lady blog so I'll spare you all of the details regarding the sickness that has kept me from being my usual cheery self (no comments from the peanut gallery) and until I'm feeling better this here blog will probably only see a new post once a week.

I'm pregnant and I know I'm not the first person in the world to be pregnant so there's no need to be all "woe is me" because that would be annoying. Let's just say that I am experiencing every symptom mentioned by the ladies in the beauty shoppe yesterday (where I got my hairs did and did very good job not gagging when the lady who smokes stood very close to me), in What to Expect When You're Expecting, and my BabyCenter week by week countdown. Plus I still have my mysterious rib/shoulder/left side pain that I'm dealing with on an almost daily basis.

Woe is me.

I have my first official prenatal appointment with the doctor that will be delivering our bundle of joy on Friday. I'm looking forward to another ultrasound picture. And also maybe an off work notice? A girl can dream, right?

I couldn't get through this without my family, especially my husband and my mom and the kid who have cleaned, cooked, delivered food and medicine, let me cry on their shoulder, and let me be generally bitchy without so much as a heavy sigh.

Only 3-5 more weeks of this per above referenced symptom guides above.

Hold me.

Hold all of us.

But mostly me.

Lock it up, ladies. Lock. It. Up.

I'm not doing so hot. Not in the least bit. In addition to my rib/shoulder pain, I have been hit with nausea so bad that it lasts all day and I can't go into the kitchen without gagging. I can't blow my nose without gagging. I can't go #2 without gagging. I can't go into the bathroom at work without gagging. I'm hungry but I don't want to eat. Nothing appeals to me. I'm cranky. I'm crabby. I'm whiny. I'm a hell of a lot of fun to be around right now. Did I mention that there is a lot of gagging going on? That's as far as it's gone because I talk myself out of actually vomiting. It's almost like a game. Baby: 0 Me: 1,047 but I fear that I may not make it to 1,048.

Needless to say, the funny has been sucked right out of me. I can't even make a "that's what she said" joke with good comedic timing. Très tragique.

That's why when my 12 year-old daughter came out of my bathroom, giggling, and wearing my red and black lace baby doll negligee while swinging around my bra that only has butterflies that cover the nipple-y area, I was only mildly amused. And embarrassed and mortified, of course.

Kid: Is this for making the baby?

Me: TAKE THAT OFF RIGHT NOW AND PUT IT BACK.

Kid: *LAUGHING HYSTERICALLY*

Me: RIGHT. NOW.

Kid: Ok, ok. But I live in this house and deserve an explanation.

Me: NOW. AND NO YOU DON'T.

Kid: Did you wear that on your honeymoon?

Me: STOP. NOW.

Kid: (calmly) Mom, you know you can tell me anything, right?

Me: Not this. Do NOT ever go into that drawer again.

Kid: Just be glad I didn't come out in the butterfly bra.

Me: Someday you will have a kid and I hope they do this to you.

Kid: They won't because I won't have stuff like this in my house. And if I do, I'll lock it up.

Thank every deity known in this world and and the next that she didn't find The Special Hat Box. Which, along with my lingerie drawer, will now be relocated into a brand new, state of the art safe.

I advise you to do the same with your special love things before this happens to you.


Now back to my regularly scheduled programming aka watching Downton Abbey (my new favorite show) and writhing in pain and nausea. 

Worth it.

Happy VD!

Where VD stands for Valentine's Day and not Venereal Disease. Although, in my eyes, that is exactly what VD stands for forever and always. When I see people saying "Happy VD!" I think that perhaps they are not saying what they think they are saying or they are just really happy that they have an active enough sex life to have caught something or they are just lazy typers? Who knows. People are weird. Trust me on that one.

Here is the card I received from my love:
 

It's like he knows me or something?

So I sent him this one:


But he was expecting the one below but I told him I didn't send that one to him because that's what I gave him last year and he said yes, but Apple has come out with new things since then so I sent it again because I'm nice that way. And now he should return the favor with something sparkly.



 What I really wanted to send him were these: 

Here's to no VD on VD!

First ultrasound.

On Friday I had my first ultrasound. Both my husband and my mom went with me and let me tell you there's nothing like having a condom wrapped wand stuck up inside you with your mom and husband in the room. At the same time. Having spent a lot of my time naked in front of people lately it didn't really bother me...that much.

The hardest part of the ultrasound was holding my breath (ouch!) so that we could see the heart cells beating.

We saw them. And heard the heartbeat. It was amazing!

Last night I had the sharp pain in my left rib and shoulder AGAIN and because I'm pregnant the only relief I can find is alternating ice/heat and lame doses of Tylenol. Also, watching The Office until I pass out.

It's going to be a long 9 months.

Worth it.

The haps.

Things are not so rosy here in casa de me. I had another episode Monday night and feel another one coming on right now. I go to the doctor tomorrow. As much as it pains me, I'm going to have to stop doing NaBloPoMo. Maybe when things settle down I'll be able to write to some of the prompts but writing about my family is very emotional because I love them so much, yo. And I'm emotional enough all on my own. I need laughter right now. Lots of laughter.

Off to watch The Office, for the eleventy-billionth time.

A week in pictures, kinda.

My brain is still mushy so today I would like to share with you some things that happened on my iPhone this week.

First up, while I was in the hospital my good friend that lives in my computer (and my iPhone), Lauren, entertained me with some texts. Here are just a few because the rest of them are not ready for the Interwebz.

(Lauren is in white, I'm in blue - and the last one is my favorites.)



I got this beautiful piece of art in the mail this week. It's from one of the writers from Off the Deep End, Kriss. She's a talented crafter and she combined my love of Scrabble and jewelry into one - I pink puffy heart love this (and the card she sent!)


Did you notice that "T" is also #1? Kriss did and so did I!



Pretty, sleepy puppy.


You can catch of glimpse of my leg hair in this post right here (I sent it to my sister but am too afraid to post the full size photo on the Interwebz).

Now it's time to go back to the Super Bowl.  

GO GIANTS!!!

So...I was in the hospital.

I'm about to write about one of the most traumatic moments of my life. I know that I usually am overly dramatic but it was for reals the most traumatic moment of my life. This is going to be a long one, folks.

If you want the short version here it is: I had pain, thought I was dying, it went away, I'm okay now, kinda.

Now here's the long version:

Wednesday night the kid and I went to dinner at my parent's house. Tacos. Deliciousness. We got home, did our usually nighttime routine, and I went to lay down and started feeling yucky. I thought maybe it was time to #2. But that didn't help. And the pain kept getting worse - it was in my left rib and then my left shoulder. Every time I breathed in, it felt like someone was stabbing me in my rib and shoulder. I immediately did the first thing I do in these situations: googled my symptoms.

It was not good.

I finally broke down and called my mom and dad. I told them I needed to go to the hospital. I texted my husband and said that I was going to the hospital. My kid was a lifesaver - she got me clothes, put on my socks and shoes, got me water, and an ice pack (that's usually a good way to go in an emergency, fyi). She got ready to go with me but I convinced her to stay home with my dad because I didn't want her getting sick in the ER. She said she would do whatever I wanted her to do. That's when I knew she was scared, too. She waited with me on the steps, stroking my head telling me it was going to be okay. I was trying not to let on how much pain I was in because I didn't want to scare her. She kept checking the front door to see if my parents were there yet. It was beyond terrifying.

When I got in the car with my mom, I finally let loose how badly I really felt. I can't even begin to explain the pain I was in. I couldn't lean back, it only felt "better" to lean forward but even then I thought I was dying. I really thought each breath I took was going to be my last. And my mom was trying to be helpful by asking me questions but each one just made me panic even more.

We got to the ER in record time and they took me right in. They started asking so many questions which were difficult to answer because of the not being able to breathe thing. And every person that came in asked the same questions over and over and over. I swears I'm not lying, people!

My nurse was very upbeat, which was slightly annoying, mostly because I couldn't breathe without crying. I also didn't like being asked if my pregnancy was an "oops" because my last one was 13 years ago. I only wanted to punch her a little when she asked me to think "juicy thoughts" while trying to find my vein. (Almost made my mom pass out!) And then she started asking me vague questions, like this one:

Are you safe at home?

What do you mean? Like do I have an alarm system?

No, does anybody abuse you?

Oh. Uh. No. (The other way around, actually.)

They took about 10 vials of blood and I had a chest X-ray. The doctor said he could give me narcotic pain medication but it would be risky because of my pregnancy, so I didn't take it. I was glad my mom was there or else I don't think I could have gotten through it without the pain medication.

Something in my blood tests came back elevated, which could have indicated a blood clot or pulmonary embolism, so the doctor wanted me to have a CT scan (which is risky when you are pregnant because of the radiation but I didn't want to die so I agreed). I told my mom to tell my sister that it was her responsiblity to get rid of the special box should I die.

My mother did not appreciate this for many reasons.

(I tried to keep my sense of humor through the whole thing otherwise I would be a puddle of tears.)

On the ride over to get the CT scan the pain started to dissipate as quickly as it had come on (except when I had to lay down for the test - that was horrible). I was glad when I got back from the test to see that my husband had arrived.

Waiting for those results were the longest minutes of my life.

It was negative for a blood clot or pulmonary embolism. Thank You Sweet Baby Jesus. 

(And it was officially time to take photos of me looking pathetic in my hospital bed so I could blog about it. Unfortunately those photos are on my mom's phone and I won't get them until tomorrow.)

The first doctor's shift ended and the second doctor started. It was then that my dad arrived (and had to leave because the doctor was going to examine me). At that point he said it might be pericarditis. He decided to admit me and ordered an echocardiogram for later that morning. I also received an albuterol treatment in case it was asthma (which it wasn't and it only made my heart race).

By that time it was 3:00 a.m. Everybody was exhausted. I told my mom and dad to leave and after I was settled in my room my husband left shortly thereafter.

I didn't get much sleep. Nobody did.

My husband and dad were both there around 8 a.m. and I had the echocardiogram done. My mom arrived with Starbucks for everybody else. I got to eat this:


Around 1 p.m. the echocardiogram came back as all good in the neighborhood. Other blood tests and urine tests showed nothing.

The only explanation they could come up with is that it was muscular/skeletal pain (or muscular/skeltator pain as I like to call it). It still doesn't make sense to me...how all of the sudden I was in excruitating pain and about 6 hours later it would be gone. My left rib and shoulder are achy but nothing like they were. I'm scared I messed up the baby with the tests I had done. I can't take ibuprofen or naproxen because of the pregnancy so I'm stuck with regular strength Tylenol.

I was home by 6 p.m. on Thursday and after a shower (but not a shave - I still didn't learn my lesson the first time ladies - those hairy legs were blowin' in the wind for everybody to see) and a delicious dinner from Subway, I was asleep by 8 p.m. I didn't wake up until 11 a.m. the next day. And I've pretty much been taking it easy ever since.

I'm terrified it is going to happen again. Or it's going to happen while I'm alone. Or when I'm driving. Or at work.

I have a follow up next week with my regular doctor - until then Dr. Google and I are becoming fast friends.


Thank you so very much to my family for being there for me - I love you all so very much!!!

My brotha and my sista.

Day 3 of NaBloPoMo finds us talking about siblings. And I haves them.

One of each. I'm lucky that way.

My brother is roughly 17 months younger than I am. My sister is roughly 8 years younger than I am. My brother and I were the best of friends until my sister was born - because we fought over who she loved the most (p.s. it was me).

My siblings are hilarious. (My entire family is, actually.) We really need our own reality TV show because every time we are together something awesomely hilarious and/or weird happens that would make millions laugh. Millions.

They both spent the night before my birthday at my house (mostly because we all managed to lose our licenses in the last few months and I made appointments for all of us to get duplicates on my birthday because I am the responsible one) and did me a favor by drinking all the alcohol I can no longer drink. This might also be the reason that they decided it would be funny to come into my room while I was in a deep sleep and lay on either side of me to wish me a happy birthday. And tickle my feet.

They've helped me raise my daughter. They've helped me move (several times). They've been there in the happiest and saddest moments of my life. I can't imagine a life without them.

They made me laugh even when I was so very scared on Wednesday night. (And more importantly they took care of the kid so my husband, mom, and dad could come see me in the hospital.)

Here's just an example of the texts that I received from my brother:


And my sister:


They are talented, smart, funny people. I love them very muchly.

My papa.

It's day two of NaBloPoMo and today I am to tell you about my papa. My amazing, fantastic, wonderful papa.

My dad is as equally as amazing as my mom - he's also been there for me in the dark and the light and has never wavered in his support. It's hard not to write almost the same introduction as I did for my mom because all of what I wrote also applies to my dad and so that's that.

He is hardworking and funny and inspirational. We might not always share the same political views but I still love to talk to him - it always makes for some interesting discussions.

He taught me how to drive, even though I cried most of the time. When I went for my test he was the one who took me.

Once upon a time I wanted to be a lawyer. There was a program for high school students at UNC-Chapel Hill so my Dad drove me and three of my friends 3 hours so we could attend. And spent the day in the car waiting for us to get done. He could have come in with us but we didn't know and that was in the time before cell phones. I always felt bad about that.

When I had to go back to work and put my tiny little baby in daycare, it was my dad who picked her up every day at 4 so that she didn't have to wait for me to get there at 6. He knew all the words to the Barney and Teletubbies songs. And only once did something happen but we are not going to talk about it, Internet. I only found out about it about 8 years after it happened because my sister got drunk and let it slip.

He has a soft heart when it comes to animals. I rescued 3 kittens when my daughter was about 3 years old - the 2 that couldn't find homes stayed with us. As much as he wasn't for keeping them, he was the one who cared for them the most.

He took care of my daughter on Wednesday night as my mother rushed me to the hospital in excruciating pain. As soon as my brother and sister arrived at my house, he came to the hospital to see me. And he was the first one up and ready the next day to come see me.

He's the best grandfather, the most amazing in all the lands. He (and my entire family) helped me raise her. They are still helping me raise her. She's a diehard NY Giants and Yankees fan because he is - she really loves her grandpa - even when she's being super cranky.

There's so much more, Internet but it's really been a tough few days and this is all my tired little brain can muster.

To put it simply: my dad, I loves him.

I know I was supposed to write about my dad on Thursday, but, you see, I was in the hospital. In fact, I started this post on Wednesday evening (by started I mean I wrote the title) and then started to feel yucky. About five minutes later I decided it was time for bed and that's when experienced the most intense pain I've felt in my entire life. And that is why for the first time in the history of my participation in various NaBloPoMo activities that I am back dating posts.

My mama.

It's day one of NaBloPoMo and I really love the theme this month: Relative. Today I am to tell you about my mama. My amazing, fantastic, wonderful mama. 

I don't know where to begin because she's, like, the most awesome mom in all the lands. She's been there for me during the dark and the light. She's never wavered in her support.

She would do absolutely anything for me.

She would do absolutely anything for any of us.

She'd probably even do something for you, stranger on the Internets.

She's strong and brave and inspirational for so many reasons that I can't even begin to list them all.

(Lest you think it's all roses and rainbows she does on occasion, very rarely, once in a blue moon, get a little crabby, but only when you don't do something that (you didn't know) you were supposed to be doing. For instance, maybe you didn't tell her to make a turn (that you didn't know you were supposed to tell her to take) and she misses the turn and has to do a U-turn and then it's all your fault because now we are late for something important. This is just an example.)

I was in my first year of college and afraid to go to the doctor by myself to get my required immunizations so she drove 3 and a half hours to go with me and then turned around and went back home the same day. I hope I said thank you.

When I was a junior in college and called to my parents that I was pregnant they were super supportive (after some initial shock). They had moved to California by then and she flew (along with my sister) across the country to come collect me from college and arranged for my car and stuff to be shipped.

She was always right about boys. Always. Good thing I listened to her when it was most important.

When I was in full on labor and getting an epidural and my water broke all over her feet she didn't even flinch. And she didn't get mad when I told her to stop telling me how to breathe. I couldn't have done that without her. I won't do the next one without her either.

She taught me how to be a mother. I'm not sure I'll ever be as good as she is though.

She's the best grandmother, the most amazing in all the lands. She (and my entire family but this post is only about my mom) helped raise my daughter. They adore each other.

She still calls to make sure I got home okay. Especially because I usually forget. Like five seconds ago.

She always sends me home with food or a jacket or something. She never stops caring for me.

She's loved me even when I've been a little bit crabby. She's picked me up when I've fallen down. We've fought and stomped and screamed at each other but through it all I knew that she loved me. I hope she knows that I loved her then, too.

I could go on and on but she's probably already crying (which is the entire point of this post) so I think I'll give her a break.

My moms, I love her.

UPDATE TO ADD:
When I developed sharp, excruciating pain in my left rib and shoulder that intensified each time I breathed in and I call her (and my dad) to come take me to the doctor she (and my dad) jumped out of bed and came to my rescue immediately and took care of reassuring my kid. She (and my dad and my husband) spent the majority of the next 36 hours with me in the hospital as every major problem from blood clots to pulmonary embolism to heart attack to pericarditis was ruled out. And she also reassured me that the risks I took to my long-awaited pregnancy were low and I have not permanently damaged my baby.  It's been a very long 48 hours, folks.