ninja kitten

Week 38: One Last Post Before The End?

noreply@blogger.com (Kitten) — Fri, 10 Feb 2012 05:38:00 +0000

Sometime around month eight of my pregnancies, I start to lose my damned mind. This is totally true. My husband might argue that this actually occurs around month one of my pregnancies, but I know that I go particularly nuts around month eight. I go crazy in very very specific ways, too. First and foremost, I become convinced that I have all the time in the world for my hobbies.

No lie, for the last three years, I've knitted and played video games, but only casually. I've barely drawn. Suddenly? I'm the knitting queen. I've started a sweater and two hats in the last three weeks and I'm making progress on them. Video games? I just bought the Sims 3 and I wondered to myself, "Should I get Skyrim or Kingdoms of Alamur? Maybe a subscription to Gamefly? Or should I just re-up my old World of Warcraft account?"

I find myself doodling on my computer and in notebooks once again. I casually wonder what it would take to move houses right now. Or to, you know, re-paint our whole house. In the winter. With a new baby.

Secondly, I start to wonder if I have to go through with delivery and labor or if some miracle will occur and the baby will just pop out of me via teleportation. As many of you know, I basically told my husband, my nurses, and my doctor when they were prepping me for my last C-section that I wasn't going to do it. I was just not going to sign the forms. They couldn't make me. They couldn't give me an IV. I didn't want to have the baby. EVER. My husband lovingly tried to convince me that I had to have the baby while the nurses ignored me and prepped everything anyway. (And did the lousiest job on an IV ever. I hope they are more competent this time.)

Lastly, I become a hard core curser. I have over the last several years mainly stopped cursing, but it is back with a vengeance now. Sometimes, I even curse in front of N, even though it is the mild cursing of "damn".

So, let's end this post with a things I consider blessings:

1. My belly button never popped out over two pregnancies. Thank you, belly button.

2. My stretch marks consist of two dots on my tummy and a few short lines on one of my breasts. Thank you, skin.

3. Hot showers continue to improve my day by both making my aches disappear briefly and clearing up my continuously congested nose for a few minutes.

4. My computer chair which leans like the Tower of Pisa has not completely broken apart yet and dropped me into a heap on the floor.

5. The internet for both distracting me and proving that some women out there agree with my assessment of pregnancy.

6. Next week at this time, I will no longer be dealing with the symptoms of pregnancy or anxious fear of C-sections. I will instead be planning on which outfit N2 should be wearing for the visits from friends and family. The Winnie the Pooh onesie or a cupcake sleeper? THOSE ARE THE KIND OF DILEMMAS I PREFER!

See You On The Other Side?

noreply@blogger.com (Kitten) — Sun, 05 Feb 2012 06:17:00 +0000

I just want to let you all know that I might not be blogging for the next few weeks. I've got stuff to say, but I also think I've gone from anxiety and a mild sadness to actual depression. I can be funny and interesting when anxious and sad. I can't be funny when all I want to do is whine and moan and cry. Since I don't want my depression to taint this blog for now, I've decided it might be best that I hold off on blogging about pregnancy and babies, at least, until I've had my baby. I've yet to decide if I'm going to address my depression with my obgyn since I'm hoping the birth of this baby girl will basically take it (and the discomfort, heartburn, and pain) away, but we will see.

If I manage to get N to model his mittens, I'll post a picture of that and talk about that sewing project.

Almost Done, Baby Girl

noreply@blogger.com (Kitten) — Wed, 01 Feb 2012 03:13:00 +0000

Got a date for my C-section, and it is close. Only about two more weeks. I'd post an exact date, but I must worry about baby thieves. (No, really, just another thing for me to fret about.) It can't come soon enough. I've been so miserable lately that I break into random tears at times. Today everything hurts and I can't do what needs to get done and I just wish it were all over already even though nothing is ready. I don't have a crib. I don't have a labor bag packed. I don't have all the receiving blankets and burp cloths washed. I don't have anything.

There are toys lying about my floor, but it hurts to bend down to pick things up so they stay there until hopefully my husband notices them. Similarly, my dishwasher is full and so is my dryer, but I can't summon the energy to care. I just want to sit in a bathtub tonight for several hours and pray the pain goes away.

We do have a name picked out finally, so that's a positive. This is so unlike with N, where we waited for days after his birth to give him his name. The new one will probably be known on the blog as N2. Apparently, I'm really big on the letter N.

Oh, I forgot. I'm knitting! I'm knitting both the Wicked sweater and a strawberry patterned hat for N2. And I ordered the yarn for an intarsia blanket that I plan on backing with minky and using a satin quilting binding on.

Anyway, this post is just filler, but I want you all to know I'm alive and there is a light at the end of the tunnel, even if that light is my stomach being cut open.

Well, That's Settled -- A C-section It Is and PAIN and Drugs

noreply@blogger.com (Kitten) — Thu, 19 Jan 2012 04:05:00 +0000

At my now weekly ob-gyn visit yesterday, the doctor asked when I had scheduled my C-section for. I told her I hadn't. She said, "Well, do it this week." I didn't have the heart or the gumption to tell her I wanted a VBAC (since I really don't) especially in the face of her assurance that I could get the catheter after the spinal and that P would sit next to me during the entire operation, holding our baby girl after she gets cleaned, so that I can kiss her whenever I felt like it and nurse her as soon as possible. I also think I asked, "Heat blanket?" And the doctor smiled at me. Damn, I shivered like a loon the last time I had a C-section. Ninety-five degrees is not my normal body temperature, that's for sure.

Lately, at night, on the strange hospital scale of "how much pain are you in from a zero to a ten, zero being no pain and ten being the worst pain you can possibly image", I've hit a two or three pretty damned regularly. I start my day at zero, generally, and progress to a number higher than I'd like by the time I sleep. I know that the C-section won't be easy, but sometimes, I do want it more than I possibly can imagine. I'm fairly sure that I'm going to weep like a baby at receiving the IV and spinal, but once I get them and I'm numb, things are ready and it's on and I'm done being pregnant. Only four or so more weeks, yay!

Speaking of that strange sliding scale of pain at hospitals, I hate that question. I never know how to answer because I feel like if I give too high a number when I'm in a moderate amount of pain, I look like a wimp, so I'm always trying to moderate my number which means I get less pain medication. Also, I've got a really good imagination. So, when I went in with my blood clot last pregnancy, the day I went in, I thought my damned leg felt like it was falling off. I had to get up one last time before they attached the IV to use the bathroom and I wept at the amount of pain I felt in my leg.

Then, I got back, and was asked the infamous "rate your pain" question, I gave it some serious thought. This was more pain than I had probably felt in my entire lifetime, I thought, but was it as much pain as I could possibly imagine? For instance, if I got bit by a shark or run over by a semi, it'd probably hurt more, right? So, to be safe, I rated it a seven or eight. Like I said, I can imagine a lot of things that were possibly more painful than my blood clotty leg. A day or two later, I asked the nurse on duty when I could get another hit of my morphine like drug because my leg was starting to bother me again. He frowned and looked at his chart and asked if I felt pain already, only two hours after my last dose. I assured him I felt some mild but increasing pain. Ten minutes later, he came in and dosed me again and explained that after talks with my doctor, they felt my dosage had been too low. He asked me, "Didn't you tell them you were in a lot of pain when you came in?"

I assured him I had, but maybe they expected me to say nine or ten when describing my pain? I will say, that the morphine substitute they gave me at the hospital was super powerful when first received. The five or so days I spent in the hospital are a lazy hazy memory of what seemed like extreme drunkenness. I would drowse and eat and get more pain meds and it was fine with me. As I told P when we left, "It's a good thing that I hate and fear needles more than almost anything because I can see how people get addicted to drugs."

You Don't Look That Big And You're Huge

noreply@blogger.com (Kitten) — Wed, 18 Jan 2012 06:23:00 +0000

Do you know me in real life? Like, have we met and you've seen my pregnant self? I feel huge. I'm certainly as big as I was at week forty of my prior pregnancy. I hate it, but it has made me feel better about my baby because I sometimes think my body gave N asthma by not allowing him to grow as large as he needed to be at birth.

So, today, at the ob-gyn visit, the doctor measured my tummy and made a "hmm" sound and I asked her if I was getting too large or if I was on track. She paused for a moment and said, "You're a centimeter smaller than our chart suggests you should be, but no need to worry. It's only if you're two centimeters off that we begin to look into problems." Body, what is wrong with you? Do not make me go through more stress tests and ultrasounds than I'm already going through!

I got home to get N back from my mom, who said, "In the last two weeks, you've really gotten large." Then, when I told her that the clothes her friend had given me would only really last for a few months, and not into summer, she flipped out on me. "Well, why did you buy so much clothing in the 0-3 month size then?!" I had to pause and look at her before answering in a disbelieving voice, "I bought one dress and one skirt in that size and the combined cost for them was about seven dollars. They were literally the only baby girl clothing I had in my house prior to receiving this gift." She frowned at me like I was wasting my money all over the place and went back to complaining about the clothing I picked. The weird part? I wasn't even lying to her. As desperate as I've been to get baby girl clothing, I've also been pretty good. I think I've spent twelve dollars total on things specifically designed for this baby so far. I wonder what goes through my mom's head and if she imagines me buying a lot of clothing and makes it into her own personal reality.

C-Sections And Where I Stand

noreply@blogger.com (Kitten) — Mon, 16 Jan 2012 06:52:00 +0000

You ever had "major surgery"? Well, if you're one of the millions of women who have had a C-section, the answer is yes. And chances are, if you did, some women out there (and men too) revile you if you did it and it wasn't an emergency of epic proportions. My first baby came out via C-section. I was unprepared for it, but, oddly, not ungrateful. I know myself well and and I had been nervous and anxious about labor. I wasn't sure I could do it. Though I feared the C-section, it was great. I recovered quickly. The scar was tiny and well hidden. I did not feel any pain from it. I had no infections.

So, why am I not dismissing a VBAC out of hand then? I dislike scheduled anxiety. With a VBAC, the baby could come at any time. I don't need to spend time worrying about it, who knows when the baby would come and I'd need to deliver. But, with a return C-section, I've got a certain date. I will not sleep for approximately two nights prior. I know myself. I will think about the IV. I will think about the spinal. I will forget the good things about my first C-section (like that delicious delicious blanket of hot air they circulated over me and the fast recovery). I will pray that this time the catheter gets to go in AFTER the spinal. I will fret about infections and blood loss and my clotting issues.

And yet, I'll probably go for it and it will most likely be fine. To psych myself up, here are two different links that are positive. One is a birth plan for a C-section that seems mostly sane. The other is a birth story from an individual at NPR who gets blasted in the comments for not hating her C-section. (Seriously -- some of the comments imply that people who think they're having life saving surgery are just faking it. "Women have been doing this for millennium without intervention" is a common theme of people who hate C-sections. People who write that often forget the mortality rate for women in childbirth prior to the twentieth century.)

Also, I read a thread on BabyCenter from women who were just over pregnancy and miserable and at least ten people in the thread were all, "Wasn't getting the spinal and feeling relief from the misery of pregnancy the best thing that ever happened to you? EVER?"

It'll be okay, kitten. We'll make it through a return C-section if that is what we want!

"You Seem Unhappy"

noreply@blogger.com (Kitten) — Sun, 15 Jan 2012 07:05:00 +0000

Went to a birthday party for my cousin's daughter today (though, let's be honest, I just call her a niece). It was nice talking to people who have young children and who are excited for me to have this baby, but a number of them have read this blog and added, "You seem miserable."

It's hard to describe. You see the worst of me on this blog. You read what I write at the end of the day when I'm tired, sore, ache-y, and scared. You're reading updates from when I've spent hours thinking about what goes into a C-section, when I've been experiencing shooting pains up and down various body parts for hours, and when I think eating something will make me sick yet all I can think about is eating.

For instance, yesterday afternoon, I spent some time with my mom. She let me sleep for a few hours in the morning. We went to Gymboree and picked up several cute items for N and the new baby. I spent several hours cooing over a particularly adorable shirt and bloomer set for the summer. I held N like he was my darling little baby boy and he snuggled his face into mine and told me he loved me. However, that's not when I blog.

Several hours later, I was ready to die. The baby was pushing and stretching and moving in ways that were uncomfortable. I had stupidly, stupidly, stupidly put only a single leg up while watching a movie and all the blood had pooled in my other leg leading one leg to be larger than the other and then I had a panic attack about a possible blood clot. I felt "downward pressure" which made me wonder if I'd even make it to mid-February before delivering. I had spent ten minutes crying thinking about getting an IV that seems inevitable.

And that is normally when I blog. When I'm scared and miserable and uncomfortable.

I do want you to know that I'm not always like that. I spend time with my husband and he rubs my back or lets me sit in a bathtub for hours while he watches N and cooks. That makes me happy. I visit friends or they visit and we knit or chat or eat a meal together and that makes me happy. I think of the times when my baby will be wearing the same little clothing that N wore, and I'm happy. I read a good back and I'm happy. I get a gigantic impulsive kiss and snuggle from N and I'm happy. I wash newborn clothing with Dreft and the scent makes me smile. My mom makes me pizzelles and we eat them over tea while N plays with toys at my mom's house and I feel good.

And then, at the end of the night, when I'm in pain and I can't breathe and I cough so hard that I think I'm going to cough up one of my lungs, and I can't sleep because this insomnia is killing me, killing me, killing me, I end up writing entries that seem so down.

At the end of the day, I'm a day closer to the end of this pregnancy and to meeting a new little girl that I'll fall in love with. I basically chant to myself, "Only x amount of time left." I'm still horrified by the idea of the C-section, but every night of pain and aches makes it seem a little less horrifying because I know that at the end of the C-section tunnel is the light of being able to go to sleep on my stomach and of not aching thoroughly for months on end and of being able to eat what I damned well want to eat and of breathing without issue and of going for hours without a bathroom break.

When I write to you then, if you've just joined me, you'll probably wonder who the hell the cheerful lady writing this blog is. It's me, but just the better side of me that you can't currently see.

Why My Poor Husband Should Just Ignore Me

noreply@blogger.com (Kitten) — Fri, 13 Jan 2012 06:33:00 +0000

The scene was a random lunch on a weekend recently. My husband had let me sleep in to a ridiculous degree because he suspects when I get more sleep, I'm less sick and less grumpy and less hateful. This is all true. I smile at him and told him I had a dream that he left me again. I'm sure he's used to this by now, but he looks annoyed regardless. To be fair to him, since I've started to date him, I've dreamt that he's left me about fifteen billion times.

In the early days, I used to freak out, but over the course of our marriage, I've learned to wake up, look around and realize that we're married and he has not left me and that we have a child together. So my telling of these dreams has moved from anger at him over leaving me in these dreams to laughter at myself for still having these dreams. However, this last dream was a doozy.

In the dream, he tells me he's going to leave me and he's taking N. And N will have a new mommy. Oddly enough, for one of the first times in my dreams, I don't freak out. I calmly tell him, "You have two choices, stay with me or I murder you."

I relate this dream to my husband and he looks at me dead-eyed because he's tired of dreams where he's the bad guy. Sympathetically, I add, "I think it was really kind of me in my dream to offer you that option. I didn't just murder you. I gave you that chance to come back to me."

Consider that this poor man has been doing the majority of care for our son when we're both around, a ton of the cleaning, all of the holiday decorating and break down, and all of the cooking. Don't you think he deserves better?

I Love That You Hate Pregnancy, Kitten, Who Else Does?

noreply@blogger.com (Kitten) — Fri, 13 Jan 2012 04:22:00 +0000

I like to read blogs from people who aren't cheery about pregnancy. It makes me feel less alone in the universe. I spend most of my time bitter that I'm not cherishing these last moments of having a small squirming kicking baby inside of me. Will I one day regret not loving these last few weeks more? I'm already thinking of this baby outgrowing the tiny tutu I just bought her and I weep. (Of course, there is little I don't weep at nowadays. Seriously, you should see me weep. I cry like a baby over most everything. Yesterday I cried because my laundry hamper was too full. The day before I read the title of a book that made another mom cry.) But, I don't think of not being pregnant sadly.

Anyway, if you want to read some stuff from other people who are pregnancy averse, I recommend Tired of Being Pregnant. You know this chick is hardcore. She registered a domain dedicated to her pregnancy dislike.

If you don't want another blog to follow, how about a single post talking about pregnancy's suckitude in a rather hilarious manner. It compares it to cat harnesses. To quote a tiny section of it:

Pregnancy is a red harness that the world is trying to convince me is the greatest thing I will ever experience, when in reality it's a soul crushing tether which represents 9 months worth of me being dragged through the grass with my limbs limp and my mouth pathetically hanging open in a daze of horror.

Sing it, sister.

Come back soon for my growing horror at the idea of a return C-section, my guilt over turning my nose up at blood thinning shots, and my absolute hatred of all people who have a pile of clean clothes and a crib ready prior to week thirty-seven. Frankly, I think we're just going to let this baby sleep on the floor at this point.

Oh, Non-Stress Test

noreply@blogger.com (Kitten) — Wed, 11 Jan 2012 05:33:00 +0000

Late last night, as we were prepping for sleep, I said to P, "I can't believe they are forcing me to do these damned non-stress tests every week. They cause me so much effing stress." I hated the non-stress tests because I am forced to lie about my prenatal vitamins (I'm only taking normal vitamins) and my iron pills (I try to take two a day, but some days, I forget and take only one) and my blood thinners (I clearly want to die). Also, the first week they gave me a run down and told me that if my baby is non-reactive enough, I might be forced to stay in labor and delivery overnight. The thought of that is hideous because then what would N do? Would he be okay without me there for him? I'm already dreading the idea of the C-section since it'll be days away from N.

So, of course, today, when I go to the non-stress test, I'm angry about it all. They take me into the office late and I have a closely scheduled regular ob-gyn appointment to follow, meaning I'm now late for that. I'm thirsty and I only have orange juice which I don't care for. I sit down, and wait for the baby to accelerate its heart beat. It does so rather quickly the first time and manages to accelerate twice within the twenty minute limit. I'm happy since I'm now uber-late to the appointment with my regular ob-gyn and I don't want her to hate me. I stand up, ready to leave, but the nurse who was attending me makes a funny face and tells me she has to speak to the high risk doctor. I shrug and tell her fine.

A few minutes later, she comes back and points out that the baby's heartbeat dipped down low a few times and that they need to ultrasound me. My own heartbeat speeds up and I'm sure my blood pressure spikes. N was born on his due date because he wasn't moving much and because his heartbeat slowed down. If his heartbeat had been normal, I'm fairly sure he would have been a normal delivery rather than a C-section. I'm only week 33, and I'm not ready to have my baby girl yet. She needs time to get her lungs to pump up into action and for her fat to fully coat her tiny little bones. She needs time for her cheeks to plump up like N's.

The ultrasound looks great, but they send me up to extended monitoring, regardless. And there, little baby girl wakes up. She is angry at me. I'm laying on my side, bored witless, listening to people around me watch The View, and she was sleeping. She starts to kick and move and accelerate and her heartbeat does not drop until the very end of the two hour period I'm attached and it drops slowly and normally as she falls back asleep. I head home, tired and anxious, but happy that I'm not delivering today.

Little girl, why are you stressing me out already?!

I Should Not Laugh But I Do

noreply@blogger.com (Kitten) — Fri, 06 Jan 2012 05:51:00 +0000

I just found a blog called "Stuff Korean Moms Like", which contain posts like "#38. Child Labor".

When you were born, your Korean Mom fired an employee to even things out. If a Korean Mom ever asks you to work at the 'gah-geeh'/store...she is not asking, she is telling. It may sound like a question, but it is really a demand. It just sounds like a question because she is trying hard to be nice. Just nod and say 'neh'/yes. Do not ask her how long you are supposed to work. It will always be longer than you would like. Do not ask her how much you will be paid. You will work for free.

I laugh because it is true. I once got a talking to at my grade school because I was able to name over fifty brands of cigarettes during a health quiz to show how prominent advertisements for cigarettes were. I had broken down the cigarettes on my list into manufacturer and whether they were a generic or retail. By the time I was in eighth grade, I was faster at punching lottery tickets than any of my mother's other employees and I worked for less than a dollar per day. When I would ask my mom if I could have a Coke from the store, she would loudly sigh and tell me about how she didn't eat all day and all she drank was water so she could save money, but I could have that Coke because I was her daughter and she loved me. It would just take me working for two hours to really make up for the cost of it. She would loudly mock me for not being able to work twelve hour days, often stating that it was ridiculous that I needed a nap in the middle of the day. When I was thirteen. That same year I once told her I was tired at eight in the morning after having worked for two hours. She gave me my first coffee and I've been hooked since.

The whole blog is fairly funny if you are Korean. I wish it was currently updating, but it's still good for a quick laugh. I mean, check out "#47. Arguing Over The Bill". No lie, my mom once checked me like she was a professional hockey player en route to the cashier while I was attempting to pay. All while screaming at me. I think I managed to pay that bill, thus pleasing her, but I'm pretty damned sure she injured me.

Happy New Year, Almost Done

noreply@blogger.com (Kitten) — Thu, 05 Jan 2012 03:36:00 +0000

Oh man, oh man. Can you feel it? It's a new year, with new possibilities and new dreams and new hopes and new beginnings and, more importantly, the end of pregnancy. I'm ready for it.

December was my roughest month in years. I think the last month I've had like it was January of 2010, which I hatefully recall as the month of hospital stays for my son's inability to breathe normally. In this December, we had stomach bugs, pink eye, sinus infections, colds, and the inability to sleep due to coughing. Please note, I experienced all of the previous as did N, and my darling husband even got the cold. (My husband grew up the fourth child out of six. Most germs just don't even look at him as they pass him by. They wilt under his discerning germ eye. I grew up an only child and passing breezes that contain germs infect me.) We had long work trips for my husband. We had a Christmas vacation in which I spent as much time possible attempting to sleep off a cold, only to have that plan fail. It was hideous.

But, February beckons like the light at the end of a particularly long and gruesome tunnel. I try not to think about it too much because when I start to think about the IV and the spinal I start to get sick and want to die, but I keep reminding myself that in a year from now, it'll all be water under the bridge. And if N is any indication, water I can't even remember that clearly. Last time, the IV and catheter were momentary bitches, and I didn't feel the spinal and that was the end of the pain. Why am I so worked up now? Who knows? I think my body just likes a certain level of anxiety.

So, why am I so excited about a new year considering my anxiety level? As my husband often notes, I'm a creature of the seasons. I am most excited about whatever holiday/season lays before me and I find that I fall into their beliefs and patterns very easily. I'm hopeful and full of strength at the start of a new year, and still snuggly under the idea of winter.

I hope you all had a nice new year's day and we can all wish 2011 a big ass kicking goodbye.

Oh, btw, if you live near me, yes, I was the lady in Gymboree weeping today because they didn't have the light blue embroidered with unicorns corduroy dress in a newborn or 0-3 months size. That was going to be my daughter's going home outfit, Gymboree!

Please Help Me

noreply@blogger.com (Kitten) — Wed, 28 Dec 2011 06:20:00 +0000

Someone out there must have gotten a sinus infection while pregnant, right? What did you do besides live in pain and suffering the entire time? I can't stop coughing long enough to sleep and my face hurts from the pressure in it. Do I just suck it up for the next few weeks and keep trying to dislodge it with hope and a prayer?

Three Hundred Posts And All I Get Is One Boy And One Girl

noreply@blogger.com (Kitten) — Tue, 27 Dec 2011 06:54:00 +0000

So, my husband and I pulled off a surprise intended for us! As you might recall, we wrapped a surprise onesie (with the help of a harried Babies'R'Us service desk individual) letting us know the gender of our still gestating little one.

On Christmas night, when the majority of our family was over, and after my mom nearly cried during the morning opening of presents when we told her that we were waiting to open the onesie until the evening, we opened our package and inside was a... bright pink little sister onesie! I hope to get a video up eventually, but my face was all shock and happiness from what I was told and my in-laws video.

I'll tell the truth, I was so happy initially when I saw the pink onesie, but now I feel a kind of worry and guilt. N really really wanted a brother and I feel like I failed my little boy. Afterwards, I told him that the baby in the belly was a girl and he said to me with an unhappy face, "But I wanted a boy." I know that he'll eventually not care, but still... My sole reason for wanting a boy was to make N happy.

I'm also worried that I could never love any other little child as much as I love N, but I'm assured by the internet that this is a common worry that does not often come true.

One boy and one girl. Looks like I will have it all.

How A 30 Week Pregnant Woman Goes To Sleep

noreply@blogger.com (Kitten) — Tue, 20 Dec 2011 03:50:00 +0000

Man, oh, man. These weeks. I'm trying to keep a chin up, I am, but N's school is the school of germs and destruction. I've been sicker in December than ever and it is hard. I love Christmas and this is just the worst. I thought I'd write you all with a quick blog post, however, of how I fall asleep nowadays. Read it and weep.

1. Decide it is finally time to sleep. This can occur any time between eleven PM and four AM. I know some of you are horrified, but my insomnia has hit me especially hard this pregnancy.

2. Brush my teeth. Check on N to see how his breathing is. His asthma is kicking up in this dry weather. Forget I've brushed my teeth and brush them again. Use the bathroom.

3. Get to bed where I need to rearrange my nest of pillows. This takes about five minutes.

4. Lay down. Cough. Nearly throw up. This happens every single night. I try not to clear my throat by coughing but then I am miserable.

5. Spend another ten minutes in the bathroom trying to keep the food I did not eat down.

6. Get back into bed and think about the nest of pillows and the heartburn.

7. Turn from side to side trying to find a position where my lower spine doesn't feel like it's falling apart.

8. Think about the c-section.

9. Vow to try a natural birth.

10. Laugh at myself and then weep.

11. Have to get up and use the bathroom again!

12. Re-arrange pillows and finally find sleeping spot that is vaguely comfortable.

13. Drowse. P who is soundly sleeping turns over. This is like a small earthquake in our bed. Can't believe I never noticed pre-pregnancy that he basically throws himself around when he turns over. It wakes me up. Bathroom time again.

14. Come back. Settle down. Drowse.

15. Spend next hour or two trying to sleep/drowse. Finally, six or seven in the morning, fall dead asleep.

16. Seven thirty AM, N walks into the bedroom and screams, "WAKE UP!"

For serious, folks. If they offer me pain or sleeping drugs after that c-section, I'm going to take them like there is no tomorrow. And I'm going to sleep. I just want them to bring me a baby to feed and change for a few days while I sleep and sleep and eat ice.

Have You Wondered If I Was Alive?!

noreply@blogger.com (Kitten) — Sat, 17 Dec 2011 19:30:00 +0000

Wonder no longer, my friends. The last few weeks have been... interesting. The list of things that have gone wrong in the last two weeks seem kind of hilarious, but when I'm in the midst of them, it is just just a little overwhelming and I can't blog. (To give you a hint, in the last week alone, N has gotten both a horrible stomach bug and pinkeye and I've gotten the stomach bug and our heater broke and everything every where fell apart.)

But, life is starting to pull together, and I'm done most of my Christmas shopping, so now I'm back to bitching about pregnancy and how much I'm already over it. I'll try to post more often so you guys know what is going on, but don't be too surprised if December is sparsely populated with posts.

Wait, how are the holidays going for all of you?!

Tom's of Maine Toothpaste

noreply@blogger.com (Kitten) — Thu, 01 Dec 2011 03:19:00 +0000

Several weeks ago, P and I decided it was time for N to make the move to fluoride toothpaste (from the swallowable bubble gummy stuff he had been using) and we decided to just let him use Aquafresh. I'm not going to lie, we've used Aquafresh from the very beginning of our marriage because it is my preference and my preferences rule our bathroom products. This is why my husband, a man with normal to oily skin and perfectly moisturized skin uses Aveeno and other products for super dry skin.

Anyway, at first N was very excited to use "mommy and daddy's" toothpaste, but that lasted all of three seconds. Then, the screaming began, "It's hot! It's hot! It burns!" Our son was not the biggest fan of mint. From there, toothbrushing time turned into torture screaming time, each occasion marked with tears and screaming and the words "it's hot!". My husband persevered. I gave up under the tears and moved to toothpasteless brushing.

When Diane of Knitting Zeal offered a giveaway for strawberry toothpaste on her mommy blog, I got super excited. I entered and won a tube of Tom's of Maine toothpaste and just got it this week! Wow. What a difference. When N first saw it and I explained what it was, he took the tube and started dancing with it. It was "his" toothpaste. When he got his first bit of it, he stopped and said, "Yummy! I love strawberries!" (A blatant lie.) Since then, we've had several successful toothbrushing opportunities with it, and I'm ready to call it a success. He's pleased with its distinct lack of mint, I'm pleased with the fluoride he is spitting into the sink, and P is pleased that he doesn't have to deal with more screaming.

So, consider this my thanks for Tom's of Maine for hosting a giveaway on my friend's blog. Since I doubt this will be the last tube we use, you've managed to turn a giveaway into a mom who is going to buy this product for several years.

Pumpkin Monkeys

noreply@blogger.com (Kitten) — Tue, 29 Nov 2011 04:32:00 +0000

Honest to God, these socks took like a year. It's embarrassing. I mean, I'm less embarrassed than Helen should be considering this is a throwdown where she didn't even start her part of the throwdown. (Sorry, Helen, I had to call you out so I could feel better about myself for taking over a year to knit a pair of socks. Using my current knitting timeline, the dishcloth I just started should be finished when N graduates from college.)

These socks were made for my mother-in-law. When I first met the woman, she was merely the mother of a friend. Then, years later, I started dating her son, and I wanted her to like me! (Luckily, I was one of those children/teens taught to respect and be polite to people who were older than me, so I hope she never disliked me prior to my dating P.) When, P and I got married, she invited me in a roundabout way to call her mom, which I basically and stupidly ignored.

See, over the years, she's helped me to cultivate my hobbies such as knitting and photography. If I express an interest in something like scrapbooking, she gets me a scrapbooking kit. She asks me about what I'm interested in and tells me about her own interests and she has a never ending list of interests and hobbies. Since my own hobby list is somewhat extensive, I love this!

More than a year ago, our family learned that she has a pretty bad health problem, and I think it quietly devastated me. It took me a while, but I realized, I did love this woman in much the same way I loved my own mom. (In fact, our relationship is much less antagonistic in that my mother-in-law doesn't try to take the raising of my child out from under me.) This means I did something for her that I would not do for my own mother, I knit her a pair of silk and wool socks in a beautiful colorway and in a Cookie A pattern. (My own mom gave some of the socks I gave her to her cat as a chew toy.)

I like how these came out and they were washed prior to the giving so don't feel bad about me wearing them for the pictures! Truthfully, they look silly on me because I've just learned that I have silly sized feet, while my mother-in-law has normal sized feet.

When I gave them to her, my mother-in-law was tearing up which made me want to tear up. To be fair, though, excessively sentimental magazine ads make me want to tear up during my seventh month of pregnancy. I hope they keep her feet warm and remind her that someone loves her very much. Also, she first thought they were mittens and mentioned how she needed a pair. Anyone have a good mitten pattern?

I Swear I Still Knit

noreply@blogger.com (Kitten) — Sun, 27 Nov 2011 18:23:00 +0000

Sure, it is only a dishcloth but that is something, right? Also I've installed the blogger app in an attempt to blog on the road.

That allows me to show you I'm knitting at the park while my son and husband play with rockets.

Remind me to edit this when I get home! It looks hideous.

Stupid Things I Do During Pregnancy

noreply@blogger.com (Kitten) — Mon, 21 Nov 2011 06:36:00 +0000

I find blogs all about miscarriage, or death, or injury, or pain, and I read them and I cry and I cry and I cry until I get sick and I throw up.

I get angry over stupid things like the fact that we have no salsa in our house when I need some for N's lunch or that I wanted to use the word mad instead of angry and it made me think of the number of times I have to correct myself daily about the correct word to use and how I fear that I'm ruining N's chances of going to a good college because I'm teaching him the incorrect meaning to words.

I blow my nose in the shower and I nearly faint at the amount of blood that comes out. Ugh, pregnancy nose bleeds.

I make myself chocolate chip cookies at eleven at night and then get bitter that they cause me heartburn.

I refuse to talk to my doctor about my anxiety, insomnia, or general fear of giving birth or having a C-section.

I spend a great part of every day hating pregnancy and then worrying that I'm ruining this baby's life.

I wonder if people hate me because I hate pregnancy.

I crave the moment I have the baby in my arms, but fear the exhaustion that will come with it.

I'm nearing the third trimester (only one more week!), which was absolutely the hardest one last time. In approximately three months, I'll be posting pictures of a newborn and telling you all about how I tried to punch someone at a hospital to get out of getting an IV. (Okay, maybe, maybe not, but I wouldn't put it past me.) I'll be gushing about a baby and thinking that the picture I have of N holding him or her will be the best thing ever. I will be cradling N in my arms in a hospital bed to assure him that I love him so so much. I will be thinking "At least that's over" when really it will be more like "Well, this is just beginning."

And now, so you can all be as sad as I am, go read Posie Gets Cozy's story of a failed adoption attempt. It is beautiful writing that will make you weep.

Hormones, A Blessing And A Curse

noreply@blogger.com (Kitten) — Wed, 16 Nov 2011 16:11:00 +0000

Photo by seyed mostafa zamani

I've been bitching so much about pregnancy and labor recently that I told P and Helen I was afraid that I'd dislike or hate this child at birth. Both reminded me that I felt the same way about my pregnancy with N.

This is true, by the way. I spent seven months terrified I would not love my baby enough the first time around. I was convinced that I'd love my cats more and my baby would know it. I was convinced that I would always love my husband best and mostest and brightest.

I had a blood clot, a hospital stay, twice daily needles, pills, and I hated pregnancy back then almost as much as I do now. (Difference is that back then, if I decided that the only thing I wanted to do all day long is work in a chair, and then come home and take a three hour bath, this was a completely valid lifestyle option for me.)

And I remember being angry at N for needing to be delivered and for the C-section and for everything. Evolution is clearly protecting me by trying to tell me that I'm lousy at having children and I should not do it. It's weird knowing that simply a hundred or two hundred years ago, I'd be part of the statistics of women who died before or during childbirth. I was one of the 33% of women who'd not make it. My body is trying to protect me by making me miserable during pregnancy.

Luckily, evolution and my body also work for my children, I suspect. The second I heard N cry after he was delivered, all I felt was a rush of love. When they showed him to me and allowed me to kiss him after the C-section, waves upon waves of love and adoration poured through me. There are hormones that basically make you feel joy when you see your baby for the first time and those suckers kicked in like nobody's business with N.

I remember sitting in the hospital room, holding him for the first time, and thinking to myself, "He is the most splendid thing that has ever existed and will ever exist and I can't believe it is possible to love this much." My love for my husband skyrocketed simply for being involved with making N exist. I'd probably mark those days as the happiest in my life, rivaled only the by the first time P told me he loved me, my honeymoon, and the first time N told me he loved me.

So, even though I still fear quite a bit that I will be angry about pregnancy for the next three months, I remind myself daily of that feeling I had after I heard N for the first time. It's going to be okay, new baby, I'm going to forgive you everything the moment I hold you that first time. But, I'll probably never let you forget it when you get older. HA!

I Would Totally Murder You All For Fresh Chocolate Chip Cookies

noreply@blogger.com (Kitten) — Tue, 15 Nov 2011 03:42:00 +0000

Once, when I was still in college, and talking to my father, he mentioned my mom-mom (his grandmother and my great-grandmother) and her cooking. He turned to me and said in all seriousness, "There is no one I wouldn't run over, besides you, for one more plate of her spaghetti and fried chicken." I think he only excepted me because I was in the room with him. I came home and asked my mom about it and she paused briefly before saying, "That was some really delicious, delicious food."

It's fairly significant that she said that because my mom loves to be contrary to anything my father says or thinks. In fact, I often joke that the only thing they have in common is a love of tacky decorating and cats. Apparently, this also now includes my mom-mom's chicken and spaghetti dinners.

Either way, lately, I've been dying for sweets. My cravings are all for sugary, baked things. The other day, I stood at the fridge at my mom's house weeping because she didn't have chocolate chip cookie dough made up into little frozen balls waiting to be baked up, nor the ingredients to make cookie dough, nor a working cookie sheet. (When I used to live with her and make cookies, it would be an hours long production of pain and suffering and I'd buy all the ingredients fresh every year. By the time I left that house, we probably had ten bottles of vanilla about.)

Today, looking at something, I randomly thought, "I'd run over just about anyone besides N for a fresh and hot chocolate chip cookie." Guess my mom is right and I'm more like my father than I previously thought.

Also, are you all ready for the Hunger Games movie? Trailer below. I don't care if my baby is only one month old, I'm going to go see it.

No Lie, This Is A Rough Week

noreply@blogger.com (Kitten) — Sat, 12 Nov 2011 03:29:00 +0000

Some of you are probably unaware that my husband travels a fair bit. For months there, we were in a bit of a lull of travel time, but prior to N's birth, P would be away for weeks at a time. Then, during the winter of my discontent (ie, the time where N was diagnosed with asthma and I spent a lot of time at the doctor and hospital with him), P was called to work in MA for months and then NY. He probably spent a good half of the year, or more, away from us. I suffered through it a little bitterly, but N was always so happy to be with just me back then and I was so energetic, that it didn't really matter.

Then came this pregnancy and P's work's desire for him to travel to Seattle multiple times. And it's ramped up in October/November and might continue through until January, which we will officially call my eighth month of pregnancy. Now, for some energetic and glowing pregnant women, that might be fine. They might be happy to raise their children on their own while highly pregnant. Others might be forced to due to military leaves or being single parents. (If there is a heaven, I highly hope those people get a prime location in it after death. Otherwise, I hope karma comes for them early by way of lottery winnings.)

Me? I've been dying when P's gone. Like, I've stayed with my mom nearly the entire week and I'm still tired and beaten down. Literally, my mom called me this morning asking me if I wanted her to come over to babysit, because she was so worried about me. I told her no and later regretted it when I thought I was going to die after an hour walk at the mall with N. I literally came home and got sick from the food I had eaten and then lay on the couch while N watched television so I could get back to a state where I could give both of us a shower.

Now, N is in bed, and I'm still wishing I were comatose or on bed rest. (Man, hospital bedrest vacation, you're sounding better by the day.) How the hell am I supposed to get through another fourteen weeks of this crap? Anyway, I have to go make a "Star Of The Week" poster board for my son. Wish me luck. So far, I've put his name on it. It's due Wednesday. Why am I getting homework when my son is the one in school?!

Wordless Wednesday #20: PINCH PINCH

noreply@blogger.com (Kitten) — Wed, 09 Nov 2011 15:56:00 +0000

Cookbook Club Happened And You Were Most Likely Not There

noreply@blogger.com (Kitten) — Wed, 09 Nov 2011 04:25:00 +0000

Seriously, you almost all dissed me by not coming to Cookbook Club. Luckily Helen and Anna are awesome and brought awesome food. Though, remember how I said I might make that Greek Chicken Soup? I did not, but P did and now I think I might be obsessed with it. It seemed like no trouble, fairly cheap (especially if you ditch the chicken meat) and it was divine. Also delicious? The risotto which Anna made and the lentil salad from Helen.

Having said that, I kind of want to get a feel out for this -- if I had a gathering of people for sewing one day, would anyone be interested in coming? I know a bunch of people who are either interested in learning to sew or who want to make time for it, but don't.

I would totally be willing to let people try out my own machine, a Bernette 66, and I would have an iron and pins and stuff available for people who do sew and I would make room at my dining room table for people who'd like to bring a machine along. I'd even be willing to give some beginning pattern deciphering clues to people interested in fashion sewing, since I've done one or two easy patterns so far.

Would anyone be vaguely interested in doing this? It would probably be in either December or January, because by February I will have turned into a giant ball of nerves and anger waiting for this baby to come. (Like I'm not already a giant ball of angry nerves now!)