Wrap your head with this material...

Ways to announce you're pregnant: "I'll totally punch you and steal your lunch.  What?  I'm pregnant." "I have to watch Grey's Anatomy now.  I'm hormonally predisposed due to pregnancy."  "Shit happens when you party naked.  Like pregnancy.  Get it?  I partied naked and now there's going to be lots of baby shit." "Wanna see how much yoga pants can stretch?  Watch me for the six next months.  Due Jan 2013." "Seriously, hand your lunch over.  I'm pregnant and hungry.  I'm not fuckin around." "You've got to be kidding me!  Lunchmeat?  All that bullying and I can't even eat this!" Looking forward to the current household indigents getting a new resident on or abouts January 3, 2013, you know, minus the giving birth part.  That part's fucking horrifying.

When I was a kid, my parents had this policy that you could ask anything and get an honest answer. It went hand in hand with another policy of theirs, which was you could use any word as long as you knew what it meant. They'd quiz you occasionally too, just to make sure you were paying attention. "What's 'pissed off' mean, Karin?" "It means perturbed." I was a bit precocious. My parents rarely used the parental copout/freakout/I-don't-want-to-talk-about-this card of "I'll tell you when you're older." So I probably would have learned about sex pretty early no matter what. But as it turned out, I learned about sex from the movie Porky's. I was 4 or 5. In 1984, movies were a big treat. You couldn't just watch pop one in the DVD player at any time. You had to see it at the theater, or you had to wait for it to come out on network television. Most mommies reading this were probably born after 1984 so I'm giving a r...

I think my kid has already learned to objectify women's boobs. Seriously. I bent over to put the pacifier back in his mouth for the thousandth time and I saw that look in his eyes. Ladies, you knwo the one. I'm pretty sure he looked straight at the boobs and his eyes glazed over and it was like seeing the future. In grosser baby news, I picked his nose this morning and holy shit! It was the biggest booger. Like, grown person sized. He must've been constructing that thing since birth. He seemed none too pleased that I removed his masterpiece either. And this is confirmation that I have become a mom. I pick noses. Other people's. And blog about it. Wow. What is this blog coming to?

See how puffy my face was? I thought the swelling had gone DOWN. I forgot what my own face looked like. But who the hell cares when this is what you're holding. Rob and Swedish Magnificence. This is how the midwives weighed him. I had asked folks to send candles with positive thoughts/prayers/meditations/intentions/energy for the birth. I got candles from all over. So Saturday we had birthday cake with some friends and lit all the candles in celebration of Magnus's healthy and safe arrival. I can't thank everyone enough for all the support. It just doesn't get any sweeter than this.

On TV, the water breaks, the husband gets yelled at and blamed. In real life, that's fucking stupid. My water broke and I thought something exploded, had no idea what it was. Midwife got sprayed. That's just so gross. I can't imagine doing her job. Sooo, so gross. The same midwife got fucked at my birth multiple times. Like the time toward the end when I was pushing and she tried to check my cervix to be sure that there wasn't a little lip of cervix left and while she was doing it I yelled at the top of my lungs "Get your fucking finger out of my TWAT!" I heard the other midwife choke back a laugh. I also never yelled at Rob. This was at least partially due to the fact that he used the strategy of listening to what the midwives said, watching for my reaction, and repeating the things I responded favorably toward. It worked. And I would never have known that's all he did either. Smart. But I also never yelled at him because, I think that's st...

My whole life, I've heard the story of my cousin Anna's birth. And her sister's too. But I hear more about Anna's. My aunt didn't exactly have a lot of love for the medical profession. And her first baby had been a horrible experience. She'd had him wrenched from her at least as much as she "gave him up" for adoption by nursing staff who leered at her and called her unpleasant names. And she loved him when he was born. And she found him when he turned 18 and loved him till the day she died. When she had kids for keeps, she did it differently. She read books and assigned duties and had them at home. She was brave and surely faced many people who disagreed with her decision. But she stuck by her convictions and her desire for a natural birth and won 2 beautiful girls. My mom was there when Anna was born. So was her sister, Kristina. They both still get this sparkle in their eyes whenever they talk about it. My mom says it was one of the most ...

Know that scene where the Grinch's heart grows 3 times its size? That's what my belly did this month. Its obscene. My mom took one look at me and said she wasn't this big when she had my brother. Which is frightening since I'm not due until 9/9. Come to think of it, the grinch has a decidedly round belly. Wonder if that's what made his heart grow? Having to pump a shit-ton of blood to something taking over his abdomen. Oh well, at least I'm enjoying mine. Mine moves. My dad felt it today. Happy Father's Day!

Ever make soup and then get a cold and think, "dang, what a good thing I made soup!" That happened to me this week. Did you know hemorrhoids are actual vericose veins in your ass? That's your gross and generally unimportant information for the day. Thank you pregnancy websites for teaching me all I simply must know to have a baby. Ever poop green? Of course you do. I always want to tell someone when it happens. Why is that? I never do though. Which is weird because I tend to say everything I think. Or as it turns out, almost everything. I don't want to talk about the baby thing lately. Someone very close to me had a miscarriage. Almost exact same story as mine. Same no symptoms/concerns. Almost the same date. 12 weeks instead of 11. I can't stop thinking about her. I'm terrified for her to go through everything I did. I hate thinking that she might be sobbing uncontrollably and unexpectedly at a time when she should get to be happy. I hate thinking how I spe...

Last year for Mother's Day we went out to breakfast and had a great time. A couple of days later is when I found out the baby was dead. I have really mixed emotions about being wished a Happy Mother's Day this year. The baby moves every day and Rob even felt it for the first time on Friday night. I'm happy about it and not all that worried. But still, it makes me kind of want my mommie.

Here's some advice I plan to follow with regard to giving my children things to drink. Give water. Nurse. Feed fruit. Rinse. Repeat. No juice. Never. I mean it. Not until the kid's old enough to decide to spend pocket change on a chocolate bar vs. soda vs. juice vs. all the other things they shouldn't be having but we all do. Meaning, when my child is old enough to have pocket change. To go to the store and spend it and make change and make bad decisions they have to begin living with all on their own. In other news, I felt the parasite move. MOVE! It was the most excitingest thing ever. Seriously, I couldn't focus on a thing afterwards and just kept coming up to Rob (who was trying to play his banjo) and saying "The baby moved, Rob. It MOVED!" Wander the house, attempt to read, rinse, repeat "The baby moved, Rob. It MOVED!" It was so awesome. Little thumps, not rhythmic and I don't know where they come up with flutters, thumps. ...

I'm reading all these books on pregnancy and babies and I have to say the writing is just awful. Half of them spend so much time telling you what they're going to tell you and why they're going to tell you that I'm ready to shake them by the throat and say "Spit that shit out, already!!!" So my skimming skills are in use to say the least. This morning I read a couple hundred pages (see skimming) of a book on the Bradley method, a natural childbirth method. I might add, that I have not found the Bradley method yet. So far its just info on getting pregnant and the structure of the body. Which is where I get into the terms they use. They call it the "vaginal barrel." They have a diagram of 2 different "vaginal barrels." One is engorged (excited about welcoming a certain type of guest.) The other is regular styles. I think the engorged one should be referred to as a "vaginal barrel of monkeys." It also mentions that if there...

So I've been in a funk of late. Not that cool, P-Funk kinda funk. I mean a funk. And I'm coming out of it. Which is so necessary. I know this happens to me every fall. And its so stupid because ski season is just kickin' into gear which is by far the best thing in this whole world. There is nothing I love more. Nothing. And I know ski season is coming, yet every fall, after the leaves are done, when the days are getting shorter and grayer, I just get Funky. For anywhere from 2-8 weeks I become my own personal pitty party event planner. I can spend hours in my head convincing myself that: I don't have friends, I'm fat, I'm getting old and ugly, I've failed in every professional endeavor I've ever pursued. And on and on. I'm an awesome mindfucker. But last week the fog started clearing from my brain. And the way I knew this was that I started dreaming of skiing. I dreamt about skiing Every. Single. Night. I can't ski yet. So I shopped i...

confeshun: I can't talk about the most emotionally meaningful things in my life because i feel like it cheapens them and makes them trite things that fit into words and sentences and phrases with pesky punctuation when feelings are ethereal beings that seem to wrap themselves around certain organs and regions of my tongue or ribs or uterus sometimes they itch and burn and squeeze and if I wrap my arms around Rob and bury my head in his shoulder and kiss his cheeks I just know its all ok that's with the good things The bad things I can write about. They're good to put into the shapes of things we know and hate in order to chew them up and let saliva and stomach acid take them apart and make them useful to something. I'm supposed to be 8 months pregnant . Instead, I started my period again. I was so sure I might be pregnant again. I even allowed myself to be happy about it. I felt like I'd be able to be patient this time, wait and see. You know, a calm happy. A...

I've been thinking about how I feel about having told everyone I was pregnant. When I think about it, I get this guilty awful feeling in my stomach. Like I'm an idiot for telling people before it was time. Like I lied about being pregnant. Like I'm a naughty little girl who bragged about something she didn't deserve and so its promise was taken away as some sort of lesson. But I didn't do anything wrong. I WAS pregnant. I took care of myself and it didn't work out. It happens to a lot of people. I mean A LOT of people. Who also didn't do anything wrong. And shouldn't have to feel like they did. It shouldn't have to be some dirty secret or a hidden guilt. Rob and I have been trying to buy a house and have put in offers, gone under contract, and had at least a half dozen prospects go south. I didn't feel like a tattle tale when I talked about those things before they actually happened. I don't feel the need to lie about interviewin...

I still wanted to think there was just something tricky but everything could still be fine. I teared up as we were leaving and Rob offered to just hang out with me until the next appointment. I declined and went to meet with a client instead. I dropped my client off for a home visit with his mother, telling him I’d be back to pick him up in a couple of hours. Then I went back to the doctor’s office to have the ultrasound. Stonefaced, I approached the window and handed my script to the 7 month pregnant woman at the desk. I held back, stiff, no tears. Rob and I were led back into the ultrasound room where I disrobed and I prepared myself for the discomfort of an internal ultrasound. The doctor waved the ultrasound wand around for a few moments. She looked at my uterus and ovaries and said my ovaries looked good. Nothing about my uterus. “Am I still pregnant” I asked beginning to sob. “Yes.” She said carefully. “Give me just a minute and we’ll talk about it and I show you wh...

I've decided to post on my experience since writing about it is helpful. I will continue to post my regular postings in between though, which may make for a weird rhythm in my writing. If you don't like it, you know how to scroll. Rob and I waited excitedly at the doctor’s office, holding hands, anxious to hear our baby’s heartbeat. I could see his excitement in the way his legs wiggled ever so slightly. The nurse called my name and we headed back. Everyone whispered almost seeming confused about why I was there. Nervously she said, “You’re here for…?” “I’m pregnant.” I said with eyebrows raised. Why would they be so quiet about this when if you show up with a bladder infection or the runs, they’re like, “SO YOU”RE HERE BECAUSE YOU HAVE CROTCH ROT RIGHT?” or "SO WHERE IS THIS BOIL WE'RE LANCING TODAY?" Weird. She led us to a room, I smiled, Rob and I held hands, and waited for the doctor. She came in and smiled back, congratulating us. We chatted about...

Sorry, this is not a joke or funny at all. We went to the doctor yesterday and found out that the fetus had no heartbeat. I will have a D&C today to get rid of "the products of conception." I don't want to talk about it and will likely pretend as though it never happened. I appreciate your thoughts and whatnots so please don't take this in the wrong way, but I don't want to hear anything from anyone right now. I will post more when I'm ready. I'm sure some of you who have been through it will understand. I appreciate your good thoughts and will let you know if we conceive again, next time like a normal person, waiting 13 weeks.

When I occasionally played with barbies as a girl, I typically took their clothes off and they humped. There, I said it. You prolly did the same thing with your dolls. I'd run my thumb over Barbie's Crayola-tan colored smooth boobs and think how when I grew up, I wanted boobs. Big boobs. To boot, I wanted no nipples just like Barbie. Boobs were great except the nipples in my eyes. Nipples were a weird grown up thing like coffee breath. I grew a little mini set early on that never grew much bigger, and of course, I do have nipples. Sadly, they never got big. But thank god for nipples. So since getting pregnant my boobs have sprouted a whole extra size. Did your parents used to tell you that potatoes and spinach would put hair on your chest? Well, this was my dinner one night and instead of hair, it put boobs on my chest! Its endlessly fascinating to me and I have to admit I touch my own boobies a lot for it. Rob keeps catching me and is, sadly, far less fascinated...

I think the phrase "We're pregnant" is among the most ridiculous and irritating phrases. WE aren't anything. The man does not have to abstain from drinking, does not have to sleep 90 hours a week, does not purchase all new clothes that resemble tents, does not put cocoa butter anywhere on his body, nor does he GIVE BIRTH! Its simple grammar: I swim. He swims. We swim. I ski. He skis. We ski. I'm pregnant. He is pregnant. We're pregnant. Annoying. Yuppies. Yipeee! Wait a second... He cannot be pregnant. Therefore, WE cannot be pregnant. I am pregnant. I have the gas, the swelling breasts, the weight gain, the sleepiness, the expanding uterus and the impending birth. "We're pregnant" is some caring and sharing, touchy feelie bullshit. Its akin to "we're in a bad mood today aren't we?" Well fuck you, yes I am.

Not sure why but I have this paranoia that we'll have twins. Last night I dreamed that we had a boy and a girl. I was teaching both kids to ski when the boy started whining, "But mo-om, I don't want to ski. Sports are for gi-rls." He whined. "I wanna play music like dad." It could happen too.