Eviction Notice
It is hereby stated, on the 20th day of September, that the lease is officially up despite the fact that the original lease agreement expires on 10/6. This is a formal eviction notice for the occupant of my stretched out, sad and tired uterus. This eviction notice is being issued due to the following reasons:
- Occupant is causing daily lower back pain equivalent to an elephant tap-dancing on my spine.
- Occupant has moved into the basement regions of the “apartment” and is therefore causing frequent trips to the bathroom at ungodly hours, as well as whole body jolts from head butts to certain nether-regions.
- Occupant is dead-set on kicking down the “walls” and doing damage to the exterior structures of the rented space (i.e. Quit kicking my ribs already and if you could stop making me feel like I have to barf every time I eat, that would be fab. Also, the constant burping you’re causing is just wrong. I was not born to be a truck driver.)
- Occupant is encroaching on other residents of the “building,” including the bladder and stomach; both never did anything to you, so what’s your problem anyway???
I went from being told to “keep my legs crossed for two more weeks” to “I have two weeks left until this baby is officially due and I am just plain miserable.” For the past few nights, I’ve had contractions and low back pain for hours at a time.
Then they just stop, only to start up again the next day. This little man is already a player. He is totally messing with me.
I started taking evening primrose oil. I’m drinking red leaf raspberry tea. I ate a basil leaf the size of my head today for lunch. I drowned my mahi-mahi in a sriracha sauce the other night. I’m being active and am not just hanging out on the couch waiting for things to get rolling. Every linen closet in my house has been organized. The baby’s room is ready for a new little occupant and my bathroom has been cleaned top to bottom.
The other day, I watched a video on acupressure points on the back of the heel and on the inside of the shin. I even watched a video of some very pregnant girl dancing to “Ice, ice baby.” Apparently her moves sent her into labor about 8 hours later. If I could find my old “Vanilla Ice” CD, I would so be doing that right now.
I know I should be patient, and that I won’t be getting any more sleep after this little guy has made his entrance; but I guess I’m just nervous that I won’t go on my own. I’ve had to be induced the past two times (although once was on my due date so Sassy never really even had a chance to come out on her own). The midwives will let me go up to two weeks post-date which would put me at 10/20. That seems SO much further away than 10/6. I am praying that the dream I had in the summer that said 9/17 was the day, wasn’t really 10/17, because ohmygodicannotmakeituntiltheniwilldiegetthisbabyoutnowplease. I’ve been told by my one midwife that third babies do not need to be induced. I’m praying she’s right. I almost feel like mentally, I’m holding myself up. All the signs are there, but perhaps I don’t believe I can go into labor on my own.
So, if you should happen to see me in person, please avoid saying things to me like “You’re still pregnant!?!” and “You’re not in labor yet!?!” I kind of hate the whole overtly obvious statements thing. Plus, I haven’t kicked anything or anyone in a long time, and I just might choose to kick you.
Yeah, I’m that miserable.
9/11: Then and Now
Ten years ago this morning, we were visiting my in-laws and I was sitting in my mother-in-law’s living room watching “Regis and Kelly” when the first bits of horrible news interrupted the program. My mother-in-law lived in a house where her business was on the floor below. Mr. BBM and she went downstairs to tell people what was going on. I stayed upstairs with my 5 month old baby. When the second plane hit, I just remember the absolutely bone-chilling terror that swept through me. I grabbed my baby and ran downstairs to tell them what had happened. It wasn’t long before the Pentagon was hit too and we were all glued to the TV, wondering when, if, it would end.
As the morning wore on, the news of the plane crash in Shanksville arrived on the TV. Mr. BBM’s dad was out making sales calls that day in that area. We tried to get him on his phone but couldn’t. Later, when we were finally able to get in touch with him, we were all so relieved. I remember thinking about all the families that day who would not be getting that relief.
We went to bed that night with CNN on the TV. I was almost too terrified to sleep. I was afraid something else would happen. I didn’t sleep well that night at all. The constant lingering thought in my head was, “What kind of world did I bring my daughter into?” We wondered how we would get back home, if we could get home. The country had been shut down.
A few days later, we made our way back on the PA turnpike. It was deserted except for a few lone cars. I remember being afraid a lot of the time after 9/11. I was worried someone would attack the mall. I didn’t want to go to big sporting events or concerts. I wanted to be less of a target. Within a few months, Mr. BBM had a job where he was traveling all the time. It was a huge stress on me every time he got on another airplane. The cross-country flights scared me the most. Eventually, I learned to relax a bit, but never entirely.
Ten years later, I am 24 days away from my due date with our third baby. We live in a society where we’ve been told to have an emergency family plan. We live in a country where we have a terror alert system and sit on constant “high alert.” I’ve had relatives and friends stationed overseas in the fight against terrorism. Every year, I watch the list of names being read. I watch the “looking back” specials. This year, we watched them with Big I who is now 10 years old. Although we will never forget, we move on each year with hope; hope that our daughters and our soon-to-arrive son will never, in their lifetimes, experience another tragedy like we experienced on that day.
May God bless all of the families who lost a loved one that day; and may we never forget.
He Won’t Fall Out Right?
On Wednesday, at 34 weeks and 6 days pregnant, my midwife told me to keep my “legs crossed for two more weeks.” Directed at someone who has had to be induced twice, this seemed like an odd request, unless you consider the circumstances under which she told me this bit of advice.
Every pregnant lady knows that part of your pre-natal visits include your healthcare professional measuring your belly while you hang out on your back. The number of centimeters measured is supposed to be equal to the number of weeks pregnant you happen to be. For the last month, I’ve been measuring a half week to a week ahead of schedule. The last time I was there, two weeks ago, I measured at 33.5. Yesterday I measured 31. Babies tend not to shrink during this stage, so immediately I questioned that number.
“How is that possible when I’ll be 35 weeks tomorrow?” I asked her. She asked me to bend my knees and placed her hands on my abdomen, below the bump. “Oh my God” she said. (Totally not what you want to hear when a midwife has her hands on you.) A couple weeks ago, the same midwife told me that the baby’s head was down. Yesterday, she told me that the baby’s head is basically locked and loaded.
When she was measuring me from the bottom of my baby bump to the top, she was only really measuring the little guy from the base of his neck down to his butt. She rearranged the tape measure and I measured almost right on. I don’t mean to get too personal and all, but let’s just suffice it to say that there is a reason I’m getting up to pee three times a night now. There is a reason I feel like I’m getting head-butted in the cervix on a near constant basis. It’s because I am; he is waaaaaay down there.
As a comparison, Big I “floated” until I was pretty much ready to push her out (after over 14 hours of labor). Sassy did almost the same thing. She wasn’t “engaged” at all until I was in the throes of 15 hours of labor.
Today I am 35 weeks and 1 day and this baby has assumed the position. I’ve been praying all along that I don’t have to be induced this time; now my prayers have switched to “Please just let me make it to 36 weeks and 6 days” (the earliest the midwives will deliver me at the birth center).
It has gotten to the point where if I just push on the little guy’s butt (which is hanging out close to my ribs and all up in my lungs’ business), I actually feel like I’m going to push him out. Fun stuff.
So I guess if there was ever a time to start taking bets on when he’ll actually arrive and how big and long he’ll be, the time is now. Place your guesses below and the winner will get the best prize of all. . . . bragging rights. If you’d like to take a guess on his name, you can do that too. Knock yourselves out.
Enjoy the (Very Temporary) Silence
The sound of a little voice playing Pet Shop and occasionally breaking into an Adele song is gone. The Disney laugh track has been replaced with Fox News. This morning, I ate my breakfast alone.
Last night, I read “The Night Before Kindergarten” to my Sassy. I barely made it through the book without crying. She told me she was nervous but excited too. Yesterday morning, as she crawled in bed with me for one last morning together before her school year started, she started to cry and told me she was worried about me. “Who’s going to take care of you when I’m at school?” she said through tears. That’s my Sassy, the little 5-year old who insisted on carrying the cooler to and from our spot at the pool last week because she insisted that I shouldn’t be carrying heavy things.
For the past almost 6 years, Sassy has been my at-home buddy. If I’m folding laundry, she’s usually helping me. She begs me to let her help put clothes away. If I’m cooking, she’s dragging a chair out to the counter to get up and help me crack eggs and stir batter. There is no doubt I am going to miss my little helper and my little grocery shopping buddy.
This morning, Sassy had eaten her breakfast and was dressed in about 15 minutes flat. Clearly, she was excited. She told me she was nervous but did so with a smile on her face. She is so excited to be a big kid and to be going off on the bus with her big sister. We took pictures and made our way to the bus stop.
It was there that she started holding my hand and standing really super close to me. I kept bending over and assuring her that she was going to have a great day and that she would love it. Big I and her friend promised me they’d look out for her on the bus; and then the bus was pulling up.
I gave her one last squeeze and told her “good luck.” I stood in the street and snapped a quick picture of her getting on the bus. She was all smiles. I’m hoping she will be the same when she gets off the bus today. It’s such a very long day and I already miss her like crazy.
I have to admit that it was definitely easier putting her on the bus than it was with Big I many years ago. Knowing you are sending your little one off with an older sibling really helps ease the nerves a bit. That doesn’t mean I didn’t have to put my sunglasses on and sniff back the tears until the bus doors closed. But knowing that Sassy’s big sister will see her at lunch and ride with her on the bus certainly does help.
Today I’m going to grocery shop, clean and go to my midwife appointment solo, for the first time in a very long time. Soon I’ll have another little buddy to keep me company. I thought I might enjoy the break; so far though? I’m not.
Facebook is Trying to Kill My Blog and So Are YOU
I don’t sleep much anymore. When I’m not waking up with contractions or waking up because my bladder is being used as a trampoline, I’m just hanging out in bed, staring at the wall and praying sleep will come. This is my body preparing for the huge sleep deficit I’ll soon be dealing with on a regular basis. I’m such a grumpy person when I don’t get enough rest; and I’m older this time around with more responsibility (two kids to get off to school each morning, starting next week!!!) so I can only imagine the fun my entire family is in for in the coming weeks and months.
One would think, with all this non-sleeping time, that I’d have plenty of time and desire to write here. But that hasn’t been the case.
I was thinking about why it’s been so difficult for me to write here lately and there are a couple reasons that I came up with that seem to make sense, besides that crazy foot fetish person creeping me out.
First, Facebook has made a pre-meditated attempt to kill my blog. Why write an entire post when one can take a picture with a phone, upload and leave a little comment and be done with it? Why say in paragraphs what can be said and shown in only a sentence and broadcasted to all the other Facebook addicts? It’s just a whole lot easier. And once it already lives on Facebook, then what’s the point of saying it here, in many more words when people are as strapped for time as I am? I realize this isn’t the case with everyone. I had a visit with a friend the other day who asked me what was up with me not writing so much anymore. I couldn’t really explain it all; but there’s more to it than just Facebook killing it.
When everyone, and your mother, reads your blog, it can be stifling and writer’s block inducing. If you scroll back through posts from years ago, you’ll find that some of my best were rants about annoying or stupid people. I’m good at those rants; but when everyone you know is reading your blog, it’s kind of difficult to write about anything controversial or potentially upsetting to another person. People who know you talk, misconstrue things and make trouble. It’s a fact of life. I’m always jealous of those bloggers who do such a great job self-promoting. I waver somewhere between the wanting to be completely anonymous and wanting to be a rock star blogger. I liked the anonymity that writing a blog used to give me. I will never forget the day that I found out that some of my karate friends had found my blog and were, GASP, reading it!!!! I came home from the dojo and instantly started analyzing every post I had ever written. Did I write anything that someone could find offensive or inappropriate? To this day, I still feel myself blushing and getting paranoid when someone new tells me they’ve been reading my blog. How do you write about that monster of a child who enters your own child’s life only to make it hell when her mother reads your blog? (You’re all wondering if I’m talking about you now, aren’t you? See, next time I see you, it’s going to be awkward.)
In one respect, I’m completely flattered that my friends, neighbors and family members read my blog. I want more readers. I want more subscribers. I’d like to turn my blog into a conglomerate “Pioneer Woman” style. But then, I don’t write about food and the ranch. I write about life in general and sometimes I can be a bit snarky. And don’t even try to lie about it; that’s why most of you like me anyway!
A couple months ago, I went through a ton of drama in my life. Some of it is still on-going. Suffice it to say that there are a couple people who hate my guts because of it; and they happen to be the same people who have been duped by the true culprits in the whole situation. I wanted to write about it and scream out the truth to everyone about what truly happened. I’m a “shoots straight from the hip” kind of person, but I agreed to a certain confidentiality (that others seemed to forget about instantly) and have kept my mouth shut. It made my life unpleasant. To write about it would have been a great relief to me. Perhaps that’s part of the reason why I stopped writing, because it’s like trying to ignore the elephant in the room. When you know there’s one thing you can’t write about, somehow it’s the only thing you do want to write about. Therefore, you write nothing.
Since then, I’ve done a good job of eliminating unnecessary stress from my life (people too); but let’s be honest. . . when the karate blogger stops attending karate classes and gets pregnant, she’s really just a Mommy blogger and that is one blogging area that is beyond saturated.
I’m going to try to get back to writing more. Since I haven’t been able to kick things or people, I clearly need some kind of release and a place to express myself. Perhaps I should worry less about what other people think about what I say and just put it all out there. Regardless of what I decide to write about, the truth is that in less than six weeks, I’m be giving birth, and clearly, given that you hung on my every word during my three knee surgeries and tales of constipation, you’re all going to want the gruesome details of that right?
I mean clearly, you’d be crazy not to. . .
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