June 29, 2005

All About the Genital Slicing

Yesterday I spent a really surprising amount of time talking about people's genitals being cut up. No, we weren't discussing female genital mutilation in Africa, although I do like to torment the King on occasion by ranting about women's rights, or lack thereof, in certain areas of the world. No, we were talking about the slicing and dicing of my genitals. And those of my potential offspring (or "little passenger," as one of my pregnancy books so creepily calls it).

It all started with a long and fairly boring first official prenatal visit. (We didn't get an ultrasound or a Doppler, so there's no fun news about whether the "little passenger" is actually, you know, still alive in there. But let's assume the best, okay?). The nurse practitioner asked if we had any questions, and I immediately began a political rant about the wanton use of enemas and episiotomies in the United States. You see, I am absolutely terrified of episiotomies. The idea of someone slicing open my vagina with a pair of scissors horrifies me far more than the idea of labor itself.

The nurse managed to head me off at the pass (and calm my impending hyperventilation) by saying they don't give episiotomies or enemas to everyone. Then she cleverly distracted me by saying they do have whirlpool tubs for laboring in. Ooh. Jacuzzi.

The idea of the jacuzzi having diverted me from the whole vagina-slicing horror long enough to get out of the doctor's office, I then immediately began questioning the King about his feelings about circumcision, should we have a boy. He said yes, definitely. I said that the United States is the only first-world country that still practices circumcision regularly, and he said I had told him that before, but he'd never heard any proof of it. Then I said I really just want the kid to feel comfortable when he's a teenager around other guys, although I'm not thrilled about the idea of snipping bits off his genitalia. Or of having to clean blood off his little newborn penis, either, because that's just weird.

We never came to an agreement about circumcision. Any opinions? Personally, I decided it would be easiest just to hope for a girl.

June 24, 2005

My Husband, the Car Lover

Yesterday I was brushing my teeth when I discovered something very alarming in the mirror--a dark line running from my belly button down to my cooter. What the hell? Remember what we used to call a "happy trail" when we were giggling at our teenage boyfriends? Except that this isn't a line of little hairs, it's an actual LINE ON MY SKIN! I had heard about it (linea negra, they call it), but it doesn't usually appear until the fourth or fifth month. Lucky me to get it in the 9th week.

I immediately shrieked, "King! Come look at this freaky scary thing on my stomach! Tell me you don't see it! Tell me I'm imagining things!"

My sweet husband peered at my stomach for a minute, then pointed, laughed hysterically, and said:

"Look, baby! You've got a racing stripe!"

June 23, 2005

Help Me, Help Me!

Okay, this is my first plea for pregnancy-related advice. Sorry, I'm afraid this does not bode well for my blog remaining even a tiny bit funny or interesting after the arrival of the Tadpole (who is officially a fetus today!). But I don't know anyone with kids, so I need some help.

1. What's the best stretch mark cream? Do any of them really work?

2. I plan to breastfeed, but the King wants to feed the baby too, so I'm thinking I could pump and let him bottlefeed occasionally. Will this totally freak out the Tadpole so that he or she will hate me and never want to breastfeed again? I've heard of some bottles that say their nipples prevent confusion--do they work, and which are the best?

June 20, 2005

What to Expect When You're Paranoid: Three Conversations

Me: Something's wrong! We have to go to the hospital!

DH: What? Are you sick?

Me: No, I'm perfectly fine. All my pregnancy symptoms have suddenly disappeared. I'm having a miscarriage, I know it.

DH: Uh, are you bleeding?

Me: No, but the book says there's something called a "missed miscarriage," and you don't bleed at all if that happens.

DH: What are the symptoms?

Me: Having all your pregnancy symptoms disappear. We have to go to the hospital, the book says so!

[Two hours later, the obstetrician inserts the DildoCam.]

OB: There it is! A healthy fetus. Looks like you're about seven weeks and three days along. You can even see it's heart beating!

Me and DH: [crying]

OB: You're perfectly fine. Don't worry about a thing.


Me: Something's wrong! We have to go to the hospital!

DH: What?

Me: I've got vaginal discharge! I'm leaking amniotic fluid! The books says to go to the hospital if you have any leaking at all!

DH: Honey, you just got out of the shower. You're dripping water everywhere, that's all it is. Go dry your hair.

Me: Oh. Yeah.


Me: Something's wrong! We have to go to the hospital!

DH: [sighing] What now?

Me: I just picked up this enormous frozen turkey, and it totally hurt my shoulder! The book says shoulder pain means an ectopic pregnancy! We have to go now--The book says!

DH: I am throwing that motherfucking book away.

June 14, 2005

Yeah, We Were Shocked Too

Still are, in fact. Thank you so much for your kind congratulations on my previous post. It's been five days and I am, apparently, still pregnant. Unfortunately, thanks to the high-quality medical care the military provides, I have absolutely no freaking idea how pregnant I am, although I suspect about five weeks. They did a blood test yesterday to confirm that yes, I'm knocked up, but they don't do quantitative betas, the one where you get the number that you then watch fanatically to make sure it's doubling every day. And I can't get in to see a doctor for two weeks. How am I supposed to know what chapter I'm allowed to read up to in What to Expect if I don't know how far along I am, goddamnit??

And yes, I got a copy of What to Expect. The King bought it for me. We saw it in the store, and I told him I had wanted to buy a copy for the last two years, but it was just too painful when we weren't actually expecting, so he got it for me. And I cried in line at the checkout.

And in the car after getting the lame blood test yesterday. And three times while watching tv. And once this morning in bed. Either I've definitely got that weepiness symptom, or I'm just still overwhelmed by the thought that I've actually got gobs (I hope) of HCG floating around my system.

And speaking of symptoms, yesterday my boobs were killing me and I felt totally sick in the morning, plus I took two naps in the afternoon. It was great. Unfortunately, I feel perfectly normal and fine today, so I assume that means the pregnancy's ending. Of course, I have no way to know for sure whether it's developing properly, because the Navy won't do an ultrasound until 12 weeks! Apparently they think the kindest and most sensitive way to find out that there's no fetal pole or gestational sac is not in the quiet tones of your gentle OBGYN as he or she points to the tv screen, but rather by waking up in a pool of blood and agonizing cramps.

No, seriously, I'm trying really hard not to think about things like that, although I know the King and I are both worried about it. But we're trying to enjoy it, too, especially since this is our first pregnancy--we're trying really hard to be that annoying couple who tells everyone after two days and starts buying tiny clothes at four weeks because they just don't know any better. I'm not quite there, though--I told him I can't say the B-word yet (as in, "I'm having a...!"), so he affectionately named our little ball of cells "The Tadpole." It was so sweet, I cried. Again.

June 11, 2005

In Which I Embody Every Fertility Cliche Ever Spoken

"Take a vacation!"

"Go to Hawaii, that's what we did!"

"Just relax--all that charting and stuff just makes it take longer."


I got two lines today. Two lines.

June 09, 2005

Don't You Hate That?

Don't you hate it when you move into a new rental house, and you go around and turn everything on to make sure it works, like the washing maching and the dishwasher, and it all does, and then your new landlady comes over to do a walkthrough inspection, and she fiddles with the washing machine and the dishwasher too, and then after she leaves, the washing machine won't start?

And then you call her and leave a really nasty message on her answering machine that says, "Hey, this is Queenie, and you fiddled around with my washer today, and now it doesn't work. And it worked earlier, so you totally broke it, and you need to come over right away and fix whatever it was that you screwed up."

And then you hang up, and then you see the cord hanging out of the back of the washing machine that you accidentally pulled out with the laundry room door five minutes before and forgot to plug back in? Don't you hate that?

June 08, 2005

World's Worst Blogger

I know, I haven't posted in like nineteen weeks, and therefore I don't deserve to have anyone come and read this post, but since Julia is going on vacation and won't be updating for a while, I'm hoping I can steal some of her uber-fabulous readers and convince them to come over here. I haven't been posting because I've now moved twice in one month and will be moving again in three weeks. Also, because I suspected I might be pregnant, which was taking up a great deal of my brain.

Stop laughing. I know, it's ridiculous. And no, I'm not pregnant. I am, like Akeeyu, in the middle of the longest, most boring cycle in history. I took Clomid about ninety-three days ago, and nothing has happened since. No ovulation, no blood, nada. I have, however, had two weeks of swollen, sore boobs, alternating bouts of feeling sick and stuffing my face, constipation, and fatigue. Whoo hoo! Pregnant, right? Not so much. Apparently I'm just fully fucked up.

The whole moving-three-times-in-two-months thing has been a major pain too. We flew here to Hawaii in May and moved into a nice hotel that the Navy kindly paid for. For ten days. However, they didn't have a house for us to live in, so we actually had to stay in the hotel for a month, paying for most of it ourselves. We finally got housing last week, and moved into it on Friday. (Pearl City, for those of you in this area.) However, in the meantime, we found our dream home. Or as close as you're going to get to it in Hawaii, where one-room shacks are selling for $400,000. We are now in the midst of selling our souls to the devil to get a half-a-million-dollar loan so we can buy said dream house, which only needs about $20,000 worth of work to make it livable. Trust me, for Hawaii, that's a great deal. It's just a little scary, and it means that assuming the devil accepts our souls in exchange for the house, we'll be moving yet again in a few weeks.

In the meantime, everything we own is in storage. The Navy kindly loaned us what they call "Aloha furniture." Aloha furniture is truly lovely wicker and plastic furniture with a florescent floral pattern that the Navy stores in huge, scary warehouses until someone like us needs to use it for a couple of weeks. Apparently they call it Aloha furniture because every morning you get to say "Aloha!" to the cockroaches that crawl out of it during the night.

Other than the endless moving, cockroach issue, and not having Internet access for ages, however, Hawaii is pretty awesome. It's actually hard to think of anything funny and sarcastic to say about it. The weather is just stunning; I'm learning to wear flip-flips. And there are rainbows here. And not just once in a while--I'm talking every day I go out for a walk and there will be a rainbow arching over the mist-shrouded peaks toward the center of the island, with the ocean waves gently lapping behind me.

Okay, that last bit was a lie. The King and I haven't spent any time at the beach yet. We stuck our feet in at North Shore for about five minutes a couple of weeks ago, but I haven't actually swum in the ocean here yet. I know, who goes to Hawaii and doesn't go to the beach? Don't worry, we'll get there eventually.

The only thing about Hawaii that isn't what I expected is the traffic. Everyone said, "The traffic is a nightmare, you'll sit for ages, it's horrendous." Ha! Happily, that turned out to be untrue. The people who told us that clearly have not had the pleasure of fighting traffic on both the Washington Beltway and the 101/405 Interchange in Los Angeles IN ONE WEEK. Now that's traffic.

So, to sum up, I promise to try to be a better blogger from here on out, and maybe even post a picture or two of our little island paradise.