August 31, 2005

From Sore Ass to Funky Stomach

I haven't posted lately because, although the enormous pain in my ass has mostly cleared up, for several days I've been having Braxton-Hicks contractions. I'm only having a few a day, so I'm trying not to worry. My nurse-practitioner was completely unconcerned on the phone, so I haven't gone to the ER about them, but it's definitely odd. I'm only 18 weeks along today, and they don't normally start until at least 20 weeks, or even much later, in first pregnancies. I'm trying not to think the words "preterm labor," "bed rest," or "premature stillbirth" at this point, although it's hard.

August 23, 2005

The Enormous Pain in My Ass

I have developed posterior pelvic pain, or what is known as pregnancy sciatica. PPP is not actually sciatica, which is caused by a crushed nerve, but the feeling is basically the same--an awful, stabbing pain in the center of my left butt cheek. Nice.

I begged the King last night to please, please rub my butt and make it feel better, but he was very hesitant. I think he was a bit scared of both the way I was vigorously thrusting my ass toward him and the fact that I announced that my waist is now 40 inches in circumference. That is MORE THAN A YARD, people! I am a yard around! A yard is a measurement for a football field, not a body part. I'm fairly disturbed by this, and it didn't help when the King gleefully crowed, "Soon you'll be twice this big! You'll be, like, eight feet around!!" See if he gets a blowjob this month.

August 18, 2005

Things You Should Not Do When You Are Hormonal and Already Prone to Tears

1. Watch Beaches on tv.
2. Read My Sister's Keeper, by Jodi Picoult.
3. Watch any Animal Planet show involving rescuing kittens from a well.
4. Read pretty much any post by Grrl, particularly the one that said, "I said to her, 'I know you think that you created a life yesterday, but really, you created two. You have renewed me.'"
5. Buy those Hallmark cards that have quotes on them by Maya Angelou.

August 17, 2005

Way to Make Me Feel Better, Nurse Practitioner

At my four-month checkup this afternoon:

Me: So, you would be able to tell by now if I had placenta previa or an incompetent cervix or something scary like that, right?

NP: [laughing] What have you been reading about?

Me: Um, everything. Particularly things that could, you know, kill me.

NP: Well, no, you'll have to wait until the 20-week ultrasound to see where the placenta is. And what was that other thing you mentioned?

Me: An incompetent cervix.

NP: [cheerily] Oh, no, we usually don't diagnose those until you've had a miscarriage or two.

Me: But, um, wouldn't my baby be dead by then?

NP: Well, er, yeah. [uncomfortable silence] But I'm sure it's all fine! See you next month!

August 15, 2005

What the Hell Was I Thinking?

I just got off the phone with the local La Leche League leader. I'm officially scheduled to attend their next meeting, in September.

What the fuck was I thinking? There are going to be PREGNANT women there! And women with babies! I spent the last two years trying as hard as I could to avoid being near pregnant women because it was sheer torture watching them coo over their lovely round bellies and cute little babies. And now I'm volunteering to spend an hour chatting about breast shields and eating brownies with them. (Or maybe soy cakes? LLLers are pretty crunchy granola folks, right? Jesus, just the thought makes me want to go to McDonalds.)

I have clearly not completely accepted that I'm actually pregnant. The King is totally at one with the idea--he has no trouble discussing the fact that in February, we will be acquiring a child. I, however, am still in total denial. Baby? What baby? My stomach is suddenly as round as a balloon because I ate half a pizza last night, not because of any sort of small person inside it! It's not possible--two doctors said so! "It will be totally impossible for you to get pregnant without IVF. Don't even bother trying." That's what they said.

Shit. Do you think they'll make me try on a breast shield? Do you think I should find out what a breast shield actually is before I go to the meeting?

August 09, 2005

Love in the Time of Malaria

Life here in paradise, as it turns out, is not always perfect. There are a few major flaws to living in Hawaii, I have found. The major one is the bugs. This is, you see, a tropical paradise. Tropical being the essential word in that phrase.

First, there are the mosquitos. I'm one of those people who mosquitos seem to really love biting, and as it turns out, pregnant women are also very prone to mosquito bites. So I'm getting them double. On top of that, I have this fabulous allergic reaction to mosquito bites--a huge, red welt swells up all around the bite and itches for days. You'd think I'd been attacked by leeches or something.

I could live with the mosquitos if they were the only bug around here, but no. You see, tropical bugs are special. By special, I mean HUGE. And terrifying. We get flying cockroaches the size of your hand that crawl under doorways and sneak into the house. Even the King, who isn't scared of bugs, has a hard time with them. The first time I begged him, crying, to kill one, he hovered with his paper towel over the enormous thing on the wall. "What's wrong?" I cried, covering my eyes and praying that it wouldn't fly toward me. "Dude, it's looking at me," he said.

And cockroaches aren't enough either. There are horrifying millipedes that look like something out of a Stephen King novel. Five inches long, it's not bad enough that they're huge and black and wiggly and disgusting. No, they have the added bonus of being able to deliver an agonizingly painful bite and sting. Nice.

And now I've twice found small poops in our bathroom. I suspect we have mice. I've never had mice in my house before (except as a pet once, as a kid), but I could probably deal with killing them. Except, if tropical mice are anything like tropical insects, they're probably the size of a hamster and vicious as hell, which means I'm in trouble.

August 01, 2005

Hey Dude, What's Up with the Blowtorch?

Right now, at this very moment, there is a teenage boy using a BLOWTORCH in my living room.

He is ostensibly installing an air conditioner because it is so very, very hot here, but what he is actually doing seems to be some sort of copper pipe welding project on my living room carpeting with a BLOWTORCH. And he's about sixteen. And did I mention that he's using a blowtorch???

I asked him, "Hey, do you always have to use a blowtorch to put in an air conditioner?"
He said, "Eh, yeah, sometimes."
Then I asked, trying to sound very calm and cool, "Hey, do you ever worry about burning someone's house down with the blowtorch?"
And he said, "Eh, yeah, sometimes."

Then I fled the room, telling myself it was to protect the fetus from the scary toxic smells that the blowtorch is producing, but really it was because I am too scared to watch this kid do his blowtorching, and so I am hiding in my office praying that he doesn't burn my goddamned house down.