Stumbling Towards Perfect

No Ultrasound For You! V and I went to the doc's. Talk about excited! Big V talked nothing BUT having a chance to see the baby "one more time." (I know that he's been secretly researching how to read ultrasounds to determine the sex of the baby but he was trying to play it off like he just wanted to make sure the kidneys and liver were forming properly.) We get there, I pee in the cup, hop up on the table draped in an oversized paper towel -- and then we're told we're free to go. WOAH! Hold on there a minute, Missy! Last week you promised us an ultrasound. That is the only reason we came back. But that was only because we wanted to verify the positioning but it's obvious from the let me put my hands all over you test that baby has dropped into the proper heads down position so it's no longer necessary. That was the biggest let down we've had in a long time. To make matters worse the doc went on and on with her opinion that, yep, for certain I woul

I sent V a text letting him know we had another doctor's appointment this afternoon. It's a fun one because they'll do an ultrasound. I've been nervous because with my other pregnancies I underwent a plethora of ultrasounds, to the point I'd just hop on the table, lube up, and expertly swirl the magic wand around myself. This doctor is a minimalist: we had the initial "yep, it's a blob!" and the 20-week "So, do you want to find out the sex?" ultrasounds, but then absolutely nothing for the next four months. Now I'm nervous. What if something is wrong and they should have told us three months ago? V, of course, oozes optimism. On more than one occasion I've accused him of living in a Fairy Land where nothing ever goes wrong, nobody ever gets hurt, and nothing bad ever happens to anyone. So, when I sent him the confirmation text I shouldn't have been surprised when I received: Sweet! I can see our baby and his or her heart and head

If ever I become unexpectantly unemployed, I know I shall have success as a Bank Robber Planner. I don't actually know if I could get paid for that, probably only with stolen money, which would eventually be tracked back to me and cause great hassles for me and my family, but if need be, the skill is there. I don't actually want to commit the crime itself, per se, just plan it out. Big V and I are becoming very skilled in the Art of Avoidance as well as Pondering All Possibilities. We are currently undergoing intense reviews in regards to "The Labor." The Labor will be soon. Whether tonight or a few weeks from now, it's bound to happen, and we need to be ready. I have the easy-going family. The "who cares if you lose an eye; you've got another one" type. I could show up at my parent's house a month after I had the baby and they'd be like Oh, Look! You had the baby! There is no threat or worry that they would disown me. Now, V's

The Forced Couples Baby Shower was not as bad as it could have been. A bit odd that V's mother insisted she had no idea who was invited, yet when people started filing in it was very apparent she had supplied a list of names and addresses to her friends. I must admit to feeling incredibly uncomfortable as V and I were handed gifts by people we were just meeting. To be fair, they seemed just as uncomfortable handing gifts to people they were just meeting. A few odd comments here and there from V's mother and sister. I was being introduced to one lady standing next to V's mom when Mommy Dearest turned and announced, "This is only the second time I've seen her since she became pregnant." Now, this is a flat out lie, but I suppose you don't get quite the dramatic and pained response from, "I've made their life a living hell upon learning they were expecting, and she finally stopped coming around two months ago when she realized I will never let up..

With only three hours to go, it doesn't look like I'll make it to "intense labor mode" by 5pm. What's in three hours, you ask? Well, that would be the forced couples baby shower V and I will be racing to attend. His family insists on hosting a shower. Sounds easy enough. Wrecked with drama, it is. V just called... he had stopped by his parent's house and his mom asked if we were planning on going to the shower tonight. (Um, yeah... it is for us, right?) That led to a discussion about who was invited. V said he didn't know; the guest list was taken over by the aunts. V told me he's a little nervous about who they may have invited. With my luck it will be all his ex-girlfriends. What's odd about this is that we never wanted a shower in the first place. We have everything we need, except for diapers & baby wipes, but we were told (many times) that it was selfish to deny V's mom this opportunity to throw us a shower. And yet she doesn't see

30 days to the due date. I'm actually finding myself quite nervous. I can't make it up a flight of stairs without getting completely out of breath; how on earth will I survive hours of labor? At this point I think I have a better chance of pushing my car up a hill with one hand. Pushing something the size of a watermelon out my yoo-hoo, which, for the record, is the size of a grape.... Ok, I actually don't know if that's accurate, but it's got to be close. Anyway, you get my point. The car would be easier. We had an appointment Tuesday. Time for some fun! Pee in the cup, get weighed, measure the abdomen, have something scraped against my rectum, blood pres --- Wait, scrape WHERE?! Yeah, something else they never tell you about. But I survived. Since I have this odd little habit of getting dizzy, seeing floaters, blacking out and vomitting all over myself, etc., the doc decided to hook me up to a monitor. They took V and I to this darkened room with the largest, comf

One of my professional duties is issuing notices of violation and citations when property owners are not following our zoning codes. (Think of a police officer busting a speeder... except I don't get the cool bullet proof vest, tazer, or car with lights & sirens.) I don't expect people to like me, much less thank me, for doing my job, because it usually means they were doing something they very much wanted to do that I made them stop doing. And people don't generally want to thank me for that. But every once in a while a "thank you" comes through to me. Here's one I received this afternoon from a gentleman that complied with stopping and fixing a non-compliant situation: I do want to thank you for taking the time to note the "end to the matter." These have not been easy solutions for me or to my needs. Losing the many thousands of dollars on the mobile home, does not hurt as much as I will not be able to use my farm until I get a caretaker to liv

As a parent you never know what impact television viewing will have on your children. I jump up to change channels when the preview of a scary movie comes on because frankly, I don't want to deal with nightmares and such. Dotter, especially, tends to worry and be leaning towards the extremo anxiety side of life. So when Dotter informed me she watched a show about 16-year old Minnesota conjoined twins Brittany & Abby I immediately thought, "Great! Here it comes... a thousand questions, tons of 'what if's', she's going to be a nervous wreck until this baby is born..." But (as often the case with children) she surprised me wishing upon wishing that I would give birth to conjoined twins. "Wouldn't it be great to never feel alone?" she asked. "They wouldn't be afraid when they went to sleep, and they could just always have a friend with them." "What if one wanted to watch one TV show, and the other wanted to watch something

I have always been impressed with gymnasts. Perhaps because I'm the least flexible person alive. I've never been able to do that bend & reach test in gym class. My legs don't even lay flat against the ground. It would take every ounce of my being just to reach down to my thighs. I'd be left grunting and groaning, begging myself to 'just. reach. knee....' while surrounded by the most flexible humans on the face of the planet. "Good job, Mary Sue!" the teacher would praise. "I love how you can get your head under you legs and reach out three feet past your toes!" Jelly Bean took gymnastics for quite a while. All the coaches said the same thing "she's a natural." And she was. Is. She just has this way about her that screams "gymnast." But, as is most things with the Bean, she judges herself against everyone better than her, and quits. I'd point out she was only ten and these girls were 16 and their mothers put the

Dear School Board Chairperson, Thank you for the five minute "entry interview" conducted last evening. I do hope that was plenty of time for you to decide whether or not my second grader will experience the honor and privilege of attending your school. Oh, wait... it's not actually your school, per se, you just happen to be the current school board chairperson. Well, I'm sure those other members who glanced nervously at the ground while you conducted the "interview" also believe you are the sole person in charge. I was just tickled pink when you brought up the fact that I was unmarried. It's sometimes difficult for me to impress upon my daughter, who was sitting right next to me - you remember her, don't you? Nervous looking 7-year old... the one blushing, who couldn't quite look in your eyes... yes, that was her -- anyway, it's sometimes difficult for me to impress upon my daughter how socially shamed she should feel because her mother chose

Cletus the Fetus has a new trick. I swear I'm not making this up. Big V was there. He saw the whole thing. After a particularly harsh day of Ultimate Womb Fighting I was laying in bed attempting to relax my uterus, which was working as well as if you had been beaten in the abdomen with a metal bat and then expected to gently release the pain through visions of kittens and bunny rabbits, which is saying, it wasn't working at all and I was in a lot of pain and wanted to ensure that everyone knew how misearable I was. Anyway, V, in his infinite pregnancy wisdom, leans towards me and makes the comment (while SMIRKING no less): "How can the baby just moving hurt you?" At that exact moment Cletus the Fetus actually stood upright in my womb, extended his little arm and gave his father the finger right before completing a back layout with a twist. In stellar response mode V jumped completely off the bed, back stuck against the wall, eyes as big as saucers and yells, yes, y

So with all the trouble I've been having trying to stay upright and alert in my impregnated condition, I've been told to relax, try to take it easy, and not get stressed out. Last night I attempted to watch television while holding on to the right side of my bulging middle section and fighting back tears, convinced someone had shoved an invisible machete into my womb. Big V tried to get my mind off the excruciating pain by asking the world's stupidest questions of all time: "How do you feel?" "Are you ok?" "Do you want anything to eat?" When that wasn't proving to be effective he tried placating me by tuning the television to the Duggar Family show. Have you seen this? Smiling, pleasant, well-spoken mother of 18. Yes, EIGHTEEN! And she birthed every single one of them. And never has a negative word to say about anything, much less the blessing of pregnancy. This particular episode focused on the "Bradley Method of Natural Childbirth.&q

It's not everyone that can say they've completely blacked out in a church and vomitted all over themselves, resulting in being carried out of the church on a stretcher. But now I can say it! Been there, done that, people. What's next on my list? Ok, ok, so you want details.... geesh, don't get so antsy. Alright. At 33 weeks pregnant it's hard to find a nice dress suitable for a funeral, but I found one. A lovely black v-neck with a low key dark red design that just covered my knees. Threw on my black heels a second before I got out of the car and I was the epitome of "classy pregnant woman attends memorial." A few psalms, a few prayers, a few up and down moments and I was feeling the effect of lack of air conditioning. However, not wanting to draw attention to myself I decided that I should simply sit down and not attempt the long 'standing wait & walk through' of countless pews of communion. A few minutes later I tugged on V's shirt