Friday, August 21, 2009

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 seem to be involved in the planning process whatsoever. (Maybe we're supposed to give her a gift?)

So the guests will be a surprise. Not the gifts, though. No, that was explained to V in detail. Since we "won't accept anything nice from anyone" they're just giving us gift cards to WalMart.

Boy, doesn't this just sound like an infinite amount of fun!

Wednesday, August 19, 2009

The beginning of the long, drawn out end....

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, comfiest chair ever in the middle of the room. After I kicked V out of the comfy chair and over to the hard, waiting-type one, I was strapped up. One monitor followed the baby, the other my uterus. V fell asleep right away, so he missed the twenty minutes of fun. (I told him he had to pack a bag for the hospital filled with things that would keep him awake, otherwise I might kill him if I see him sleeping while pain is ripping me in half. He agreed that he didn't really want to die, so he's going to throw some entertaining items together.)

The doc came back in and checked the read-out commenting, "Oh, you have some pretty regular contractions... can you feel them?" Uh, that would be a YES. For the past few days, in fact, that would be a yes. I explained I could work through them (I wanted her to think I was really strong and able, not weak and wimpy like some of those other pregnant moms-to-be). I did not tell her that the way I defined "work through" was grab onto whatever was closest to me and squeeze my eyes tight while praying I survived the next 45 seconds. (So far, God has answered my prayers and I've survived and I thank Him for that.)

I casually tossed out, "But those are just those Braxton-Hicks contractions, right?" (I wanted to impress V with my vast prego-medico terminology.) To which the doctor replied, "No. They're the real things, they just aren't doing anything to your body to progress labor." Contractions, say what?!

Let me get this straight... for the past couple days I've been experiencing "real" contractions that have done absolutely nothing for me. And this could continue for how long? "Well, until your body is ready." Like in two days? Or a month? Or two weeks after my due date -- which is six weeks, you know.... "It could be any of those scenarios, but I think you'll be right at your due date based on your past two pregnancies."

So, anyway, I hate my doctor now. I mean, any woman who can look another woman in the eye and say with a clear conscious, "You may experience contractions for the next thirty days" does not have my respect. I'm pretty black-and-white when it comes to things like this, and she is no longer my friend.

Monday, August 17, 2009

Passive Aggressive much?

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 live there. Which probably means I will never be able to use my farm again. And since I am almost 79 years old, doesn't really mean forever.

I would not allow this 20 years ago. Or even 15 years ago, when I spent many months trying to work with your town to bring sewer/water to my land, I think over those years ... not once did anyone in your town ever show the courtesy of answering one letter, return one call, or agree to meet with me. I simply decided not to deal with your town and never did since. Except now, you came to me through my back door and dictated how I can use my land.

Now I am weak with Lung Cancer, tired most of the time. I lost my younger son 3 years ago from a brain tumor so I have no one to leave the legacy of what I can do or to whom the land should belong to.

I have protected the Indian Mounds there .. discovered in 1929 and not developed the land with tickey tack houses ... What I should have done was dig it all up and throw it onto your side of "my fence." (as you don't even have a fence of your own.)

I am glad you are content with the outcome, God know why you are, but apparently you are.

I feel the needles from the voodoo doll already...