This morning, in that hazy place between wake and sleep, I had this horrible dream. I dreamed that I was almost nine months pregnant, had put on almost forty pounds in thirty five weeks, and had just started to realize that I had not a clue what to do with a baby - a baby I was almost certain the hospital was going to send home with me. Then I attempted to roll over, received a ninja chop to my liver, and sat up straight in bed (or sat up as straight as possible which is actually more of a reverse limbo move wherein a lot of straining and groaning takes place) and realized that Holy Crap that's not a dream - that's my life, and my thighs rubbing together.
This thought was quickly followed by a wave of widespread panic. (Which now makes me smile in a very ironic way seeing as just a few short ten years ago I followed a band by that name through various cities and ate grilled cheese sandwiches while rocking out in my hippie clothes. Now, I am using the term to describe the size of my butt and the extent of my realization that I am about to the at least partially responsible for another human being's continued existence.) But, back to the wave of panic which was even more quickly thwarted by the now constant need to pee so I rolled out of bed - literally, I roll out of bed now, like start with a rock to the left, then a rock to the right, then back to the left, then hurl myself off the side of the bed with as much momentum as possible and hope to land on my feet - and waddled into the bathroom hoping my aching back would get me to the pot before I peed on myself.
And because I was already in an obviously reflective mood, my mind drifted back to a fateful night some eight months ago (October 24 to be exact) when another seemingly innocent trip to the bathroom sent me into a tearful panic that my sweet, sweet husband did not seem to understand. I remember looking at him as he smiled with all the pride of a new daddy and I half choked/half sobbed/half screamed (I know that this is too many halves, but work with me) at him that this was NOT okay under any means and I was freaking out because I was going to have to push a baby out of my hoo-hah and I did not so much want to do that.
Ooooh, naive child of so little faith, I told my eight months ago self this morning. Delivery. HA. Like that's what you should have been worried about so many nights ago. How about this for an updated list of things you should have been wigging out about: bottles, breastfeeding, breastfeeding every 2-3 hours, circumcision care, umbilical care, colic, acid reflux in baby, acid reflux in you, never sleeping again, sitz baths, birth weight, my weight, the fear of peeing on yourself, the fact that you will not be able to breathe, walk, sleep, sit, stand or even eat properly in just a few short months, the fear that this child may never, ever actually get here, and did I mention breastfeeding every 2-3 hours leading to never sleeping again and possibly losing your mind?
Whew. And I was worried about what it would be like to have a baby in the sense of delivering one. Now I am kind of majorly concerned about what it will be like to have a baby in the sense of have as in ownership, like he is all yours, yes ma'am you do have to take him home from the hospital, and by the way, when exactly are you planning on installing that car seat, putting together that crib, or buying that rectal thermometer you keep hearing about. BUT at the same time, there is coinciding fear, however irrational, that what if he never comes out of me??? What if he just keeps getting bigger and I keep bigger, and the weeks keep going by slower and he just never actually gets here and ......
I am actually losing my mind. As I type this, I can feel the hysteria creeping out of my fingertips and onto the computer screen. But, I am going to take solace in the fact, although I do not know this for sure, that these feelings are normal - however crazy they may seem when you see them in black in white. I am going to go back to my happy place of being in denial that this is all about to go down in a very real kind of way, and instead heave my now very large rear end out of this very hard chair and waddle to a very greasy lunch counter and eat something fried followed by something covered in icing for lunch. And when the next person asks me, oooh, you look like you are about to bust, how much longer? I am just going to give them a blank stare, shake my head slowly, and say, I haven't the foggiest idea what you are talking about, how much longer until what?
Wednesday, May 25, 2011
Thursday, April 28, 2011
Things I Didn't Know Before I Got Knocked Up
1. In a single week, my daily pregnancy calender dropped these two delightful bombs on me:
a) You may notice leaking colostrum. (By the way, this is breast milk)
b) You may be experiencing leaking urine or stress incontinence.
Wow, REALLY? You have forty weeks to discuss the possibility that I am going to be walking around while still pregnant leaking breast milk and peeing on myself and you do it within two days of one another. Awesome. Oh, and Honey, no need to set the sprinklers up in the backyard this week. I am just going to go lay out in the yard and leak all over it. Thats disgusting. And unnecessary. And I am not sorry I shared it with you. But, in case you are wondering, I have not as of today peed my pants or sprouted breast milk onto myself. Trust me, I will let you know when either of the above events occurs. BUT on a related note, something else I learned the hard way in this pregnancy is that your nose bleeds. Just randomly starts leaking blood even if you have never had a nose bleed before. I am really rooting for the leakage trifecta - the perfect storm if you will. Hopefully somewhere good and public, like the cookie aisle at Kroger. I hope I leak blood from my nose, milk from my boobs, and urine, well from you know where, all at the same time and completely freak some little kid out. That'll teach her abstinence.
2. You can gain thirty some odd pounds while pregnant. The scale does go that high. Your doctor will tell you to lay off the bonbons. You will hate her when she tells you this. And laugh to yourself as you leave the doctor's office and proceed to immediately go eat a bacon cheeseburger. With fries. This is what you look like:
And for a close up:
And yes, we were just kidding with the whole kiss her belly shot. We are not actually that dorky. I, however, am that huge.
3. It is possible to fall in love with someone you have never met, and when you see his perfect little face you just know that he is yours and while you have no idea what you are going to do with him when he gets here, you can't freaking wait to introduce yourself.
a) You may notice leaking colostrum. (By the way, this is breast milk)
b) You may be experiencing leaking urine or stress incontinence.
Wow, REALLY? You have forty weeks to discuss the possibility that I am going to be walking around while still pregnant leaking breast milk and peeing on myself and you do it within two days of one another. Awesome. Oh, and Honey, no need to set the sprinklers up in the backyard this week. I am just going to go lay out in the yard and leak all over it. Thats disgusting. And unnecessary. And I am not sorry I shared it with you. But, in case you are wondering, I have not as of today peed my pants or sprouted breast milk onto myself. Trust me, I will let you know when either of the above events occurs. BUT on a related note, something else I learned the hard way in this pregnancy is that your nose bleeds. Just randomly starts leaking blood even if you have never had a nose bleed before. I am really rooting for the leakage trifecta - the perfect storm if you will. Hopefully somewhere good and public, like the cookie aisle at Kroger. I hope I leak blood from my nose, milk from my boobs, and urine, well from you know where, all at the same time and completely freak some little kid out. That'll teach her abstinence.
2. You can gain thirty some odd pounds while pregnant. The scale does go that high. Your doctor will tell you to lay off the bonbons. You will hate her when she tells you this. And laugh to yourself as you leave the doctor's office and proceed to immediately go eat a bacon cheeseburger. With fries. This is what you look like:
And yes, we were just kidding with the whole kiss her belly shot. We are not actually that dorky. I, however, am that huge.
3. It is possible to fall in love with someone you have never met, and when you see his perfect little face you just know that he is yours and while you have no idea what you are going to do with him when he gets here, you can't freaking wait to introduce yourself.
Remind me how excited I was for him to get here in about ten weeks when I haven't slept, eaten, or showered in days and own no article of clothing that has not been peed, pooped, or spit up on.
Thursday, April 21, 2011
Say What?
I know I have blogged about this before but I remain in awe at the things people will say to you when you are pregnant. Its like just because you got knocked up some people forget they still have to abide by societal norms and general social etiquette.
The other night - it was actually like two weeks ago, I have become incredibly lazy in all parts of my life including the ol' blog -- me and the hubs had to attend an epidural class. You are probably wondering what this is because apparently the hospital here is the only one in the whole world who requires this. But its a class wherein you go and learn about epidurals and then sign an informed consent form that you have to have to get an epidural once you are in labor. And word on the street is that if you don't have your white consent form you aint gettin' an epidural. So, just to be on the safe side, we signed up for the April class - Mama don't want to feel nothing during this whole labor/delivery nonsense.
Anywho, as we make our way into the hospital, an elderly lady perched in a wheelchair just inside the door to the hospital greets us with a smile with which, of course, we return people observing general social norms usually do. Then, the wench says to me, "Gurrrrrllll, you already got the weeble wobbles." Say what?? The weeble wobbles? Do you mean to say that this is what I remind you of?
Awesome. At least I can still weeble wobble, Cankle Marie with your orthopedic shoes. Strike that - that is an ugly thing to think about an elderly woman in a wheelchair with no ankles to speak of. But I mean seriously folks, don't ever tell a very pregnant, very waddley woman that she has the weeble wobbles, especially in front of her husband. Because for a solid week after that, Robby was all jokes about the weeble wobbles. Made me want to weeble wobble him. And it really added fuel to the fire that was already lit by his earlier question to me --
Back up a few days and I will relay the most sensitive and loving question my sweet, dear husband has ever asked me (Robby, I know you will be reading this, and you don't probably want me blogging about you, but you undyng concern about my well being cannot go without public praise)
As I was again apparently waddling to the car through a very long and hot parking lot, Robby looked at me and asked me why I was walking like that, you know with my legs spread apart and all waddley like?? Say what sweet hubby of mine? Why am I waddling through this parking lot like there is something between my legs? Because there is something between my legs - its a combination of the child you helped produce and my inner thighs which have grown to be so thick that I am seriously concerned about chafing at this point. I mean my legs look like someone taped one of those big turkey legs you get at the fair to the inside of each of my thighs. I am going to have to start wearing biking shorts to just cut down on the friction - either that or continue to weeble wobble every wear I go. OR maybe I can go borrow Cankle Marie's wheelchair for the next ten weeks.
And finally, if one more person asks me how far along I am (to which I always politely reply the appropriate amount of time minus like a week to make myself feel better) and then get this kind of shocked and horrified expression and respond oh, you have a lot longer to go or oh really that much longer or any other form of the phrase holy crap fatso you are going to be freaking huge by then, I am going to jump you. I mean get it together folks. Learn to control your facial expressions before you question me on my due date. Oh, and weird guy from Monday - telling a woman who just told you she isn't due until the end of June that she looks miserable already and its going to be a long ten weeks is reason enough for me to slit your tires. If I could bend over that low. Your gut hangs out further than mine and you look miserable too and you have a lifetime to go judging by the size of that donut you are shoveling in your mouth.
Say what?
The other night - it was actually like two weeks ago, I have become incredibly lazy in all parts of my life including the ol' blog -- me and the hubs had to attend an epidural class. You are probably wondering what this is because apparently the hospital here is the only one in the whole world who requires this. But its a class wherein you go and learn about epidurals and then sign an informed consent form that you have to have to get an epidural once you are in labor. And word on the street is that if you don't have your white consent form you aint gettin' an epidural. So, just to be on the safe side, we signed up for the April class - Mama don't want to feel nothing during this whole labor/delivery nonsense.
Anywho, as we make our way into the hospital, an elderly lady perched in a wheelchair just inside the door to the hospital greets us with a smile with which, of course, we return people observing general social norms usually do. Then, the wench says to me, "Gurrrrrllll, you already got the weeble wobbles." Say what?? The weeble wobbles? Do you mean to say that this is what I remind you of?
Back up a few days and I will relay the most sensitive and loving question my sweet, dear husband has ever asked me (Robby, I know you will be reading this, and you don't probably want me blogging about you, but you undyng concern about my well being cannot go without public praise)
As I was again apparently waddling to the car through a very long and hot parking lot, Robby looked at me and asked me why I was walking like that, you know with my legs spread apart and all waddley like?? Say what sweet hubby of mine? Why am I waddling through this parking lot like there is something between my legs? Because there is something between my legs - its a combination of the child you helped produce and my inner thighs which have grown to be so thick that I am seriously concerned about chafing at this point. I mean my legs look like someone taped one of those big turkey legs you get at the fair to the inside of each of my thighs. I am going to have to start wearing biking shorts to just cut down on the friction - either that or continue to weeble wobble every wear I go. OR maybe I can go borrow Cankle Marie's wheelchair for the next ten weeks.
And finally, if one more person asks me how far along I am (to which I always politely reply the appropriate amount of time minus like a week to make myself feel better) and then get this kind of shocked and horrified expression and respond oh, you have a lot longer to go or oh really that much longer or any other form of the phrase holy crap fatso you are going to be freaking huge by then, I am going to jump you. I mean get it together folks. Learn to control your facial expressions before you question me on my due date. Oh, and weird guy from Monday - telling a woman who just told you she isn't due until the end of June that she looks miserable already and its going to be a long ten weeks is reason enough for me to slit your tires. If I could bend over that low. Your gut hangs out further than mine and you look miserable too and you have a lifetime to go judging by the size of that donut you are shoveling in your mouth.
Say what?
Monday, April 4, 2011
ANABART
This whole pregnancy thing has really started to drag on and on and on and on. I mean the first few months were all like "oh cool, growing life, having a baby, yippee ki yay (and yes I googled how to spell that). But now, my boobs are permanently resting on my belly, I am constantly out of breath, and the thought of continuing to grow (and then swell) for another approximately 86 more days is almost more than I can stand.
Now don't get me wrong - I am so excited to have a baby, glad he is doing great in there, yadda yadda yadda, insert any other disclosure that reassures you that I am not a terrible person taking for granted how lucky I am to have this opportunity. But seriously folks, MY BOOBS AND MY BELLY HAVE LITERALLY FUSED INTO A SINGLE, COHESIVE UNIT. Like I am worried about something getting lost in there. And its not just the boob/belly thing. I was driving in my car yesterday and noticed that there are parts of my back/arm fat resting against the car seat that did not used to be there. And you can forget about the thighs - they have so much friction going on from rubbing together that I am worried about starting a fire and becoming seriously injured in my nether region.
But, enough about me - well I mean the whole blog is basically about me so I am going to continue rambling about myself, but will at least move onto a less volumptous topic. Because I seriously feel like all I ever talk about is how huge I feel. So, I am going to make it a point to discuss something else.
Last week, I started randomly having Braxton Hicks contractions. You might already know this, but if you don't here is some useful information about this phenomenon- If you start having Braxton Hicks contractions at 27 weeks, this apparently is a-okay. And no reason to call your mother and husband and inform them that you may be having preterm labor because the website you were reading says you shouldn't be having these yet. My doctor infomed me it was perfectly fine. --Now, don't just go based on what I said. I mean I am no doctor and in no way mean for this statement to guide you in anything you do. Just recounting what MY doctor said --
The whole Braxton Hicks thing is really quite a bizarre phenonmeon. First, you are just waddling down the street minding your own business and your whole gullet starts to sqeeze up like you are having a charlie horse in your uterus - and I wasn't even exactly sure where my uterus was! But when it starts to pucker up like a kid eating a lemon you know exactly where it is. And you think to yourself, "Self, I think you are having a contraction. One of those Braxton Hicks things. Perhaps I should google this and see if this normal."
Well, Google produced the following results:
1. They are named after John Braxton Hicks, the doctor who first described them in 1872. Now, why did it take a male doctor until 1872 to "describe" them and how the heck does he know how to describe them. Does he have a uterine wall that is contracting at irregular intervals? I think not. It really irritates me that we named them after this man. This man that did not have to deal with the ordeal of pushing something out of his whoo-haa a few short months later after he so eloquently "described" them for all the world. So I am renaming them - ANABART contractions. Which stands for Allegedly Not As Bad As the Real Thing contractions. I add the allegedly because if you are having an ANABART contraction, you haven't experienced a real contraction so you don't know for sure. And also, because I plan on having an epidural at like week 32 and every week thereafter so I hope to not feel any real contractions.
2. ANABART contractions are apparently caused by dehydration or a full bladder. So drink up, but don't drink too much. Helpful I know.
3. ANABART contractions can also be brought on by "overdoing" it but can be are alleviated by exercise. Again, helpful. However, I am joining the camp that states they are brought on by overdoing it. I will from this point on be taking every elevator I can find and have stopped doing any type of cooking or cleaning. Considering telling my boss that waking up before 9 or working past 3 is going to be overdoing it and we will have to adjust my work schedule accordingly. For the baby's sake of course.
4. Apparently the best way to tell if your contractions are false labor or real labor is if they continue to get stronger and closer together for a period of time they are probably real contractions. Or if a baby starts coming out. (I added the second part, but it seems logical that if a baby is coming out of your body, it was real contractions and you should probably call someone.)
I will be contacting the authorities who name bodily functions as soon as possible to tell them about the new name. If you have these powerful people's contact information, that would be helpful and appreciated. Sorry John Braxton Hicks, but your time in the limelight is over.
Now don't get me wrong - I am so excited to have a baby, glad he is doing great in there, yadda yadda yadda, insert any other disclosure that reassures you that I am not a terrible person taking for granted how lucky I am to have this opportunity. But seriously folks, MY BOOBS AND MY BELLY HAVE LITERALLY FUSED INTO A SINGLE, COHESIVE UNIT. Like I am worried about something getting lost in there. And its not just the boob/belly thing. I was driving in my car yesterday and noticed that there are parts of my back/arm fat resting against the car seat that did not used to be there. And you can forget about the thighs - they have so much friction going on from rubbing together that I am worried about starting a fire and becoming seriously injured in my nether region.
But, enough about me - well I mean the whole blog is basically about me so I am going to continue rambling about myself, but will at least move onto a less volumptous topic. Because I seriously feel like all I ever talk about is how huge I feel. So, I am going to make it a point to discuss something else.
Last week, I started randomly having Braxton Hicks contractions. You might already know this, but if you don't here is some useful information about this phenomenon- If you start having Braxton Hicks contractions at 27 weeks, this apparently is a-okay. And no reason to call your mother and husband and inform them that you may be having preterm labor because the website you were reading says you shouldn't be having these yet. My doctor infomed me it was perfectly fine. --Now, don't just go based on what I said. I mean I am no doctor and in no way mean for this statement to guide you in anything you do. Just recounting what MY doctor said --
The whole Braxton Hicks thing is really quite a bizarre phenonmeon. First, you are just waddling down the street minding your own business and your whole gullet starts to sqeeze up like you are having a charlie horse in your uterus - and I wasn't even exactly sure where my uterus was! But when it starts to pucker up like a kid eating a lemon you know exactly where it is. And you think to yourself, "Self, I think you are having a contraction. One of those Braxton Hicks things. Perhaps I should google this and see if this normal."
Well, Google produced the following results:
1. They are named after John Braxton Hicks, the doctor who first described them in 1872. Now, why did it take a male doctor until 1872 to "describe" them and how the heck does he know how to describe them. Does he have a uterine wall that is contracting at irregular intervals? I think not. It really irritates me that we named them after this man. This man that did not have to deal with the ordeal of pushing something out of his whoo-haa a few short months later after he so eloquently "described" them for all the world. So I am renaming them - ANABART contractions. Which stands for Allegedly Not As Bad As the Real Thing contractions. I add the allegedly because if you are having an ANABART contraction, you haven't experienced a real contraction so you don't know for sure. And also, because I plan on having an epidural at like week 32 and every week thereafter so I hope to not feel any real contractions.
2. ANABART contractions are apparently caused by dehydration or a full bladder. So drink up, but don't drink too much. Helpful I know.
3. ANABART contractions can also be brought on by "overdoing" it but can be are alleviated by exercise. Again, helpful. However, I am joining the camp that states they are brought on by overdoing it. I will from this point on be taking every elevator I can find and have stopped doing any type of cooking or cleaning. Considering telling my boss that waking up before 9 or working past 3 is going to be overdoing it and we will have to adjust my work schedule accordingly. For the baby's sake of course.
4. Apparently the best way to tell if your contractions are false labor or real labor is if they continue to get stronger and closer together for a period of time they are probably real contractions. Or if a baby starts coming out. (I added the second part, but it seems logical that if a baby is coming out of your body, it was real contractions and you should probably call someone.)
I will be contacting the authorities who name bodily functions as soon as possible to tell them about the new name. If you have these powerful people's contact information, that would be helpful and appreciated. Sorry John Braxton Hicks, but your time in the limelight is over.
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
Wildlife
Two back to back blog posts you ask? Well after the day I had today, I simply had to share with you.
As a little background ... I have been working on this big, federal grant proposal that is due Tuesday and as a part of it, I had to get all the sheriff's in my district's signatures. So today, I set out to transverse the Third Judicial District of Mississippi in search of signatures, and well, everyone should travel these roads once in their life. They are full of animals you have to really see to believe.
1. As I leave Oxford heading north on Highway 7, I cross into Marshall County and see the biggest dog I have ever seen standing in the middle of the road. As I slow down wondering why the big dog doesn't move, I realize something. This is not a dog. Oh no. We have a cow that has gone rogue. And she is not happy with the current traffic situation. And she is staring at me like it is my fault that she has escaped from whatever insufficient pen her cow farmer was keeping her. All I can think of is how Robby yelled me not once but twice in the past few weeks to never swerve to avoid an animal walking into the road. I believe his words were: "Just hit the animal Ashley; they aren't worth causing an accident" Hmmmm, for some reason I doubt this is the situation he had in mind. So I decide swerving from a dead stop, cattle Mexican stand off would be appropriate and escape the potentially cattle-strauphic situation. (By the way, don't worry about the cow. I promptly notified the Sheriff's Department about said angry cow and after convincing them that I was not making this up, they left to find the she-devil and return her to her rightful farmland).
2. Fast forward three counties and two hours of my life and I have made it to Union County where I encounter following story. Now, this story has nothing to do with me directly, but it is just too good to not be shared. And it did happen today so it totally counts. Apparently, the officer in charge of supervising house arrest folks had a guy that was having some malfunctioning monitoring equipment so he went to pay Criminal a visit. When he gets there he realizes the problem is with the transmitter thingy (I didn't get the technical terms from him, sorry) which Criminal states is located in his bedroom. Well, upon inspection our supervisor realizes that the wire has been chewed all the way through - by the GOAT in the guys bedroom. I could elaborate on this in so many ways but will let your minds go where they will. All I can say is the man had goat poop all over his room so the goat was apparently making himself at home.
***Relatives: There was no evidence that the goat man was related to us or even living in Ingomar. Just a random guy in Union County. Cue sigh of relief.***
3. Fast forward to somewhere between Chickasaw and Calhoun counties. I notice there is a small field that is on fire next to this little house off the side of the road. It is obvious that this is an intentional fire because there are two men standing by the road supervising the blaze laughing and chatting. The problem is that there are a least ten kids ranging in age from probably 5 to 12 sporadically standing around the field-o-fire with buckets (I am assuming of water) and hoses and shovels (not sure what the shovels are for, didn't stop to inquire). Now, I am all about getting your kids to help around the house on Spring Break, but forcing them to act as your own personal volunteer fire department seems a bit inappropriate. And a bucket of water being held by a seven year old twenty feet from your home is probably not what your insurance guy had in mind when he asked you if you had the appropriate fire preventative devices to qualify for that new lower rate on your home insurance. Just throwing that out there.
4. Finally, I make it back to Oxford and run by office to check in before heading home. I get a call on my phone from a number I don't know. Its my vet. Who lives in my neighborhood. Who is calling me to tell me my devil dog is running around the neighborhood. Now, let me tell you about Devil Dog. She stays in our backyard during the day which is closed in by a six foot privacy fence. Which, after she continuously refused to stay in, Robby strung with electrical wire that is supposedly streaming high voltage electricity all along the bottom of the fence. Now, in Devil Dog's defense, I checked the wire and its not currently working. But I have to ask myself, how many times did that stupid dog go up to that wire and get shocked before trying today and realizing it wasn't working. I mean, she just didn't think to herself, "hey, I havne't dug under this fence in a while, the last time a tried I got electrocuted, but I mean, maybe today will be different." I bet her heart skipped a beat when she realized she was free. Free at last. Her and Mad Cow should really get together - they could write a book called Going Rogue. Oh wait, someone already did that...
As a little background ... I have been working on this big, federal grant proposal that is due Tuesday and as a part of it, I had to get all the sheriff's in my district's signatures. So today, I set out to transverse the Third Judicial District of Mississippi in search of signatures, and well, everyone should travel these roads once in their life. They are full of animals you have to really see to believe.
1. As I leave Oxford heading north on Highway 7, I cross into Marshall County and see the biggest dog I have ever seen standing in the middle of the road. As I slow down wondering why the big dog doesn't move, I realize something. This is not a dog. Oh no. We have a cow that has gone rogue. And she is not happy with the current traffic situation. And she is staring at me like it is my fault that she has escaped from whatever insufficient pen her cow farmer was keeping her. All I can think of is how Robby yelled me not once but twice in the past few weeks to never swerve to avoid an animal walking into the road. I believe his words were: "Just hit the animal Ashley; they aren't worth causing an accident" Hmmmm, for some reason I doubt this is the situation he had in mind. So I decide swerving from a dead stop, cattle Mexican stand off would be appropriate and escape the potentially cattle-strauphic situation. (By the way, don't worry about the cow. I promptly notified the Sheriff's Department about said angry cow and after convincing them that I was not making this up, they left to find the she-devil and return her to her rightful farmland).
2. Fast forward three counties and two hours of my life and I have made it to Union County where I encounter following story. Now, this story has nothing to do with me directly, but it is just too good to not be shared. And it did happen today so it totally counts. Apparently, the officer in charge of supervising house arrest folks had a guy that was having some malfunctioning monitoring equipment so he went to pay Criminal a visit. When he gets there he realizes the problem is with the transmitter thingy (I didn't get the technical terms from him, sorry) which Criminal states is located in his bedroom. Well, upon inspection our supervisor realizes that the wire has been chewed all the way through - by the GOAT in the guys bedroom. I could elaborate on this in so many ways but will let your minds go where they will. All I can say is the man had goat poop all over his room so the goat was apparently making himself at home.
***Relatives: There was no evidence that the goat man was related to us or even living in Ingomar. Just a random guy in Union County. Cue sigh of relief.***
3. Fast forward to somewhere between Chickasaw and Calhoun counties. I notice there is a small field that is on fire next to this little house off the side of the road. It is obvious that this is an intentional fire because there are two men standing by the road supervising the blaze laughing and chatting. The problem is that there are a least ten kids ranging in age from probably 5 to 12 sporadically standing around the field-o-fire with buckets (I am assuming of water) and hoses and shovels (not sure what the shovels are for, didn't stop to inquire). Now, I am all about getting your kids to help around the house on Spring Break, but forcing them to act as your own personal volunteer fire department seems a bit inappropriate. And a bucket of water being held by a seven year old twenty feet from your home is probably not what your insurance guy had in mind when he asked you if you had the appropriate fire preventative devices to qualify for that new lower rate on your home insurance. Just throwing that out there.
4. Finally, I make it back to Oxford and run by office to check in before heading home. I get a call on my phone from a number I don't know. Its my vet. Who lives in my neighborhood. Who is calling me to tell me my devil dog is running around the neighborhood. Now, let me tell you about Devil Dog. She stays in our backyard during the day which is closed in by a six foot privacy fence. Which, after she continuously refused to stay in, Robby strung with electrical wire that is supposedly streaming high voltage electricity all along the bottom of the fence. Now, in Devil Dog's defense, I checked the wire and its not currently working. But I have to ask myself, how many times did that stupid dog go up to that wire and get shocked before trying today and realizing it wasn't working. I mean, she just didn't think to herself, "hey, I havne't dug under this fence in a while, the last time a tried I got electrocuted, but I mean, maybe today will be different." I bet her heart skipped a beat when she realized she was free. Free at last. Her and Mad Cow should really get together - they could write a book called Going Rogue. Oh wait, someone already did that...
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
Re: No Subject
I am currently sitting here watching "One Born Every Minute." (Thanks Lauren - I'm hooked). For those of you who haven't seen this show, its on Lifetime and it follows women having babies in a very non-TLC Baby Story way. Its hilarious! However, they just showed this woman have a baby. Like she just straight up had a baby. On national TV. When she was pushing I kind of felt like I was going to throw up but then this tiny little baby was there and I found myself tearing up - over a kid I don't even know. I am officially an emotional basket case.
Because there have been no horribly traumatic events between this and the last post I am going to just give you a quick update on whats been going on with me and Peanut.
Lets see, I will start with tonight at Belk. Namely because it has nothing to do with baby and more to do with my junk. In my trunk. Lots of it. I went to get a new strapless bra because, well because the one from last year took one look at me, laughed a scared little laugh, and played dead until I put him back in the drawer with a sign. So while I was there buying the largest piece of fabric I had ever seen (up to that point at least) I noticed that they had panties on sale. **This may all be way too much information for some of you, but honest to God, it must be told in the name of full disclosure.** So I started perusing the clearance rack and I bought the LARGEST pieces of polyester and cotton I could find. If the bra I just bought (and the ones I bought previously - see earlier post about skinny women) could house a family of Cubans in their escape to Florida, the panties I bought tonight could be their sail. They could be in Miami in like an hour and half if the wind whipped up these things just right. In fact, they seemed so large on that hanger I thought about asking the elderly lady next to me if she thought these would be waaaay too big for me, but then the sales clerk asked if I was in my eighth or ninth month and I just said to heck with it, bought the parachutes and got out of there.
OKAY UPDATE: still watching this show and this other girl waited too long to have an epidural and is now having a baby naturally. I am OFFICIALLY getting an epidural the next time Wyatt kicks too hard. This girl is screaming and carrying on like no one's business and I am thinking that this is not the way I want to proceed. Its really her fault though. She is the one the messed around and waited too long to have the durn epidural. WHAT ARE YOU TRYING TO PROVE SILLY GIRL? There is no reward for waiting the longest, you should have let them stick that big needle in your back hours ago. Now look at you, sweating, and screaming and disrupting everyone else's labor. All the nurses are scared of you. You can see it on their faces as they scurry past your door with their heads down.
Lets see, besides that...Well Wyatt finally decided to make his presence known in full force. He took long enough to start moving around so that I could feel him, but then at 22 weeks I felt like some of my organs were going to drop out of my body and after a solid day of this, I realized that yes, this is what these other women are talking about. My baby is officially kicking the crap out of me. Now, I can't imagine a day without him beebopping around in there. I just kind of wish that he would flip around and get his feet off my bladder. Every time he gets to really kicking, I feel like I am going to pee on myself. I am sort of getting scared that I am going to actually pee on myself in public soon. And blaming it on the baby is kind of like blaming that weird smell on the dog - even if it was the dog everyone secretly suspects it was you the whole time.
And finally, I passed my glucose test which means that I can continue on with my daily cookie habit which has kind of slowed down in recent days anyway. I know it has slowed down because there is a bag of Oreos that has been in the pantry for over four days now. It is sad that so many cookies had to die so that this one package could live for more than 36 hours in our home. This is some new kind of record. I think its because I have moved on to chicken salad and Honey Nut Cheerios. Not together, just as a necessary staple. I have single handedly, just this week, eaten almsot an entire tub of Newk's chicken salad and one of those industrial size boxes of Cheerios. As I sit here too lazy to get up and go to bed I am wondering if a third chicken salad sandwhich would be completely inappropriate for a Tuesday night. Oh gosh, an entire box of Cheerios and a tub of chicken salad and its only Tuesday? Its going to be a long fifteen weeks.....I may actually be wearing sailboat sails as underwear before this is all said and done.
Because there have been no horribly traumatic events between this and the last post I am going to just give you a quick update on whats been going on with me and Peanut.
Lets see, I will start with tonight at Belk. Namely because it has nothing to do with baby and more to do with my junk. In my trunk. Lots of it. I went to get a new strapless bra because, well because the one from last year took one look at me, laughed a scared little laugh, and played dead until I put him back in the drawer with a sign. So while I was there buying the largest piece of fabric I had ever seen (up to that point at least) I noticed that they had panties on sale. **This may all be way too much information for some of you, but honest to God, it must be told in the name of full disclosure.** So I started perusing the clearance rack and I bought the LARGEST pieces of polyester and cotton I could find. If the bra I just bought (and the ones I bought previously - see earlier post about skinny women) could house a family of Cubans in their escape to Florida, the panties I bought tonight could be their sail. They could be in Miami in like an hour and half if the wind whipped up these things just right. In fact, they seemed so large on that hanger I thought about asking the elderly lady next to me if she thought these would be waaaay too big for me, but then the sales clerk asked if I was in my eighth or ninth month and I just said to heck with it, bought the parachutes and got out of there.
OKAY UPDATE: still watching this show and this other girl waited too long to have an epidural and is now having a baby naturally. I am OFFICIALLY getting an epidural the next time Wyatt kicks too hard. This girl is screaming and carrying on like no one's business and I am thinking that this is not the way I want to proceed. Its really her fault though. She is the one the messed around and waited too long to have the durn epidural. WHAT ARE YOU TRYING TO PROVE SILLY GIRL? There is no reward for waiting the longest, you should have let them stick that big needle in your back hours ago. Now look at you, sweating, and screaming and disrupting everyone else's labor. All the nurses are scared of you. You can see it on their faces as they scurry past your door with their heads down.
Lets see, besides that...Well Wyatt finally decided to make his presence known in full force. He took long enough to start moving around so that I could feel him, but then at 22 weeks I felt like some of my organs were going to drop out of my body and after a solid day of this, I realized that yes, this is what these other women are talking about. My baby is officially kicking the crap out of me. Now, I can't imagine a day without him beebopping around in there. I just kind of wish that he would flip around and get his feet off my bladder. Every time he gets to really kicking, I feel like I am going to pee on myself. I am sort of getting scared that I am going to actually pee on myself in public soon. And blaming it on the baby is kind of like blaming that weird smell on the dog - even if it was the dog everyone secretly suspects it was you the whole time.
And finally, I passed my glucose test which means that I can continue on with my daily cookie habit which has kind of slowed down in recent days anyway. I know it has slowed down because there is a bag of Oreos that has been in the pantry for over four days now. It is sad that so many cookies had to die so that this one package could live for more than 36 hours in our home. This is some new kind of record. I think its because I have moved on to chicken salad and Honey Nut Cheerios. Not together, just as a necessary staple. I have single handedly, just this week, eaten almsot an entire tub of Newk's chicken salad and one of those industrial size boxes of Cheerios. As I sit here too lazy to get up and go to bed I am wondering if a third chicken salad sandwhich would be completely inappropriate for a Tuesday night. Oh gosh, an entire box of Cheerios and a tub of chicken salad and its only Tuesday? Its going to be a long fifteen weeks.....I may actually be wearing sailboat sails as underwear before this is all said and done.
Monday, February 28, 2011
Why Yes! I AM Having Twins.
While I sit here on the computer, finishing off the bag of Hint of Jalapeno Scoops, rubbing my belly and wishing Robby was home to get me whats left of the Thin Mints in the freezer, I started looking at this girl's honeymoon pictures on Facebook. I don't know why I would do that to myself but these days, anytime someone gets married and posts pictures of themselves in tiny bikinis at some exotic beach I can't help but stalking them a tidge. And, well, I hate them.
I hate them not because they are at an exotic, all inclusive resort being wined and dined. Oh no. I hate them for being tan and toned and in a tiny string bikini with their adoring husband by their side. If I put on a tiny string bikini on right now, the only thing my husband could do is help me fish out the strings from between one of my Grand Canyon-esque rolls before it became lost forever.
This is the same sentiment I feel for all the women on those pregnancy sites (cue daily pregnancy calendar which by the way has had some doozies lately - giving me an idea for another post) who complain about being twenty two weeks pregnant and not showing AT ALL. "I mean, I just want to outgrow my pre-pregnancy clothes before the end of my pregnancy!" I swear to you, I cannot make this stuff up. I wanted to responded, "SHUT UP B$*#@" but thought that would be a very un-Christian like thing to say so I just rolled my eyes and ate a Tootsie Roll.
You may be thinking - oh, Ashley, you have such a flair for the dramatic. You act as if you are a beached whale or something. Well, my doubtful friend, let me recount to you my first really awkward, everyone in the room is looking away at the conversation taking place, pregnant moment as it went down last week:
So, I walk into a meeting where most everyone knows I am pregnant and has seen me at some point during the pregnancy. They are all like, oh you are finally showing blah blah, saying those nice, polite things you say to a woman who just waddled from the parking lot into the room and is sweating from exertion. But this one woman, who I see maybe three times a year, looks at me and says, "Oh, when are you due?" I respond, June 30. She looks at me and says, seriously, like not kidding at all, "aww, are you having twins?" I respond with a polite chuckle and a "no, just one." She looks concerned for a second, and then informs me I have a ways to go before that baby gets here.
What do you say to this?! I know lady. I know have four more months which is sixteen more weeks (really seventeen weeks and two days, but who's counting) which is probably going to even out to twenty more pounds that I still have to gain. I know I should be careful because you still have to lose all that weight when the baby comes. I also know that for the first time in my life, I am eating dessert after every meal, barely breaking a sweat the one time a week I make it to the gym, and trying my best to convince myself that seventeen pounds in twenty two weeks is a completely normal and healthy addition to my scale - and rear.
And yes, I said it. SEVENTEEN POUNDS. Gasp! I have gained seventeen pounds. Not sure why everyone tries to hide how much weight they have gained. I mean obviously you can SEE it on my front side, and back side and both side sides for that matter. I might as well put a number to it. I might as well not be ashamed. I might as well change my approach the next time someone is confused by the fact that only one small child could possibly be growing in this gullet of mine. I am going with go along with it. Why yes, I am having twins. Thank you for asking. Yes, we are so surprised. No, they don't really run in our family. Yes, we do have their names picked out. Baby A is Wyatt Shelton Allen and and Baby B is Nabisco DoubleStuff Oreo. If I get really big, I might up the ante to us having triplets. Baby C could be named BaconCheeseburger N. Fries.
I hate them not because they are at an exotic, all inclusive resort being wined and dined. Oh no. I hate them for being tan and toned and in a tiny string bikini with their adoring husband by their side. If I put on a tiny string bikini on right now, the only thing my husband could do is help me fish out the strings from between one of my Grand Canyon-esque rolls before it became lost forever.
This is the same sentiment I feel for all the women on those pregnancy sites (cue daily pregnancy calendar which by the way has had some doozies lately - giving me an idea for another post) who complain about being twenty two weeks pregnant and not showing AT ALL. "I mean, I just want to outgrow my pre-pregnancy clothes before the end of my pregnancy!" I swear to you, I cannot make this stuff up. I wanted to responded, "SHUT UP B$*#@" but thought that would be a very un-Christian like thing to say so I just rolled my eyes and ate a Tootsie Roll.
You may be thinking - oh, Ashley, you have such a flair for the dramatic. You act as if you are a beached whale or something. Well, my doubtful friend, let me recount to you my first really awkward, everyone in the room is looking away at the conversation taking place, pregnant moment as it went down last week:
So, I walk into a meeting where most everyone knows I am pregnant and has seen me at some point during the pregnancy. They are all like, oh you are finally showing blah blah, saying those nice, polite things you say to a woman who just waddled from the parking lot into the room and is sweating from exertion. But this one woman, who I see maybe three times a year, looks at me and says, "Oh, when are you due?" I respond, June 30. She looks at me and says, seriously, like not kidding at all, "aww, are you having twins?" I respond with a polite chuckle and a "no, just one." She looks concerned for a second, and then informs me I have a ways to go before that baby gets here.
What do you say to this?! I know lady. I know have four more months which is sixteen more weeks (really seventeen weeks and two days, but who's counting) which is probably going to even out to twenty more pounds that I still have to gain. I know I should be careful because you still have to lose all that weight when the baby comes. I also know that for the first time in my life, I am eating dessert after every meal, barely breaking a sweat the one time a week I make it to the gym, and trying my best to convince myself that seventeen pounds in twenty two weeks is a completely normal and healthy addition to my scale - and rear.
And yes, I said it. SEVENTEEN POUNDS. Gasp! I have gained seventeen pounds. Not sure why everyone tries to hide how much weight they have gained. I mean obviously you can SEE it on my front side, and back side and both side sides for that matter. I might as well put a number to it. I might as well not be ashamed. I might as well change my approach the next time someone is confused by the fact that only one small child could possibly be growing in this gullet of mine. I am going with go along with it. Why yes, I am having twins. Thank you for asking. Yes, we are so surprised. No, they don't really run in our family. Yes, we do have their names picked out. Baby A is Wyatt Shelton Allen and and Baby B is Nabisco DoubleStuff Oreo. If I get really big, I might up the ante to us having triplets. Baby C could be named BaconCheeseburger N. Fries.
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