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Pregnancy from hell…as only would happen to me…

Dane and I have been in Lubbock TX for a few months now.  He didn’t make it into the police academy, so now we are here until he finishes college. Hooray.  I already have trust issues, so now I have to work through my thoughts about him being in college with girls younger, more to offer with nicer tits.

I am nearing my 8th month of pregnancy and am neither ready or not for this to happen.  I have never been so bipolar in my near 30 years as what I’ve been during this pregnancy.  After this baby, I will be getting my tubes tied.  I have no desire to have anymore children, from my body, and go through the major struggles of depression and anxiety like I’ve been going through.  I would have rather been throwing up all day every day, than this.  Feeling defeated, worthless, unhappy, anxious about every little thing and completely mentally exhausted has left me looking forward to nothing.  I feel like I have nothing to look forward to.

Most women have their dream wedding with their perfect dress, groom, bridesmaids, family and friends all around them, but not me.  Most women are thrilled to find out they are pregnant, not me.  My first thoughts were, “I am already raising my husband” and “I am far too fucked up to have one of my own”   Needless to say this pregnancy has been one from hell.  I am not living around any of my friends, nor my own family.  Dysfunctional or not I would have preferred to be around them through this time.  No one from my family or friends has seen me pregnant.  I didn’t get to do all the fun things pregnant women do.  I wasn’t able to go to any of their showers let alone have one of my own.  I have felt completely alone and depressed this whole time, along with feeling a bit robbed because of other reasons of which I will not share.  At this point, I am so unhappy that I just want to hide away from everyone and anyone.  I don’t want to be alone…but it’s more bearable when it’s only me to deal with.

All my dreams and the things I looked forward to are gone.  Let this be a lesson to people.  Not all married pregnant ladies are happy about their situations.  The next time one of your friends, sisters, or wives complain, do not say to them, “Oh you should take this time for yourself, or ‘oh you should be looking forward to the arrival of your baby!”  Do not expect them to be excited.  It’s not fair to put that kind of pressure on someone who is already feeling overwhelmed.  Not everyone is happy about being a mom, especially when they feel like their life is a shit storm of anxiety and depression.  Maybe I don’t deserve this child…or maybe this will be my ticket to happiness since everything else fell apart.

Maybe things will change when she gets here…maybe.  For right now, all I can think about is where I would rather be and what I would rather be doing…


Everybody poops but me!

Poop talk in my house is common forum. We all poop. It happens. Except to me.

Fully aware that people, other than strangers, will be reading this I decided to delve into the bowels of hell…literally. So family, and people from my growing up years, I apologize if you see me in new light after this. (or dark) There are women out there who need answers regarding their body, and whereas I vowed to never post a fetal picture on my Facebook nor website, I never said I wouldn’t talk about the grossness that is pregnancy.

So here it is. Day 7 and I have yet to poop. Yes, I said 7. It’s like Hosni Mubarak is in my colon and refuses to leave. The times I have actually gone have been painful, leaving me gripping the rim of my pedestal sink. I am deathly afraid to strain or push. The force needed for that would cause either a miscarriage, brain aneurysm, or something of biblical proportions. It’s not pretty. I look like I am 5 months pregnant, with cement. I have tried drinking more fluids, exercising more, filling my glasses with heaping teaspoons of fiber, eating more veggies, blah blah blah blah blah. So last night, I decided it was time for Operation Evacuation. Prune Juice followed by a coffee chaser. Nothing happened other than producing a Macy’s parade float amount of gas. Since today is my day off, I decided it wouldn’t hurt to try it again. I had some rumbling of the stomach. With every rumble I got excited thinking, “This is it!!!!” only to be mocked by my own body. Fed up, sulking at my computer and full of hot air, I browsed from one page to another trying to find some magical solution. Nothing. More rumbling of the stomach. No one is around but the dog, what do you do? You fart. This time, I was not aware I was gambling on it, and the house won. Horrifically aware I just shat my pants, I bow-leggedly walked to the bathroom like John Wayne into the nearest saloon. Liquid. I had to drink prune juice, risk caffeine, tried everything written by every German Gynecologist, and I poop liquid? WTF?

I went to my Dr appointment today for my orientation. Before the nurse could finish uttering the phrase, “constipation” I was already giving her the exact date of the last normal poop I had taken. “Please, please, please HELP ME!” Apparently this is normal. Normal? I would rather have diarrhea on a normal basis then try to pass a paving brick once a week. This stuff could be mortar in a war zone. First, she recommended a glass of prune juice, with a pat of butter heated in the microwave. Is she fucking serious????!!!! No way am I drinking this shit again. The she recommended Milk of Magnesia. Ok, that I can do. I was ripping off the seal before we could reach our front door. The directions say it might take anywhere from ½ hour to 6 hours! Oh joy. I love the waiting game. I might as well throw a coat of paint on the wall and watch that dry just to make the time go by faster.

Women, if you have to fart in front of your husband while you are pregnant, do it. You’ve earned it. Throw caution to the wind, UNLESS you have had prune juice. In which case, you might want to invest in some depends. Hang in there. 99% of pregnant women understand what you are going through, so don’t give up on your quest for comfort!

Touché God…Touché

Back in December, Dane and I decided that he would take a little trip in the car to get snipped. Snipped as in Vasectomy. We decided if we were going to have children that they would be adopted. How nice it would be to wait until we were way into our 30’s! All of the things we wanted to do are finally within reach. SO HAPPY!

On January 22nd, 2011, our world just became a lot more complicated. I got home from work at 11pm, sat down at the kitchen table to eat, and realized I was exactly 5 days late. It was one of those realizations you make internally from pure gut feeling. All I said was I was late and that we needed to go to the grocery store NOW! I sucked water from the time we left the house until I was sitting on the toilet, pregnancy test in hand. If you have every seen the movie Waitress, you would see my mirrored reaction. Staring as the plus sign popped up, saying, “Shit, shit!”. I felt defeated. My life flashed before me, and all I could do was look up at the ceiling and say, “Touché God”

There was a period of time where we actively tried but other than an ectopic pregnancy, nothing happened. I thought I wouldn’t be able to have a normal, healthy baby and gave up on the idea of having my own. Given last years tragedies, I wanted to give Dane and I a chance to heal. Part of me was jaded about having kids. I don’t even really like kids, though I do love my nephews more than any other children. So here we are, February 15th, and I am exactly 8 weeks pregnant.

Who ever thinks being pregnant is awesome, or a beautiful thing either needs to be shot, or have their head checked. Jenny McCarthy said it the best, “Come over to my house around 5pm so I can throw up on you”. Between the nausea, restless sleep, anxiety, gas, sore boobs, food aversions, psycho-chick mood swings, and severe constipation, things are going well. Oh yeah, today I discovered I am getting “the mask of pregnancy”, ooooo fun! Hand me a rusty butter knife so I can slit my throat…thanks.

I need happy, positive stories and ideas from my readers regarding pregnancy and children. Please feel free to share your stories in the comments! On a happy note, this has given us new things to look forward to, like being able to backpack with our child through the world. We want to give them a childhood they can cherish forever. Something that will stick with them. Not your typical, “Oh I got to go to sleep away camp!” stories. No offense to your generic, everyday childhood memory, because something’s you can’t beat, but home schooling and traveling will help them grow into a more well rounded, cultured individual. Call me a hippy, but I want them to be able to play with kids from all over the world, even if they can’t speak the language. We are going to try our best to prevent them from being intolerant of others, ignorant, and narrow-minded. I am the queen of unfinished novels, however, I fully intend on researching and writing a book about traveling with your child. Dane and I prefer to hoof it with backpacks…just to give you an idea.


If there is anyone out there who has questions regarding pregnancy, please leave a comment.

Oh I am so sorry ma’am, sir…I mean ma’am, I mean SIR!

Oh I am so sorry ma’am, sir…I mean ma’am, I mean SIR!

Today, I accidentally mistook a women for a man. As I was leaving work, I was tying to cut through a line of people at the door to no avail. So I decided to wait patiently while the sheeple piled in. As I was waiting, I decided to strike up a conversation with the “gentleman” standing next to me. I said the word Sir, and “he” said in a very coarse voice, “I am not a Sir”. For a moment, there was confusion in my brain, followed by scenes from Saturday Night Live’s skit of “Pat” followed by realization of what just happened, to sheer and utter panic and finally, complete embarrassment. How can you recover from something like that? It is as bad as thinking someone is pregnant when they are in fact not. I apologized and parted the crowd like Moses did the red sea. I walked to my car, head down, and asshole puckered.

Hot blonde taking over Manhattan, KS!

Have you ever had one of those moments where you want to shrink down so far you disappear? Well, I have been having a lot of those lately. I seem to be having some epic “Blonde Moments” this year, all revolving around my car.

For example:

While I was still living in Florida, I lost my car! Lost her car? Yeah…I lost my Ford Explorer. Let me tell you the story. The night prior to discovering my car was missing, I had parked in the neighbor’s driveway because guests were parked in ours. I went to bed like any other night, and woke up like any other morning. Got up, got dressed and went to hop in the car to head over to the gym. When I walked out of the house, I didn’t see my car. What I did see was a vacant spot where, I swore, I left my car the night before. Late on my car payment, I was convinced that Chase Auto had sent their ninjas out in the middle of the night to retrieve the vehicle. I ran back in the house, crying, shaking and panicking and told my step-mom, Diann, that my car was gone. She ran outside and didn’t see it either. As I stood in the driveway, slack jawed, with giant tears streaming down my cheeks, she got on the phone and called my dad. She was smiling as she passed the phone to me. Why was she smiling? This is no “smiling matter”!!!! My dad, in a very humored yet slightly concerned voice said, “Amy, didn’t you park it next door at Mr. Bob’s?” With the phone up to my ear, I walked a little farther down the driveway and peered over the hedges. In Mr. Bob’s driveway sat my Ford Explorer, right where I left it the night before.

My recent epic “Blonde Moment”

One morning last week, I headed to Walmart to buy more tarps for the chicken coop. When I got there, I went to turn of my car but the key would not come out of the ignition. My steering wheel was locked and I could not start my car back up! I thought I ran out of gas and called roadside assistance. After waiting forever on hold, and another eternity for some roadside assistance guru to bring me gas, a large, shiny tow truck pulled up and a very old man got out. He was sporting a Carhart jumper type thing, minimal teeth, and a skullet. He put gas in my tank and I handed him a $10. Then he told me to hop in and try to turn the engine over. Nothing happened. I began to grow more concerned with each second and my mind was skimming through a hundred thoughts of “what might be wrong now!” In the midst of my mental seizure, the dental minimalist, reached across me, boob graze, and grabbed my gear shift. He said, “Well there’s yer problem. Yer car is in reverse!” As soon as it was back in park, the engine turned over, and I was on my way home, tarpless, down $10, and feeling like a smacked ass.

You see? I make fun of others…but at the end of the day, I am still blonde.

On the mend…?

This weekend was good! Dane had a four day weekend so we spent it doing everything together to try and reconnect. It worked. We had a lot of fun doing the things we used to do. This weekend, we even picked up a new hobby; Poi. For those of you who do not know what Poi is, see below:

And a video:

We started with tennis balls inside trouser socks. Yeah, we completely beat the crap out of ourselves on day 1. It was so much fun and we laughed a lot. There was something therapeutic for the both of us, to watch the other being beat to shit by a couple of tennis balls.

We made guacamole and cheese dip one night while listening to a Colombian radio station. Familiar salsa bands were flowing out of the speakers so I decided to give Dane a Salsa dance lesson. He did really well and soon we were spinning around the kitchen. I was impressed!

Today we took our Poi to the Konza Prarie and hiked, stopping to practice whenever we needed a break from walking. We walked along the same creek as we did this summer, the only difference being the creek is pretty much dried up now. This summer we waded through the water ducking under fallen trees, trying to avoid spider webs.

I was bitten by a Brown Recluse on my leg back in 2008 and I still have a large scar! So now I am scared to death of spiders and experience the following:

Arachnoleptic fit n. The frantic dance performed just after you’ve accidentally walked through a spider web

In the car on the way to the Konza Prairie, Dane brushed something off my hat, and just as he did that, I saw something fall onto the strap of my seatbelt. I saw something black and right then and there, my blood ran cold, I got dizzy and I had the sudden urge to jump out of the truck, moving or not. It was lint.


This time walking through the creek was nice. No more spiders! Wild turkeys nearly gave me a coronary until I realized it was only turkeys making noise and not a rogue bison hunting us down. I like nature…at a distance.  After watching Dane endurance chase a flock of turkey, we headed home. 

Tonight, the kids are at their Grandma’s house.  Thank you jeebus!

Impossible! My cat is blind…

Woodrow in his box

So, I finally worked up the nerve to confront the lady who owns the orange tabby, I thought, killed my chicken. Dane and I marched up to her door and knocked. A German lady answered the door and I said, “I think your cat killed one of my chickens.” She gasped and replied, “Not my cat. That’s impossible. My cat is blind!” I made a sound inside my head I can only describe through typing as pft. The same sound one would make prior to saying, ‘yeah right’. Now, right after she said that, up walks an orange tom cat who’s eyes were the size and color of silver dollars. I immediately apologized and she completely understood. I felt like finding a crack and crawling into it. This poor, sweet kitty could not have committed such an act.

Dane and I go over to her house to visit Woodrow, or Woody for short. He knows us and comes up when we call to him. He likes to roll on his back and purr while we rub his belly. Woody also likes to massage our tummies while we lay on our backs, and purrs along with drooling and sticking his tongue out. He is a big mess, but loveable. We would adopt him in a heartbeat!

We decided to make him a gilly box for his porch. We spray painted and decorated a cardboard box, laid a blanket inside and delivered it to him. The next day we drove by his house and saw him sitting inside! His owner called me to ask if we made it for him and to inform us that he loves it!

We were surprised he even found his way inside the box, being blind and all. I hope that made up for the blame!