Mommy Ever After » HCG

crazy love.

mommyeverafter — Mon, 21 Mar 2011 22:02:01 +0000

Earlier today, as I drove home, listening to Elvis Costello’s “Brutal Youth,
I got nauseas.
You see, this tape (and yes, I listen to an audio cassette tape version of this album.) was my drive-time staple during the summer that I was pregnant.
I’d shout “Sulky Girl” at the top of my lungs, as my body succumbed to the terrible waves of morning sickness induced nausea.
And so, as I drove today, not at all pregnant, thank you very much,
I realized why these tunes were making my stomach flip and flop. It’s because I’m crazy.
Remember?
I’m a nut.
Like the time I thought I’d poisoned my nearly-fully-cooked fetus with some expired iced tea?
How about the myriad of other times that I’ve written about, my “crazy flag” waving high?
It’s OK. You can admit it. I won’t be offended.
I, generally, embrace my cray-cray.
It’s just who I am.
And today, as I heaved through “Thirteen Steps Lead Down”, I decided that it was about time for my crazy to be absolved of it’s bum rap.
Because guess what?
Even though some crazy is
well,
cray-zee,
other crazy can make life a little fun.
And, I hope that I’m always the kind of gal,
and the kind of mom who,
when my daughter asks me to eat ice cream for dinner, as a special treat,
or to dress up as a Princess, just to walk around the neighborhood,
or to dance around outside during a sudden rainstorm,
or to paint our nails all different colors,
or to stay up late, whispering secrets under the covers, even on the night before a big test,
that my answer is, forever, a resounding yes.
I know a mom kind of like that.
A mom who, when her 6 year old daughter got TWIN GIRL Magic Nursery Babies, was more excited than the little girl herself,
who let her children “earn back their privileges” with good behavior,
who thought that “Girled Cheese” was an appropriate meal 3 times a day,
who wants to be re-proposed to in the Zooballoon,
who is the kindest, most loving, giving, beautiful mother there is.
Yeah, I know her kind of well.
And her kind of crazy is fine by me.
And really, my friends.
What in the world is better than love love love love crazy love ?
I’ll tell you.
Nothing is better.
Nothing at all.

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One Year Ago, Part 2

mommyeverafter — Wed, 11 Aug 2010 16:01:54 +0000

The stick had been peed upon
(seriously, why isn’t there a nicer way to say it?)
and the verdict was in.
Except, it wasn’t,
exactly.
My husband and I studied the E.P.T.
(seriously, why is it called “Error Proof”. I would call this “Easily Error-able”)
mulling over the one dark line
next to the other faint line.
Now, from all of my reading,
a line is a line is a line,
no matter how faint.
So, I did what any responsible young-adult would do in that situation:
I texted my mom (remember, it was 6am on a Saturday).
Her response?
“Mazel Tov”.
Still, I couldn’t believe it.
I didn’t tell a soul (besides, you know, my husband, but he already knew,
and my mom, duh,
and Lola and Ziggy, but they don’t speak English).
I just spent the rest of the day eating, and sleeping, and sleeping, and protecting my tummy from the elements, and sleeping.
I so knew.
I just couldn’t let myself believe it.
And so,
the very next morning,
still unable to sleep,
I crept back into the bathroom,
peed on yet another little white stick,
and said a prayer.
Yet again,
a second, faint line appeared.
Come. On.
And so, unable to grapple with this uncertainty for any longer,
I had my husband pack us up
(what? I couldn’t do any heavy lifting in my condition….if I was in a condition, that is)
and take us home,
so that I could show my parents the pregnancy test.
Okay, now, I get it. I’m not normal. This has been established from the get-go. But, there are just some times that a girl needs her mom and dad.
So, we hurried home, test in hand (or in suitcase. Ew!)
to get a second opinion.
My parents were convinced. Preggo, I was.
Except, I still didn’t buy it.
Not totally.
I needed real proof. I needed a bloodtest. But, it was Sunday. And so, I’d have to drag myself in to the doctor’s office the next day,
to get the real confirmation that I had been waiting for.
Little did I know that getting this assurance wouldn’t be quite as easy as I would have hoped…

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pregnancy brain(less)

mommyeverafter — Fri, 18 Jun 2010 14:44:09 +0000

Being pregnant is amazing, truly.
A miracle.
And what they fail to mention in all of the “What to Expect” books is that being pregnant is like receiving a brain transplant. Not only does your mind no longer work properly, but it also encourages bouts of actual insanity.
Remember the The Iced Tea Incident?
Unfortunately, that wasn’t just some end-o’-preggo anomaly.
I can remember being 6 weeks pregnant and calling the doctor to request and immediate ultrasound. I was nervous.
I felt less nauseas.My morning sickness had stopped.
For an hour.
This craziness wasn’t me. It was the HCG speaking.
Or, at 12 weeks, when I went food shopping, checked out, loaded up my bags, got into my car, and then realized that I hadn’t paid for my groceries. Just walked right out of the store with a cart full of stolen food.
Hey, what can I say, all of my oxygen was going to baby. Brain, be damned.
I once got a very pregnant pedicure next to a woman who mentioned that she was a doctor. An internist, mind you. Can you guess how many questions I managed to cram in to that thirty minutes of “relaxation”?
And then there were the Google searches. I could wave my crazy flag freely in the privacy of my own home.
Of course there was the weekly search of, “what baby looks like at X weeks”
And then there was, “dog jumping on pregnant belly”
As well as “do coffee shops accidentally serve caffeinated coffee posing as decaf”
And “do babies in womb get scared by blowdryer”
And, who could forget my desperate searches at 38 weeks and beyond for “videos of how to stimulate pregnancy acupressure points in order to bring on full term labor safely at home”
But, in the end, things went back to normal. My morning sickness returned while I was in the waiting room for that early ultrasound. I went back into the supermarket and paid for my groceries. The sweet doctor from the nail salon will never get that pedicure back, but at least it gave her practice, right? And my baby came right on time, at 40 weeks exactly.
But hey, at least I now know where to locate acupressure points Spleen 6 and Bladder 32.

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