DeadpanAnn (old blogger version)

Tonight I went to the hospital thinking that my water might possibly have broken, but it hadn't after all. It turns out I can piss all over myself without even feeling the need to piss first, having the feeling that I am pissing as it's happening, OR having the feeling that I have just pissed once it's over. The nurse at the hospital said the baby probably bumped my kidney or something.

They put a monitor on me and watched my contractions and the baby's heart rate for a couple of hours. It was weird. I had these little contractions, which I've been having for days now if not weeks, but I had some that I couldn't even feel. I could also see the baby's heart rate, and you could hear him bumping into the monitor when he moved. He was very active while I was there. The nurse said we'd better get some sleep now because he's a wild one. I think he's gonna be a crazy redhead. After punching the monitor for a while, he calmed down. Then I sneezed, and he flipped out a little. Maybe I'm mean, but I found that funny. Poor baby. Tim said, "If that scared him, he must have some long nights with the way you've been snoring. He's probably scared to come out cause he thinks there's a monster out here." Butthole.

The baby will be here by the end of the day Saturday one way or another. Unfortunately, my cervix is still locked up tighter than Fort Knox, so it's starting to look like it's gonna be a c-section. I'm still not happy about the prospect of the surgery, but I'm less opposed to it every day. This morning when I woke up, I couldn't move. I was on my left side, and my neck was in a funny position, and my joints were so stiff and sore. I couldn't lift my head off my arm, and I couldn't lift my right leg enough to sit up. After a minute or so of inching my way into a normal position, I decided that I would agree to a c-section at that very moment if one were being offered. I realize that sleep will be rare once the baby's here, but at least when I do get the chance to sleep, maybe it won't involve waking up in pain.

Yesterday morning I had two strong contractions right after I woke up, but then nothing. Tim and I ate eggplant parmesan, took a bumpy ride, etc. Then late yesterday afternoon I started having mild ones again. These were closer together, but still not strong enough or close enough to warrant a trip to labor and delivery. This morning I had two really strong ones as soon as I woke up again. I don't know what's up with the early morning contractions, but I wish they wouldn't go away. Maybe if I don't go into real labor before my next appointment, these contractions might at least be doing something to make induction possible and reduce my chances of being SLICED OPEN. Have I mentioned that I don't want a c-section?

We bought a chair from Ashley's a few days ago, and we've got to go pick it up today. It's a rocker/recliner that I'm hoping to put in the nursery. While Tim's getting that today, I'm supposed to talk to a breastfeeding lady.

I'm so sick of all this political crap. We went and cast our absentee votes yesterday at the courthouse, and we may never vote the regular way again. This was much easier. There was no line, no pushy bald-headed lady in an abandoned fire station, no standing there waiting while they search the million pages of the voter roll for your name. We just walked in, gave them our names, they pulled them up on a computer, handed us a good, old-fashioned paper ballot, and left us alone to do our part to hopefully keep Obama's good for nothing ass out of the White House. I don't see any way for this election to end well. There's not a way for this election to end well. I just hope McCain gets elected instead of Obama, because I think he will do less damage, or at least not turn us into a damn socialist state.

If McCain could just get in there and manage to not die for four years, maybe something better will come along in 2012. Like Hillary Clinton. Or the end of the world. Whichever.

I'm glad I took time to read this. I've copied the second half of the article here. For the full thing, click the link below.

From http://www.realclearpolitics.com/articles/2008/10/messianic_pretensions.html

McCain is a man of action and accomplishment, Obama a man of "charisma" and pretty words, whose only real accomplishment has been his remarkable self-advancement. And Obama's policy outlook, so far as it can be discerned from the usual electoral pronouncements, consists of the same snake oil the pre-Clinton Democrats had been selling continuously since they chained the Great Society to America's ankle: that is, a constantly expanding Nanny State. I am hardly reassured by Obama's last-lap rhetorical reassurances: you don't send a man to Washington with a trillion dollars of candy-shop promises on medicare, education, government job-creation, "spreading the wealth" -- especially when the economy has just tanked.

I wish that were the worst I could say about the man, who has survived nearly two years of campaigning for President without serious cross-examination from either the media or his media-chastened opponents. A man who, should he win the election and serve one term, will have been President of the United States longer than he has held any steady job.

In my world, you don't humour a politician who presents "Change," "Unity," and especially, "Hope," as hypnotic mantras, with the power of enchantment over very large crowds. And you especially don't humour such a politician at a time when both country and world are unstable, and hard decisions will have to be made.

Deeper than this: Obama has presented himself from the start as a messianic, "transformational" leader -- and thus played deceitfully with ideas that belong to religion and not politics. That he has done this so successfully is a mark of the degree to which the U.S. itself, like the rest of the western world, has lost its purchase on the Christian religion. Powerful religious impulses have been spilt, secularized.

In this climate, people tend to be maniacally opposed to the sin to which they are not tempted: to giving Christ control over the things that are Caesar's. But they are blind to the sin to which they are hugely tempted: giving Caesar control over the things that are Christ's.

"Faith, hope, and charity" are Christ's things. They apply, properly, outside time -- to a "futurity" that is not of this world. They must not be applied to any earthly utopia. A Caesar who appropriates otherworldly virtues, is riding upon very dangerous illusions. Follow him into dreamland, and you'll be lucky to wake up.

Well, I'm still pregnant, my baby is still a giant, and my doctor is still hellbent on slicing me open like a damn pig. He doesn't want me to go more than a few days past my due date (next Friday) and he doesn't want to try to induce unless I begin to dilate this week. He said it would just lead to a c-section anyway unless I'm dilated some before trying to induce, so he'd rather "just nip it in the bud."

Sounds convenient. For him.

So he's going out of town for the seventy eleventh time since I got knocked up, and I have an appointment with his partner again. It's kind of a relief, honestly, because her hands are so very small. Maybe her tiny little fingers will judge my cervix to be a little less SLAMMED SHUT and a little more likely to cooperate. The plan is to check again next Thursday and see if anything's changed. If so, they'll try to induce, and if not, they'll do a c-section. He's on call Saturday and I'm supposed to call him that morning either way. He seemed to think it could happen fairly quickly after that-- from the way he talked, I think it might even happen the same day.

I'm skeered.

Don't eat a chili dog at the South Mississippi Fair. F*ck. What am I saying? Don't GO to the South Mississippi Fair! I hadn't been to a fair in probably 10 years, and the last one I went to was the one in Memphis, which was way bigger. Same crap, just more of it. Anyway, with Ryan being in town I thought it'd be fun to take him. He's been bored, and it's been getting kind of crowded in the house today. (See my previous post.) I thought going to the fair would give him something to remember from this trip besides the vein bulging in Uncle Tim's forehead.

So we went. We hadn't eaten anything since breakfast, and we planned to indulge in some fair food. I really wanted everything I saw, but deep down I wanted none of it. So I decided to keep it simple. Chili dog. A classic.

As the illegal alien spooned the chili out of the little silver pan thingy, I thought it looked a little caked onto the pan, which seemed odd considering that the fair had only been open for an hour. That chili looked like it'd been setting there on a warmer for longer than an hour. But f*ck it. I'd already paid my $3, and the chili was goin' on the dog. Ryan also had some of the questionable canned chili. His was served up on top of the "deluxe nachos."

It wasn't bad...going down. Unfortunately, Ryan blew chili chunks as soon as we got home, and I've been fighting it back for an hour now. There have also been some explosive fireworks in the bathroom. I'm definitely gonna need to add a new can of Oust to the shopping list, and let's just say that the Beaudreaux's Butt Paste may get opened before the baby arrives. Yar!

My mom is in town, and she brought Ryan, my 9 year old nephew who's a lot more needy for attention than I remembered. I thought kids were supposed to be able to entertain themselves for hours with an Xbox and an endless supply of chocolate milk and Doritos.

I hope my inability to be patient with him isn't an indication of what kind of parent I'm going to be because I'm about to hang him from a door hook by his underwear and just leave the house. Geezis.

Duty started early tonight, I guess. Maybe it was the 2+ hour nap I took this afternoon, the fact that I'm nauseated for no apparent reason, or maybe it's because I can't get THIS out of my head, but I can't sleep.

I can't stop thinking that I'm going to end up with a c-section, so I started doing some research. Do you realize all the shit you can't do after the surgery-- and how long it takes before you're back to normal??? A few surprising things I've found:

You can't drive for 3-6 weeks. THREE TO SIX WEEKS without driving? That's never gonna happen.

During abdominal surgery, gas can get trapped inside you and you're miserable until it passes, which doesn't happen quickly or without medical assistance. Oh, and if this happens to you, you can't eat regular food again until it's out. Two things I don't like: things being stuck in my ass, and not being able to eat what I want.

You have to stay in the hospital for 3 days afterwards. When I go visit my mother in my hometown I don't stay for 3 days! Not only do I not want to be anywhere other than my bed three nights in a row, but I don't want to be separated from my new baby for three days! Yes, I know they will bring him in there to me, but damn. I want to get home and get on our routine. And I don't want to be tending to stitches/staples in my gut while I do it.

You can't stand upright for a while. If you try, you can hurt your muscles worse and take longer to recover. Like opposable thumbs, standing upright is a pretty basic part of being human. Being stripped of this ability just seems...I don't know...dehumanizing?

You will need assistance in the shower, especially for the first few days. What am I? A hundred and seven years old? WTF?? I don't want anyone helping me shower-- not even my husband. And I don't want to wait six weeks before I can sit in a tub of water again. That's part of my nightly ritual. I don't like it when my rituals are interfered with, especially ones that relate to hygiene!

Catheter until further notice. Enough said.

I'm sorry, but being cut into layer by layer like a hog, having a baby yanked out ass first, being stapled shut, then being hunched over, unable to even sit up straight or go take a piss in the toilet for three days minimum while my husband and mother and whatever relatives come out of the woodwork are passing the baby around like a sack of potatoes sounds like flat out torture to me. Going home and being unable to do for myself for 3 to 6 weeks, maybe longer, sounds like even worse torture.

I get angry when I consider that I may not be able to avoid this. I can't stomach the idea of not being able to do what I need to do with the baby as soon as he's born. I hate the thought of not being able to hold him right away, or not being able to get up and take care of him in the middle of the night because I've been sliced open and can't get out of bed quickly enough to beat my mother to his bedside. Worse than that? I hate...no, I abhor the thought of other people doing these motherly duties in my place. The thought makes me sick. I want the family members to come see the baby, oooh and ahhh and then take their fat, helpful asses back home and let me start doing my job. Send food and cards, but don't try to be my kid's mom. It will provoke a jealousy the likes of which they are not prepared to confront, and I don't need to be able to sit upright in order to fire a pistol, or at least some angry words, although I don't suppose it'd be real smart to shoot and/or run off the help if you can't stand upright, would it? See my predicament?

When I was a kid, I remember adults warning us to stay away from the animals when they'd just had babies. It was so tempting to approach a horse and her new colt, or a cow with a wobbly legged calf. I was once absolutely forbidden to go near a neighbor's garage because their less than friendly dog had just unloaded a litter of pups in there. (Of course I forgot, went too close to the garage, and got my ass bit.) Anyway, the adults told us that female animals were sometimes protective of their new babies, so we should keep a distance for a while. I always thought those new mothers were cold hearted bitches for keeping us away from those cute babies. Now I totally get it.

I'm not afraid anyone's gonna hurt my kid. I'm just afraid that if I have to have surgery to get him out, I won't be able to do all the things I've envisioned myself doing. And if there's one thing that pregnancy has taught me, it's that I'm a wimp. I used to think I was somewhat tough, but now I know better. Don't tell anyone, but I'm a walking vagina. Throughout the last nine months, I have noticed and mentally documented every pain, every ache. I can tell you exactly what I was feeling week by week from Week 6 to Present. Major abdominal surgery is not for me.

Tomorrow, I start trying to get this boy out. If you're looking for me, I'm at the track, walking.

The doctor said I'm soon to be "between a rock and a hard place." Today marks the end of the 38th week of my pregnancy, and according to this morning's ultrasound, the baby weighs 8 lbs 4 oz NOW. I'm not even due for 2 weeks, and he should gain about a pound between now and then. My body has done none of the things that typically indicate that labor is approaching, so inducing right now is out of the question because it would almost certainly end in a c-section. He said "9 pound babies happen all the time" and he's sure I can deliver him as long as he doesn't get much bigger than that.

On the way home from work today, I texted a friend of mine and told her what they said the baby weighs. She responded, "Damn. You're gonna be stretched out."

What the hell? Is it just me, or is that THE worst thing she could've said? Really. It has to be THE worst possible response, not to mention untrue and just plain...trashy. How many synapses have to NOT fire in someone's head for them to utter something so damn thoughtless and ignorant?

This comment came from the same friend who believes that drinking unchecked amounts of caffeine, ignoring your diet, and smoking (cigarettes and pot) during pregnancy are all safe, but that lifting your arms above your head will wrap the cord around the baby's neck and choke it to death in the womb. When she made this comment, I tried to consider the source but couldn't help but get a little pissed off anyway. At first I thought maybe I should just not tell anyone else what they said about the baby's size if this was the kind of response I could expect, but then I decided to bitch about the comment instead.

So kiss my ass, haters and ignoramuses! My vagina's future is bright!

One good thing that came from this morning's appointment was that I realized my doctor is willing to do whatever I tell him I want to do. He said, "I'm here to do whatever you want, within reason." He went on to say that if I wanted to try to induce now, we could, but that he thought it would result in me being in the hospital for two days making little to no progress and ending up with a c-section. Then he said he thinks it's best to wait and see what happens in the next week or two. I agreed, but I take a lot of comfort in knowing that if it gets unbearably uncomfortable or goes on too long, all I have to do is speak up, and it'll be over one way or another.

This week has sucked. There was district testing yesterday and today, and there will be more tomorrow. They give the kids a practice version of the state test in October and I guess they compare it to the scores at the end of the year. Maybe they just do this to torture us for all I know.

Anyway, district testing means that you get your fourth period class at 8:30 in the morning. They test until everyone's done-- around 10:30, which is near the beginning of 3rd period-- but they don't ring the bell and send them on to 3rd period. That would be good, since I'm off third period. Noooooo. Instead, they just make us hold them. Actually, what they do is pretend that there are still students testing somewhere on campus, so we have to stay in "test mode," but everyone thinks that's horse shit. Where are these extraordinarily slow testers? Oh, wait, I taught them last year. They do exist. Nevermind.

Anyway, fourth period starts at 11:20, and they come over the intercom and say, "We will now resume our regular schedule!" They say it with enthusiasm, like something's changing, like you're finally free, like you can now move forward into better, more exciting things. But in the trenches classrooms, the kids look up at the teacher with a cautious hope in their eyes, and then someone says, "What period is this?" And I have to say, "This is the beginning of fourth," and then they all groan really, really loudly as it sinks in that they're stuck there for another hour. I momentarily consider faking contractions so I can leave, then go back to looking for ways to waste another hour without killing any one of the 25 children who've been wearing on my nerves since 8:30.

So yeah. I'm 2 days into a 3 day tour of District-testingville. Brutal.

Friday's my last day. I can't wait. I don't even have to go the full day on Friday because my doctor's appointment is at 9:10, and I don't go in until after the appointment. I'm having an ultrasound, so I'm hoping it takes forrrrreeeevvvvvveerrrrrrrrr and I can miss about half the day. That would rock.

I started out this school year with a strong Dedicated Teacher thing going. Sadly, it's been weakened by never ending heartburn, swollen feet, and backaches from hell. Oh, and there was that meeting with the principal where he basically laid all the students' failures at my feet and drilled me for ten minutes about what I was doing about it, and found problems with everything I said even though I'd clearly been doing more for the students than the students were doing for the students. Not cool, and not exactly what you'd think they'd want to do to teachers who are honestly trying to do everything right. That one event took a giant bite out of my Dedicated Teacher vibe. They should think about morale more before they beat us over the head without regard for what we're doing right.

As for my dedication and giveadamn, maybe it'll somehow get revived between now and the time I return from maternity leave. Or maybe I'll be so desperate to escape the house that work actually sounds like fun.

Today I finally met the woman who will be caring for my child when I return to work in January. I was supposed to meet her weeks ago, but then the whole thing happened with Tim and the hospital, and last weekend was super busy, so I just went today without Tim.

The lady's nice. She's younger than I thought-- about 50. I had imagined her closer to 60, for some reason. She and her husband live in a huge doublewide trailer in the middle of what amounts to a field. Since I had never met her, I had no idea whether she was going to come to the door with a cigarette hanging out of her mouth or what, then when she gave me directions to her house I realized that it's in an area notorious for being a little...umm...white trash-ish. Then she said, "Look for the doublewide out in the field," and, well, I confess that some stereotypes came to mind, and I got a little worried.

Fortunately, it was the biggest and nicest trailer I've ever been in. Nicer than my house, frankly-- or at least cleaner and with better furniture. Her gigantic field of a yard is way sweeter, too, and she has a little garden. There was no cigarette smoking going on, and she looked like a Sunday School teacher.

She told me about how she keeps the kids on a schedule that they follow every day, and I really like that. They only watch tv for a short time every day, and I definitely like that, even though my kid will be so young that he won't be doing anything other than sleeping most of the time he's there. You know what I'm saying. A routine that involves very little tv watching is ideal, in my opinion. I wouldn't want to pay her $100 a week to sit on her ass while the kids' brains are being rotted out in front of the tv or a Play Station all day long.

I didn't think to ask where she plans to let him sleep. I didn't see a crib or bassinet. I hope she's not planning to put him in her bed. Maybe I should call and ask about that. Ryan nearly suffocated once when his other grandmother (not my mom) put him to sleep on a regular bed. Someone went in to check on him, and he was completely blue and limp. My kid's not gonna be left on anything other than a regular crib.

My ultrasound is this Friday, and I'm hoping the doctor will want to induce labor soon after that. He keeps saying the baby is big for his due date. Lately, people have been telling me I look like I'm having twins. It went from "You don't even look pregnant!" to "Are you sure it's only one baby??" This is my last week of work, so the sooner after Friday, the better.

Speaking of my last week of work, I have 8 weeks of lesson plans to write. I'd better get on that.

This is pretty good if you can overlook his annoying gestures long enough to listen to his point.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KxhYampIl7A

I forgot to submit my 9 weeks test and answer sheets for copying yesterday, so I'm sitting here watching the 200-300 pages soak up the ink in my personal printer. I also forgot to make sure I had some clean clothes for work today, so I'm washing clothes too. Clothing is a little short right now, what with me being my own planet and all.

For a long time, I was concerned about not looking pregnant. Not anymore. I would ask Tim if I looked pregnant, and he'd say, "Yeah, sure." That never sounded convincing enough, so I would press on.

So I don't really look pregnant?
Yeah I can tell you're pregnant.
But other people might not?
They should.
So what you're really saying is that I'm so fat that I can successfully hide an 8 month old fetus.
[Tim begins bashing head against wall.]

Last night, the conversation went like this:

Do I look pregnant now?
Yes.
Like, super pregnant?
Yeah, super pregnant--- Pregnant beyond belief!
Pregnant beyond your wildest pregnant dreams?
Ann, you're so pregnant, smaller pregnant women are in orbit around you!

And then I laughed so hard I peed on myself a little. Okay, a lot. It was strangely satisfying. Being compared to a planet, that is, not peeing on myself.

I guess Hillbilly Mom finally had to get some sleep, because I'm apparently on duty. See, the world is not safe without one of us watching over it. I get the 3:00 a.m. to 5:00 a.m. watch while HM catches some z's. Or maybe Tim just woke me up when he came to bed at 2 freakin' 30 after spending all night watching a werewolf movie. He probably sat here drinking Diet Coke during the entire thing, which would explain why he tossed and turned until I woke up at 3:15, then he tried to act like my tossing and turning was keeping him up. Hello, mister! I went to bed at 9:00! I finally got tired of lying wide awake and listening to him sigh heavily in my general direction, so I decided to get up. Now he's snorin', so maybe it was my fault after all.

We have a baby shower to go to today. His sisters insisted on throwing us a shower, except it's not so much a shower as it is an organized gathering for people to gawk at us. I'm sorry, but if the men are invited, I don't count it as a shower. They've rented out the American Legion and invited half the county. I don't know any of these people-- just a handful-- and am getting flashbacks of the wedding reception we were given in his hometown two weeks after the wedding. Three hours of standing around in uncomfortable shoes, forcing myself to smile and hug old ladies I'd never seen before. Old ladies who might be offended that I won't remember them this go 'round even though they gave us casserole dishes and such last time.

God. I dread having to open all the presents, hold up all the little blue outfits and pretend to be as amazed with the fiftieth as I was with the first. But worse than that, I dread the damn thank you cards this will force me to write.

And yes, I fully understand that I am an ungrateful bitch for being so burdened by the fact that people want to throw us a party so they can give us stuff. I know. I'm grateful. I'm just also very tired. Tired in general, tired of planning, tired of waiting, tired of being pregnant, tired of people I don't know smiling at me excitedly. I don't know what to say to people. What do they want me to say when they ask how I feel? I want to say, "How the hell do you think?"

I should be happy. We have everything we need, or at least we think we have everything we need. Of course, the crib isn't here yet, even though I ordered it from Wal Mart.com over two weeks ago. It took it that long to get from Palestine, TX to Brookhaven, MS, and is now apparently setting on a truck in Jackson. The official status, according to the website, is that it left Jackson yesterday at noon and is "in route to store." Uhhh, NO. It only takes 2 hours to get from Jackson to Petal, and that's if you're dragging your ass. So it's NOT still in route. Maybe it's there and they haven't updated the tracking info yet. I could've gone and picked it up myself in the time it's taking them.

The changing table that we ordered with it has been in the stock room of the local Wal Mart for over a week. It's probably been getting kicked around the whole time, but we wanted to pick them both up at the same time instead of making two trips. Practically every customer review on the website said that their ordered items had missing or broken pieces. I'm gonna be pissed the eff off if I have to send this thing back with broken pieces. You can't just walk into a store and get a crib. The only ones anyone has in stock are either the cheapest ones out there, or the most expensive ones out there. We're more middle-of-the-road kinda people. I see no reason to put my baby to sleep in something that cost $99 and looks like it might fall apart at any moment, but I'm not going to spend $500 on a crib either. That is innnnnn SANE.

Well, my watch duty ends in 9 minutes. Think I'll duck out early.

Today I have a doctor's appointment. This is the day they'll start checking my baby gateway (ok, it's called a cervix) to see if the little booger is doing anything at all to suggest that he's getting close to ready. On one hand, I'm dreading it, because I had to have my cervix checked that time that I pulled my ligaments while dealing with the dogs, and it was very painful. At the same time, I want to know what's happening, if anything.

I hope there's some progress, because if I'm dilated at all they're going to do an ultrasound really soon to see how big he is. The doctor keeps saying he's bigger than normal. I'm sure I know how far along I am, so I think he's just big because I've made no effort to avoid the sweet, sweet carbohydrates that I've been craving for the last 6 months. Either that or there's just a lot of fluid and they're worrying for nothing. They say as they get bigger, they can't punch you as hard because they run out of room. Well, he's not having any trouble with that. Last night he kicked me so hard in the top of my ribs that my boob bounced up and damn near fwapped me in the face. I'm serious. If it had happened at work, it would've been highly embarrassing. I would be forever known as the teacher with the jumping boobs. That kind of thing leads me to believe that he's not as crowded as they think, and maybe I'm measuring big for some other reason.

They're also apparently going to do some kind of test today. I'm not sure what it's for (group b strep?) because I wasn't really listening until they said, "...swab of your rectum." Good grief! That certainly got my attention.

See what I mean?? THIS is what we should be telling kids in sex education classes to prevent pregnancy. Hand out condoms, but try to use the phrase "swab of your rectum" in the process. I promise you, teen pregnancy will decrease.

I'll update later on what the doc says. Right now I need to go shower. Very, very thoroughly.

http://www.usnews.com/articles/education/k-12/2008/09/19/in-search-of-support-teachers-turn-to-blogging.html