Motherhood Uncensored

I'd Post a Picture of the Hathor-Fetus, But Apparently Here in Arkansas They Are Trying to Save Paper

I'm pleased to report that me, my fetus, and my extremely full bladder all emerged from the ghetto downtown Little Rock radiology clinic unscathed, except without one really cool totally unclear "what the fuck is that thing" picture.

At least there was a QuikShop right outside the door (complete with window bars) so I could purchase my celebratory bag of Ruffles "Cheese and Sour Cream" chips and a Twix. They go perfectly with a bladder full of water. Seriously.

Now let me back up just a bit to say that it never fails that every single time I go for one of these ultrasounds, the person who schedules the appointments fails to tell me to drink lots of water. I really should know that in order to see anything worth a snot, I've got to have a full bladder. And really, I'd much prefer to fill my bladder with filtered tap water from my own cup as opposed to water-fountain water out of a large styrofoam one in a questionable clinic where some dude was totally walking around in a prison uniform.

I swear.

But, I forgot, no one reminded me, and even though I swore that my bladder was full to the clearly hopped-up receptionist with scarily shaky, red splotchy hands who couldn't stop stretching her mouth out every 2 seconds like she was trying to pop her ears, it wasn't enough.

So, when I finally got back to the room, I was met with a no more than 24-year-old ultrasound tech who I swear was cracking her gum to the beat of some rap song. She was nice enough, if you think dumping a glob of blue gel on your extremely clean and valuable Old Navy jeans is nice.

Doesn't she know these cost me $5.99 on super sale and they're the only freaking jeans THAT FIT ME?

Anyway, the 9 week 4 day old fetus with a 156 heart rate looks great. In fact, according to her "Look how cayyyyyuttttttte. It's mooooooooving!" Followed by "Awwwwwwwwwww... look at it's leeeeeyeg stumps!"

Phew. The kid has leg stumps. I can rest easier tonight.

But then, when I hoped for a print-out of my little baby bean housed in my one heck of a gorgeous uterus for all the world to see, I got nothing. Apparently only "old skewell" machines print out pictures. The new ones get put on a cd that get sent to you in the mail.

Because that's so much more economical and eco-conscious.

So not only do I have a blank digital pregnancy test. But I have no u/s picture. This kid is definitely #3, huh?

Since I Have No Use For My Aching Head, I Decided to Throw it to the Obama Wolves

Come enjoy the carnage, or better, where I go out on a limb and share my honest trepidation about Barack Obama.

Blogger is being an asshat today. So if you can't comment at PunditMom's place, feel free to hop back over here and leave your thoughts!

Right Now. At This Very Moment. I Feel Perfectly Okay.

I've cried half the day away, suffering from the worst pregnancy sinus stress "God is punishing me for not going to church at Christmas" headache I have ever had.

It's the second full day of it.

I can't tell if I'm nauseous because my head hurts, or because I'm just plain nauseous.

It laughed at the Extra Strength Tylenol.

It mildly shuddered at the large cup of black coffee and coke, recommended by this fine woman.

And then when it decided to lay dormant, still present, but not piercing, I got the chills.

I can't play with my daughter. I can't pick up my son. I can't even blog.

Now you know it's bad.

But right now, at 10:18pm Central Standard Time.

It is gone. It is all gone.

I'm eating a blueberry muffin, drinking water, sitting comfortably without 12 shirts and 4 pairs of socks, and watching E!

And I'm wishing as hard as I can that when I wake up tomorrow, it will just be a figment of my imagination. 

This Would Be Why I've Wanted to Remove My Sinuses With a Pair of Chopsticks for the Last Three Days

One lousy thing that I can't blame on the fetus. 

I Just Ate Half a Bottle of Hot Sauce. On Purpose.

In my feeble attempts to recreate a Taco Bell double decker taco, hold the double, the decker, and the taco meat, I used an entire half bottle of hot sauce. Basically, it was a flaming hot bean, cheese, and lettuce hard shell taco, mostly just acting as vehicle to get the hot sauce down my gullet.

In all my pregnancies, I've avoided any sort of hugely odd craving, you know, like paper balls or veal loaf. There was one week, when I was pregnant with Quinlan, that I could only eat potatoes. And I'm pretty sure I put Ranch Dressing on everything I ate when I was knocked up with Drew.

But consistent over all three has been my first trimester hankering for hot sauce. In fact, it's so bad that I could, if given the opportunity and absolutely no shame, suck Taco Bell hot sauce right out of the packets.

I've since deduced that it's more likely the vinegar, and less the actual hot sauce. But chugging vinegar from a bottle just doesn't have the same appeal as sucking on hot sauce packets.

You know, since they're both sooooooo appealing.

Now I'm one of those pregos that gets nauseous, never puking, but always on the verge of spending hours staring into the precious porcelain potty. I suppose I should be thankful that I never get to that point. But feeling like you have to puke isn't that great either. Because for me, the only remedy is to have food in my gullet at all times.

Hence the 70lb weight gains. I know. I'm an overachiever. What can I say?

Now the truth is that it doesn't necessarily have to be a 12-pack of tacos in my gullet. It could be, say, carrots, grapes, or even water, if I can actually get them into my mouth since the thought of most food makes me gag.

But if I can actually get the idea of a 12-pack of tacos in my head, then all bets are off.

So not only must I have the tacos, but if I happen to see a donut commercial, then I get fixated on those too.   

The worst part is that the food only tastes good when it's directly in my mouth. Prior to entering and directly after swallowing, I feel totally and utterly disgusted with myself.

And then I want to puke.

Go figure.