It ain't called LABOUR cuz it's easy - PART 3

Well the princess seems to be appeased at the moment, so it's time for the final countdown of Ottilia Leokadia's labour story...

Where we left off, it's about 4:30am.  I am in the hospital, screaming / begging for an epidural.  The nurse comes in and has me strip the whole way down to the leave-nothing-to-the-imagination open backed hospital gown. Frankly Scarlet, I just don't give a damn.  If my butt is showing, so is my back and to me, that's where the epidural goes, so this must mean that needle is coming soon!  Realize the irony of this - NEVER in my life, have I begged for a needle.  My history as a human pincushion seems to evaporate in favour of pain relief.  I wonder if pain medication came in the form of a pork chop if I would suddenly beg for my least favourite food too? OWWWWWWWWW... LESS PONDERING, MORE BEGGING! PLEASE GET ME THE DUDE WHO GIVES ME THE THINGIE TO MAKE ME HAPPY! (at this point, anesthesiologist is just too long a word for my primal brain to say)

Tyler appears in the room... Hi honey - OWWWW - Tyler makes the mistake of giving me his hand.  I seem to have developed the crushing power of a Kung Fu master.  Tyler's face turns some fascinating colour.  Hmmm... No more human hands - must find a rail or some inanimate object to grab.  Hello bed rails.  OWWWWWWWWW - Is it weird I swear I heard my bed cry?  I now understand the story of years ago, the iron rails in delivery rooms that got bent by women in labour - it doesn't seem like it would be difficult at all at this point in time.  WHERE IS MY F*ING EPIDURAL?!?

About 5:15, the anesthesiologist finally makes his way in - at this point, I am torn between hugging the man and strangling him for taking so long.  He's got this strong accent that funny enough, reminds me of Borat or some sort of other comedian-inspired character - that is, until he kicks my Mommy out of the room.  WTF?  Apparently, his experience is that mommies have a hard time watching the big bad needle go in their little girl's back, so he doesn't even want her in there - again, good thing there is no bed pan in close proximity.

So Momma leaves and Mr. Borat tells me I have to sit on the edge of the bed, with my back curved, leaning on the nurse while he puts in the needles.  NEEDLES?  Apparently, there's a first one that burns that makes room for the big boy that brings the pain medication.  And one more thing - DON'T even think of moving!  No matter how bad the contraction, how much it hurts, I have to remain perfectly still like a Shanny statue.  DEAL - JUST GET ON WITH IT!

The nurse puts a chair under my feet so I can put them somewhere, I try to open my knees wide enough for my belly to go between them, and curve my back as much as I can.  CRAP HERE COMES A CONTRACTION AGAIN.... try to go to Zen happy place - must not move.  Must not move.  Contractions keep coming and I feel the burning from needle one.  Then the dude complains that my epidural doesn't wanna go in.  Must stay in the position.  Another burning needle, more complaining that maybe I need to curve my back more - I LOOK LIKE THE F*ING HUNCHBACK OF NOTRE DAME!  More contractions, still can't move.  This feels like medieval torture.  Third try with another burning needle.  Third time that he seems to miss.  THIS GUY IS MORE BORAT THAN I WANTED IN AN ANESTHESIOLOGIST!  Finally, it seems that fourth try's a charm.  He leaves the room muttering.  I decide that this is a great place to forgive the man because at least it's in... OWWWWWW!  WHY IS IT STILL HURTING?!?  Nurse says it takes a little bit for the epidural to kick in.  IT BETTER KICK IN FAST - I WAS IN THAT STATUE POSITION FOR OVER HALF AN HOUR!

It's now about 5:55am.  Mommy's back.  Contractions are coming fast to the point that the nurse doesn't even ask Tyler to use his fancy new iPhone app to time them.  Need water.  Shit, I'm at the no-water point of delivery - only ice chips.  Ty becomes my ice chip bitch.  6am: OWWWW - epidural not working.  Nurse says to wiggle my toes. Done no problem.  WHY ISN'T IT WORKING YET? Nurse says that it should kick in in about 5 or 10 minutes.  So at 5 minute intervals, I am screaming, begging, and near tears because my toes are still wiggling and the pain is still pain-ing.  Nurse keeps telling me that just another 5 or 10 minutes until we hit 6:35 and I scream, IT'S BEEN 45 MINUTES!  WHAT THE HELL?!  The nurse looks at the clock and then checks me "down there", only to find I'm already dilated to 9cm.  You see her take a deep breath because of the extremely hard thing she has to tell me next - she has the look on her face of a TV doctor giving me bad news... Well, you see Shannon, sometimes, when labour progresses too fast, the epidural doesn't work.

WHAT THE FUCK?!?!? WHAT DO YOU MEAN IT DOESN'T WORK?  GET ME OTHER PAIN MEDICATION RIGHT NOW!  WHERE'S THAT LAUGHING GAS?  WHAT DO YOU MEAN IT'S TOO LATE FOR ANY MEDICATION?!?  I HAVE TO HAVE A (gasping to get the words and the idea through my head) NATURAL CHILDBIRTH?!?

You have to understand.  Some women have extremely detailed birth plans. Mine consisted of two words.  Pain medication.

Now here I am, almost completely dilated and the urge to push comes upon me like nothing I've ever felt before - almost like Montezuma's revenge on steroids (I worked in Mexico - me and Monty are old acquaintances) combined with passing a kidney stone.  Tell/scream to the nurse that I have to push - she tells me how I can't because my water hasn't broken yet.  Oh I forgot about that in all this insanity.  Shit.  Legs up in stirrups and someone (to this day, I don't remember who it was) suddenly stuck their hand up me down THERE, and then there was what felt like a tidal wave of warm liquid come pouring out of me onto these strategically place Bounty-strength pads placed under me. Picture the equivalent of drinking 3 or 4 Super Big Gulps and then laughing so hard you pee yourself.  Not that it's ever happened to me, but it's what I imagine it would be like...

So now to recap, the water has broken, I'm fully dilated, and I have a completely useless epidural needle in my back with the painful urge to push coming fast and furious.  I'm on my back in the always attractive stir-up position. Nurse mentions that the baby never dropped so I'm gonna have to push her all the way - WHAT THE F*K?!  THIS WAS ALSO NEVER MENTIONED AS A POSSIBILITY BEFORE!  It's 6:45 and the urge to push comes and now I am pushing for my life with everything I have.  At baby school, Sally told us to make sure we relax between pushes - you mean there's women that can't?!  In between, I basically collapse on the bed and bark "ICE" to Tyler so he keeps shoveling the ice chips in to my dry-as-the-desert mouth.   My back is killing me!  Turns out, the baby isn't in the exact right facing position so my labour acrobatics must begin.

First, the nurse has me turn on my side with my top leg up in the air and the nurse and my mom alternating having to hold it up so I push "into my bum" instead of "into my leg" - WHAT THE F*K EVER!   ICE!  After a half an hour or so of this position, now the nurse wants me in an even more flattering position. She raises the back of my bed to be completely vertical, and I sit up facing it, leaning over top of the back while raised up on my knees to push, with my ass in full view for the entire room to see. ICE! As a side note, it really is amazing how much you just don't give even a tiny itty bitty f*k about who sees your bits and pieces.  To be honest, I don't even know why I was in my paper ass-less wonder of a gown because it was only really covering my shoulders and occasionally a boob.

So I'm in the ass out position for a while and now it's time to go to the other side - TYLER. ICE. NOW. These ice chips would be some much better if they were in lime margarita form.  Then I probably wouldn't care that the epidural didn't work and maybe I'd at least earn some beads for the amount of people I'm flashing in this delivery room. 

My nurse tells me she's going off shift and introduces me to new nurse.  What do you mean there's a shift change?  Make a big mistake.  Look at the clock.  I'VE BEEN PUSHING FOR OVER AN HOUR - it's 8am!  As an aside, I start to wonder, where the f*k is the doctor?  I had a vision of a doctor delivering my baby, but this nurse has done everything, not even stopping for a pee break or anything.  OWWWWWWWWW HAVE TO PUSH AGAIN - FORGOT NEW NURSE'S NAME... JUST YELL "NEW NURSE!  NEED YOU!!" - better than get the f*k over here now, don't you think?

Well I guess little Tilly has gotten herself turned around because a little while later, I'm back on my back and the doctor has come in - it's about 8:30.  ICE!  Still pushing.  Getting sooooooooo tired.  I can FEEL her at the end of the birth canal - it's like the biggest poop of my LIFE is stuck down there.  My mom and Tyler and watching DOWN THERE with their eyes as big as saucers.  Apparently, it starts to open up a little and then close - like Sally said in baby school, two steps forward, one step back. I know they are starting to see her head.  I start begging the doctor to just take her out now.  YOU CAN SEE HER HEAD, CAN'T YOU JUST GRAB HER?!? Doctor smiles and just tells me to keep pushing.  I think I may have started crying - or that can be just what I remember.  New nurse asks me if I want to reach down and feel her coming out - NO!! I NEED TO CONCENTRATE!  MUST NOT GET DISTRACTED!!

Finally, I have the biggest push I've ever done - I can feel my face going purple and about 3 veins popping out of my forehead and SWOOSH - suddenly it's not tight down there any more, I feel another gush of liquid, and the doctor, in one swoop, has Tilly out of me and lying on my tummy.  Here she is - my baby girl and she's... PERFECT.  She's pink and there's barely any blood on her - she's just the most beautiful tiny human I have ever seen. 

I know other stuff happened, like her umbilical cord got cut by Tyler and I had to push out the placenta (which felt like a jellybean after the watermelon of Tilly-kins), but I didn't care.  New nurse then came to take Tilly to be cleaned up and her vitals taken while I got stitches DOWN THERE.  Doctor keeps telling me to keep my bum on the table as she proceeds to give me what looks like more stitches than if they were reattaching a digit.  I keep looking at tiny perfect human. 

She comes back to me and the doctor finishes the sew job - I think it's easier because the baby has distracted me.  I can't believe it - I did it.  And here she it, my tiny human...

So there it is - the story of my darling daughter's birth.  I will still keep blogging because already, there has been more things happen in the few weeks she's been out in the world than I ever would've imagined... And for people who've never had them, yes, the stitches SUCK!

It ain't called LABOUR 'cuz it's easy - PART 2

Where we left off, our heroine had been sent home, turned out from the hospital aka home of the pain medication.  Hi morphine - you're fun... wanna hang out and become my BFF?!

Get home about 2:30am and now I need to navigate the stairs.  I feel like a co-ed who just went to her first kegger - the stairs are looking mighty comfy...  Arms behind me propelling me to bed.  Hello bed - I love you. Fall face first onto mattress.  Pass out in the attractive one leg practically on the floor, mouth open with drool coming out and my arms starfished out to my sides.  I guess this is what I've been missing for 9 months since I couldn't drink? Everyone's off to bed - slight feeling of defeat once again.  Thought for sure this was it.  Oh well, at least I have December 5th's induction date to look forward to.

About 3:15, wake up with a start.  Holy crap!!  I feel like I need to take a really big... well, crap. Into the bathroom I go, being careful not to wake anyone up.  DAMMIT!  Nothing is coming out.  Let's try a bath - nope, not helping.  Hmm... did I take my Metamucil today?  Yes...  Well WTF?  Out of the tub, back on the "water closet" - interesting.  The pre-morphine pains are making a comeback like NKOTB.

Pooping urges are coming fast and furious - uh-oh.  The steak for dinner seems to be fighting me and... OH SHIT!  I'M ON THE TOILET AND I NEED TO THROW UP!  Hello bathtub...  Wow, even with my very worst hangover, I've never seen vomit like that...  Morphine giveth and morphine taketh away - with this puke-apalooza, the morphine is wearing off fast - OH THIS REALLY HURTS MORE THAN A POOP!!  MOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMMMMMMMM...

It's now just about 4am - Momma calls the Labour and Delivery evil geniuses.  Apparently, with their magnificent 20/20 hindsight, they admit they probably shouldn't have sent me home.  Tell Momma to bring me back to the hospital.  Wake up Tyler and Dad, who can both sleep through anything, including a pregnant woman yelling, tell them we're going to the hospital to see if I am in actual labour this time and if I am, then Ty can come to the hospital.

Get into the car.  FRONT SEAT IS TOO STRAIGHT!!  I NEED TO GO IN THE BACK WHERE I CAN CONVULSE AND LAY DOWN!! Get to the hospital. I WANT A FRIGGIN' WHEELCHAIR! My poor mother is practically running down the hallway to the elevators - WHY ARE THE ELEVATORS SO F*ING FAR?! Get to Labour and Delivery - they throw me right back into the exact same room I vacated a mere 2 hours ago. 

Shannon, put your feet together and let your knees relax - NOT THIS A F*ING AGAIN!  Hmmm... Appears you're dilated to 3cm.  Congratulations, you're in labour.  I COULD'VE TOLD YOU THAT! (look around for a bedpan to throw - no luck).  Realization strikes - 3cm means I can get an epidural.  Start telling / yelling at anyone in a pair of scrubs that looks like they may be able to help me, I WANT AN EPIDURAL RIGHT NOW!  Yes Shannon, we will just get you admitted and sent to a delivery room and we'll get you your epidural - LESS PLACATING ME, MORE PAIN MEDICATION!

Mom needs to call Tyler so he can be here!  Nurse looks at Mom - there's no rush for him to get here... She's over 35 and it's her first baby - this baby's not coming for HOURS.  Oh yeah, because you guys have been so accurate to this point. Let's just be safe and get him here NOW. 

What is taking so long for this admitting and epidural-ing to happen? 

Time for Mommy to take another writing break - the benevolent dictator Ottilia has decided that the bassinet is no longer acceptable and that the Mommy needs to cuddle her now.  Only 18 years of indentured servitude left to go.

It ain't called LABOUR 'cuz it's easy - PART 1

Good news - woke up and still have a baby as opposed to still being pregnant, so now back to our regularly scheduled programming...

Where we left off, I was sore.  Being sore really doesn't seem that weird, but it felt... different.  I know, I know.  Way to be vague Shan.  The closest thing I can think of is that it reminded me of eating a bad taco and how your stomach is just sore while it tries to decide whether to throw it up or push it on through to the intestines.  But not exactly, just kind of...

Then, about 11:30 - quarter to 12, the pains took on a life of their own.  It was sore and then it got more sore and more sore until OH MY GOD THIS FRIGGIN' HURTS to a little less sore and a little less, and then A LOT MORE HURT!!!!!!!!!!! This went on for a while and I did the only thing I could think of - I went to the toilet.  I'm being blunt here and not pulling any punches, because, really, how else could I make it sound nice while still being accurate?  "I visited the water closet whilst spritzing lavender water and singing the soundtrack to 'Oklahoma'?"

Anyhoo, after a few very uncomfortable minutes on the abode, I wipe to find blood - quite a bit of blood - and looking into the toilet-y abyss, I see what I've described before as a ginormous booger-like substance.  Hmmm...  Me thinks this is the elusive "mucus plug" or in flowery niceties, "the gelatinous precursor to birth."  Wake up Mom.  Show her gelatinous precursor and bloody TP.  Not much help - crap, where's Sally, my pre-natal baby class teacher when I need her?!?

Uh-oh - standing not so good.  Now the soreness waves are coming faster and hurting more, but still no breaks in between.  I remember paying very close attention to the description of contractions in baby school and Sally said there was a peak and then relaxation.  WHERE THE F*K IS THE RELAXATION PART?  Wake up Tyler, grab packed yoga bag - maybe we better go to the hospital just in case.

Into the car with the 3 of us and the pain is getting worse - this has got to be labour! Although me and Sally are definitely gonna have a talk about the promise of relaxation breaks.  Get to the hospital, into emergency, whisked up to the "Labour and Birth" ward and hand them the pregnancy papers I've been walking around with for a month or so.

The resident looks at the papers and says I need to go to an exam room so they can decide if they're going to admit me.  YOU MEAN THERE'S A QUESTION?!?!? The resident tells me to undress, I get helped onto the bed, and get told to put the soles of my feet together as close to my bum as possible, then relax my knees so they can check if I'm dilated... and then the resident shoves her F*ING FIST UP "THERE" MAKING THE PREVIOUS DAY'S RIM JOB SEEM LIKE A F*ING TIP TOE THROUGH THE TULIPS!!!! (Exasperated) Shannon, keep your knees relaxed. HOW ABOUT YOU COME UP HERE AND RELAX YOUR KNEES WHILE I SHOVE A FIST UP YOUR TWAT?!?

Resident: Shannon, you're not in labour. You're only 1 cm dilated.
Me: Excuse me?
Resident:  This is a side effect of having your membranes stripped
Me: Uh, this friggin' hurts and that was done at 9:30 this morning (while thinking - you are on crack lady.  Someone bring me Meredith Grey from Grey's Anatomy and she'll tell me I'm in labour)
Resident: That can happen.  Gonna give you some morphine and send you home.
Me: GRRRRRRRRRRRRRR (but don't say anything because I really want the morphine.  It's the closest thing I have to a birth plan - pain medication and lots of it.)

So the needle comes (whoopee) and I get shot up with some of the good stuff.  About 15 minutes later, the pain waves have changed to complete, blissful oblivion, like when you've drank your weight in margaritas and tequila poppers.  The pain waves may very well still exist, but now I just don't give a damn.  Told to lay in the bed for a while 'til they know I'm okay.  I hear the nurse, but for some reason I have a big smile on my face and think she's actually a character from a Pixar film.  I don't know which one, maybe a to-be-released film "Toy Story 5" where Buzz and Woody are replaced Pokey the needle and Splashy the bed pan.

An hour later, the nurse comes in to the room to tell me they've gotten busy and need the bed and staff so they're gonna send me home now.  JUST IN CASE, they give the phone number of Labour and Delivery to my mom and I get kicked to the curb.  Tyler comes in the room because along with my cartoon fantasies, my legs seem to have a bit of a mind of their own and walking is not on the top of their priority list.

So at about 2:15am, I'm wheeled out of the hospital and sent home to "sleep it off"...

Gotta stop for a bit there... time to get up and pump for the muffin cup aka. put on the milking machine.  Wow I wish someone had told me about the glamorous stuff I got to do when I became a Mommy.

Waiting for Tilly...

Yes, I know Tilly's already here, but thought I should probably write the blog that I intended to write on Saturday morning, oh, about the time I was pushing her out...

Have you ever had something you were so sure that was going to happen and when it didn't, you were completely taken by surprise, like all of sudden you woke up one day and the sky was tangerine?!  That is what happened to me with Tilly.  Don't ask me why, but for some reason, the WHOLE time I was pregnant, I was sure she was gonna come early.  I didn't know how early, but I figured this was one of those instinct things like how I was pretty sure Tilly was a girl before the ultrasound confirmed it (well, except for that "nightmare" around week 33 when I had a nightmare that my little girl suddenly was a boy and I had nothing but pink stuff and frilly dresses for him - panicked enough that I made the ultrasound tech re-check at my last ultrasound).

Anyhoo, right from the get go, I was just so sure she was gonna come early - to the point that I was worried she would come out before my time at work was up.  So then, a week and a half before my due date, I went on mat leave.  Perfect. All I figured every day was, well, she can come now.  And then every day, I slept right through the night.  No contractions.  No water breaking. Not even the mucus plug (boys and anyone else who's never seen it - think of a giant huge marble-size booger.  Sorry, can't think of something less gross to explain it)

The weekend before she was due, Tyler got to Regina, and I thought ahhhhhhhhh.... Tilly was just waiting for Daddy to get here!  Now she'll come.  Hmmm.  Still no labour stuff.  Day before her due date (Monday Nov 21)... Oh!  Maybe this is it!!  DAMN - just needed to take a big dump.  Off to my family doctor aka. the nicest doctor and possibly person I've ever met.  He's got huge smiles and I think he's almost as excited about her imminent arrival as I am.  He measures her and guess her at 8.5 pounds.  All I can think is, okay muffin, you can come out now.  Mommy doesn't want more than a 9 pound baby coming out of there and I need you to still be able to put on some of your adorable newborn clothes!

Get home and that's it - off to the reflexologist.  Charlie's been saying that he's got a pretty good success rate getting stubborn babies to come out.  Off I go and he massages and pokes and prods my feet and my ankles... Hurts, so something must be happening!!  Just to cover my bases, stop on the way home at the health food store to buy red raspberry leaf tea and some castor oil* - sure they're old wive's tales, but she needs to be born by her due date because I was SURE she would be.

Dawn of due date.  Wake up.  Feel tummy.  Feel Tilly kicking away.  Is it just me or is she kicking harder?  Maybe she's trying to Chuck Norris kick her way out?  Should I be shining a flashlight up there to show her the way out?  Tyler tries to give her a pep talk.   Interesting.  Did I just imagine it, or did she just laugh at me?  Not one of the gee-this-clown-is-funny kind of laughs.  More of the you-mere-mortals-think-you-can-get-me-to-do-what-you-want? kind of laughs.  Get the chills.  Better call acupuncturist and massage therapist.  Can't get in until Monday, Nov. 28.  Dammit, this child is kicking my ass in this intense battle of wills.

Wake up Wednesday morning.  New idea - gonna try the "Murphy's Law" method of induction.  Go shopping to buy all the stuff I need to do a bunch of Christmas baking the next day - gingerbread, sugar cookies, maybe even nanaimo bars.  This is gonna work - Murphy's Law is like the Secret - oh, so powerful, sending the vibes out into the universe.

Wake up Thursday morning, sigh, and go to the kitchen and actually do Christmas baking.  Curses, this girl is seeing right through me!!  New plan of attack.  Right now, she's like a diva, in her dressing room, refusing to come out because everyone is catering to her, talking and trying to cajole her on to the stage.  Time to try to reverse psycologise this baby.  We're not gonna talk to her and beg her to come out today.  Nope, she's gonna be so pissed, she'll storm right out of my uterus. This plan is brilliant!

Wake up Friday morning.  Damn, that plan was stupid.  Time to head to the OB for the appointment I only made because the receptionist made me because Ottilia was supposed to be here by now.  Get there and the first thing my OB does is discuss the possibility of induction.  I feel so defeated - you win baby.  I sign the release form and sign the paper, scheduling it for December 5th.  The OB says, that's if she's not already here.  I smile weakly and say sure, "IF".  Then the OB offers to thin my cervical membranes aka "the rim job" - wow and I thought pap smears were unpleasant.  This is pap smear times 100.  Oh Shannon, you may have some mild cramping and spotting, so don't worry about it.

Now I just go on about my day as if I'm not even pregnant - sure, I still waddle like the March of the Penguins, but I am a woman thoroughly defeated. I guess this is one of those things where I just have to give up on my certainty, like someone handing me the keys to a beautiful all-expenses paid villa in Southern Spain.  Ain't happening.

All day, feeling little pangs, but no big deal - nothing new. About 11pm, feeling... sore.  No cramps, no water breakage.  Just... sore.

Okay now this is my season cliff hanger... Can't say anymore until the next post because I don't wanna take anything away from the big blockbuster labour story.  It's epic but mommy needs to have a sleep now...  Please don't let this be like that 80's show Dallas and I'll wake up still pregnant...


* Got home and looked up stuff about taking Castor oil - waaaaaay too scary about the stuff that could happen to baby.  Figured I could wait so if anyone needs a bottle of castor oil...

Braxton Hicks are jerks

So now I really truly get it.  Yes, not getting to have some of the things I love (sushi and sangria, for example) sometimes makes pregnancy seem like FOREVER.  Thanks to the last 2 weeks though, I get why in the third trimester, I am already tying to bribe, cajole, and trick this baby to come out of me.

Braxton Hicks contractions suck ass.  Sorry to be so blunt, but there's really no other way to put it.  John Braxton Hicks in 1872 got these named after him so forever after, he is on my "List".  Of course they're named after a man.  Sigh.

Books and baby sites make it sound like they're a walk in the park - a slight tightening of the uterus.  Bullshit.  Take your period cramps.  Take the worst one you ever had times about 5. Now imagine that every night for weeks with no end in sight.  It's not like I get them constantly, but a good 3 or 4 a night seems to be par for the course until I give up whatever I am doing and go to bed.  I can almost hear the Braxton Hicks contractions laughing at me - haha, we have made her bend to our will once again.  Like I said, they're totally jerks, akin to those douchebag ex-boyfriends that almost all of us had at one time or another.

Now Braxton Hicks didn't come alone to this party.  Oh no, that would be "ruining his rep." He brought along his equally douche-y buddy, Symphysis Pubis Dysfunction. Never heard of it?  Me either until my last doctor appointment.  You see, while getting the lovely Braxton Hicks contractions every night like a Vegas show, SPD has decided it wants to be the opening act / co-star nightly.

Basically, this hormone makes all your ligaments relax so the baby can get out (it's called relaxin - aren't they clever?)  One of the places the ligaments need to relax (obviously) is in the pelvis. That baby's head ain't getting out otherwise.  Well, in the front, the ligaments are supposed to stretch out a little bit, but if your pelvis isn't "locked" (whatever the hell that means), or they stretch out a little too much, you can get pain.  A lot of pain.  The best way I can describe it is that it's like getting kicked in the crotch with a really pointy pair of stilettos - but from the inside.

Yes houseboating buddies, for inventing the C-punch term, I am now experiencing a reverse one or 5 on a daily basis.  Karma is a bitch. (For non-houseboaters - think of it as the woman version of kicking a man in the family jewels, but with a cruder and unfortunately catchy moniker one thinks up after days of drinking "punch" on the Shuswaps)

The only relief from these two asinine conditions? Laying down.  Unfortunately, they also have an annoying little gnat of a cousin - acid reflux.  Yep, joy of joys.  After Braxton Hicks and SPD have kicked my ass enough to make me go to bed at 7:30pm, about 10 minutes later, acid reflux comes to this little get together and makes me feel like puking all night.  Whoopee shit.

So you see, I am starting to get a little desperate - Tilly needs to get her little butt out here.  I am in the process of making a list of all the things I can do to convince her to come out - booking reflexology and acupuncture, purchasing a trampoline, and I'm even getting close to drinking castor oil.  Any ideas short of a vacuum cleaner are more than welcome - well, almost any.  I just remembered who reads this and what you people come up with sometimes frightens me a little.

Naughty knotty pregnancy

When I found out I was pregnant, I was pseudo-prepared for a lot of the things I've gone through thanks to many friends who preceded me and television.  I knew that my back would be sore, and having double D's most of my adult life, I figured big deal.  Like that's gonna be anything new. Oh pregnancy, you little prankster, you.

In my first trimester, my back and neck mostly hurt because I sat and slept in any position that would keep me from losing my lunch and I can almost guarantee that somewhere, a chiropractor sensed my discomfort and bought a new car based on my future chiro spending.  Oh well, I thought, I knew that this wasn't gonna be a cakewalk (as an aside, could someone somewhere please invent a cakewalk?  You know, I'm out, going for a walk in the fresh air to be healthy but interspersing said walk with cake stations?  Pregnancy makes my dreams really vivid and this dream made me REALLY happy).

On to the 2nd trimester... back more sore.  Go to a massage therapist in Regina, this big guy.  He has a table that has a big hole for my tummy to hang out in, but one small problem... or I should say, me being small was the problem.  You see, at only 5'1", I am slightly vertically challenged.  So there I go onto the massage table, making sure little baby Tilly gets to hang down and chillax in the baby belly hole and then as I lie down the rest of the way... my face ends up in the uncomfortable "seam" of the metal table and the face part so my nose is getting squished and breathing is a little difficult, compared to say, breathing underwater.  Get a couple little towels and attempt to MacGyver up a forehead rest so I don't suffocate, which would be counterintutive of the whole massage to make me feel better thing. 

Time to get down to business.  Tell him I hurt - this guy looks like he may moonlight as a amateur wrestler a la Nacho Libre - and he nods and starts in on me.  Holy SHIT - how did I get a knot in the side of my knee?!  OMG, that knot in the middle of my right calf somehow just shot up to my left shoulder. Flip me over.  Yes, my neck hurts... I HAVE KNOTS IN MY COLLARBONE?!  This is getting ridiculous.  Go to see him a few times, but, with what I can assume is the amateur wrestler unspoken rule of conduct, he seems to hurt me more and more with every massage.  Time to take a little break...

Now it's my 3rd trimester and Tilly is getting bigger and bigger, and with that, it's like she's moved from a 2 bedroom townhouse to a broom closet.  With the growing comes growing discomfort.  Now, wherever I drive and no matter if it's hot or not outside, the seatwarmers must always be on.  Thank you electric heating pad...  I love you Lush bubblebath so I can try to soak the knots away (although as another aside, even though this one feels best, getting out of the tub is akin to trying to self-pedicure or put on socks.  It ain't pretty)

Been trying reflexology but when I'm honest with myself, I don't think it's really helping much anymore... I think I'm just more into having a half an hour foot rub.  Decide to try another massage therapist in the same office.  Talk to her and she's had 4 children - A HA!  Someone who understands these pesky knots from both sides of the equation!  Book in the massage thanks to the new and super fun back spasms and, dare I say it, occasional butt spasms (on the up side, now I really can talk like a New York jewish woman, complaining about my sciatica).  She gives me a massge and I explain about the knee and collarbone knots.  She nods and says something about there's a few more she'd like to check out...

I have more in my armpits and even my HAIR hurts.  Yes, my hair.  The hairline at the top of my neck.  It's as if my hair is made of something that really really hurts that I can't think of.  Not fair... The only other times I've had hurting hair, it ALWAYS involved some alcoholic overage, like vats of margaritas, barrels of sangria, or a picina of rum and coke (we actually did used to drink this when we worked in Mexico - should've come with a warning label)

So now, here I am... Trying to get comfortable is a full time job...  On the upside, in the next couple weeks, from what I've heard / seen on television, I'll be so sleep deprived, I don't think I'll even notice the knots anymore.  Yay?

Pregnancy can be a hairy situation

When I found out I was pregnant, it explained a few things - weird(er) back pains and the nausea I'd been feeling.  No big surprise, kinda par for the course... You see when women who get kinda blindsided by pregnancy find out, there are general pregnancy symptoms we know about: no period (take that Playtex!), the incessant nausea (hello premium plus) and that you will suffer all sorts of aches and pains thanks to your stomach growing to watermelon-esque proportions.  I'm from Saskatchewan - they make helmets out of watermelons.  I know one when I see it. 
But my hair... my beloved hair.  No matter the size of my ass, a giant Mount Vesuvius zit on my face, I love my hair.  Sure, I didn't always love it - thank you 1986. I thought I would look cool if I got my hair cut short.  I mean REALLY short.  I hated it but not as much as my curls did.  They rebelled.  While the short hair was growing out, the curls showed me who the boss was (no it did not involve Tony Danza) and my hair stuck up everywhere - especially at the bottom.  Remember the cute little "Donna from 90210" hair cut everyone got where it was short but curled up cute on the bottom?!  My hair did that - about 4 years before it was "cool." Oh the humanity.  I had to actually get a PERM to tame the curls because no amount of Aussie Helmet Head Hairspray (or whatever it was called) could keep the curls in check.  Fast forward to high school - I learned the perfect combination of products and the length the curls liked.  We began our love affair.
I have heard countless times someone say to me "You probably wish you had straight hair.  Everyone with straight hair wishes they had curls and curls wishes they were straight."  I replied with not a chance.  I love the naturally big hair.  Me and the hair share the same personality, no matter what the trends - we're kinda in your face and a little crazy, but cute.
It's a big mass of curls without being too curly - Walking past a hair salon once, I was even pulled in because a woman wanted a perm "just like this" and the stylist promised she could do it.  I got a free cut for keeping my mouth shut.  Observe the power of the curls.  Unfortunately, the curls giveth and the curls taketh away.
You see, in that nasty first trimester (or what I shall call the puke-mester), I felt gross.  I felt bloated and ugly and needed a little pick me up - what else to do but to go get my hair done!!  Made a call to my fabulous hair dresser, headed over and told her she could cut a little extra off, but I still needed to put my hair in a ponytail - other women (and some men) know what I speak of... There is short and then there's too short to be pulled back when you are feeling lazy / vomiting.  I came out of the appointment with a lot less hair and got home to the horrible realization that I was now the latter - no matter what I tried, the hair would not all fit into one simple pony...  Well, the nausea, hormones, and lack of sleep kicked in and I cried and cried and cried.  I'm not saying it was rational in any way, shape, or form.  Just putting it out there - I was a bawling mess of tears that couldn't be consoled until 3 weeks later, thanks to said pregnancy hormones, the hair had grown fast enough to become pony worthy again.
Now in the time since, I've gotten my hair cut again and done my hair daily (usually said ponytail - I'd rather sleep for that extra 5 minutes).  Unfortunately, I hadn't realized that THE CURLS had been slowly but surely plotting their revenge against me.
Over half way through my second trimester, my mom was asking when I straightened my hair.  I kept scoffing at her, figuring my hair was just a little straighter from pulling it back in a pony so much.  Oh how I wish it were true.  One weekend, I had a shower and came out to curly hair - like I have my whole entire life.  I let it dry by itself and that`s when something horrible happened - my hair got straighter and straighter.  By the time it was dry, my beloved little kinks were a thing of memory.  Tried to wash it again the next day, adding in voluminous amounts of volumizing hair products and using the good old diffuser dryer to no avail - the curls have forsaken me.
Please God tell me that this is another cruel joke of pregnancy and my curls will come back with my monthly visitor or at the absolute worst, if they don't return, at least Tilly will get my curls... like in Highlander, there can be only one?  So much for my planned entries into mother daughter look alike contests.  Kids like that, don't they?

Could I possibly maybe miss being pregnant?!?

Wow, have I ever been a slacker.  Totally hurting my chances for world domination through blogging, but figured I needed to postpone my usual kindergartener bedtime and get my act together.  We'll see how long this lasts - if I end in the middle of a sentence, I fell asleep again.

So believe it or not, for all the no booze or sushi-ness of pregnancy, and as the day nears that little Tilly will come into the world, I am realizing there may actually be some things I will miss about no longer having my little passenger...

1. People being nicer to me than usual.
Now I admit, not everyone fits into this category - talking to you lady Costco worker who informed me I had dropped something while wrestling my Costco card out only to watch me struggle to pick up my small thumb drive and just smirk at my mild grunting and efforts not to "turtle"
I'm talking to the people that hold open the doors, let me go in front of them in line, reach stuff for me that is too high up (while my tummy has grown exponentially, I am still, sadly, a mere 5'1") and offer me a seat in a crowded room. You people deserve a medal, or at least some good karma.  There, I've given you all I can.  Go forth and win the 6-49.

2. People lifting / carrying stuff for me.
Yeah, this kind of falls under the category of being nice to me, except people seem to do this whether they want to or not.  At work, I take the last morsels of water from the cooler. Before I was pregnant, I would struggle and probably pull something in the groin area attempting to change the giant water jug without spilling it everywhere and blaming it on a water leak.  Instead, now I can find any man in the office, smile sweetly, and simply say,"The water jug's empty.  Could you please help me since I'm... you know (insert patting of tummy here)."  No one ever says no to me.  Same with boxes delivered to me and heavy grocery bags. Oh, the power.

3. Blaming the baby for stuff.
Now I realize this seems slightly cruel, but c'mon - I'm sure I'm not the first and I'm sure I won't be the last woman to do this.  Teaching my coordinator (who is a big boy, 6'3" and a hockey ref) what I need him to do one day, right in the middle of a sentence, with absolutely no warning, in place of my next word came out a belch that would've made Barney from the Simpsons turn around and take notice.  While slightly embarrassed, we laughed, he high-fived me because he said it was "awesome" and I blamed Tilly for the burp.  Hey, it never happened to me when I wasn't pregnant, so it was the only reasonable explanation, right?!
Of course, this rule also applies to "fluffies", better know as farts.  Sometimes those bad boys just come out of nowhere and smell like something may be rotting inside me.  I say it's Tilly's reaction to Indian food - she's obviously not a curry fan.
This can also be applied to indigestion, poor sleeps, too long in the bathroom, acne, and bad hair days.

4. Maternity clothes.
Now my favourite of the maternity pants have this ENORMOUS wide elastic band that goes right up over your whole tummy.  It feels like yoga pants material and by extension, makes every pair of pants feel yoga pants-y.  Jeans, cords, dress pants - none of those dumb belts and digging buttons or zippers here!   Sure, they kinda fall down a little while you walk or get up or down, but then I can feel totally at ease hiking up the pants and even adjusting any accompanying wedgies. And hey, if you don't look just right, people give you a little fashion slack because, hey, you're sleep deprived and can't fit into your "normal" clothes... You never see Marie Claire magazine giving a fashion black bar across the face of a pregnant woman - because then they would be big jerk faces and no one wants that and they must remember that all pregnant women eventually become non-pregnant women.
And as for the shirts... they hide stuff, are long, and generally are made of nice comfy material.  And while I love my heels, is it wrong that  it seems my feet are in heaven thanks to my constant wearing of birkenstocks, runners, loafers, and pumas?!  I don't think my tootsies have been this happy since I discovered height altering footwear as a teeny bopper.

5. Lack of eating guilt.
I'm not gonna say I was a food nazi before I was preggers, but having Tilly inside me has given me new license to enjoy whatever I damn well please.  Yes, I am still very good about the foods I'm not supposed to eat (I swear, this is a record for me NOT eating hot dogs), and I eat a bunch of fruits and veggies every day, but now, if I want to eat an ice cream sandwich, dammit get out of my way because that bad boy doesn't have long for this world... And I may even be checking out sister Drumstick or brother-in-law Ice Cream Cake.  And by the way, those of you with stock in Kit Kat bars, the drought is over.  I see a Kit Kat in my peripheral vision, it is getting hunted and gathered and consumed like a cavewoman collecting berries.

6. Being a "we".
Tilly and I are a 2 for 1 package.  We're referred to as "you girls" and when I get home, I say, we're home, not just me.  Sure the kicks can get annoying especially when I am so tired I could cry (and sometimes do - another advantage is not holding back tears!), and Tilly-kins has decided that she has taken up tap dancing on my bladder.  The weird thing is though, when I get up in the middle of the night for my fourth pee in as many hours, if I DON'T feel her move at least a little bit, I get a little freaked out and jiggle my belly around to make her react.  Perhaps another not very mommy move, but at least I can get back to sleep without worrying there's something wrong in there.

7. Looking at baby stuff.
It's not like I couldn't look before I was preg and can't after she's born, but there's this special kind of excitement about looking at the super adorable little dresses, toys, shoes and all the other way over-priced but too friggin' cute baby stuff while having the baby in your tummy.
It's not like you're shopping for someone else for a baby shower - this stuff is for your little girl.  And after you have the baby, at least I'm not trying to rush through looking at it before the baby cries or mommy-the-milk-factory is called into service for the upteenth time.
Mind you, I go into baby stores / sections and have a deer in a headlights kind of look (you know it's bad when a manager at Babies R Us takes you by the shoulders, speaks softly and uses short words to explain stuff you ask about that says you must look totally freaked out)
In the same vein, at least when I'm pregnant I can attempt to sort through the immense amount of crap out there for babies - I know the basic basics I need (car seat/stroller, place to sleep, diapers, and some clothes), but between bumbo chairs, snuggies, breast pumps and all the other stuff there is, I don't have any idea what this child needs...

Maybe I'll just take pictures and try to convince her when she gets older and asks questions about why I was so clueless I'll just tell her I was a hippie.  Or that I heard the toys were covered in lead paint from China and I didn't want her to get lead poisoning.  Ah, I've got a little while to figure that part out... unless she decides to come early.  Please God, no.

My name is Shannon and I am baby Tilly's bitch

What a realization.  At my cousin's wedding this past weekend, and sitting at a table with my brother, I mentioned something about not being able to eat something on my plate because "Tilly doesn't like it," which, in true annoying little brother form, he responded, "Oh so you're her bitch?  You're gonna take orders from a 24 week old?"

I sighed and admitted that in all my years of working hard to be a modern, self-sufficient and sustaining woman, a tiny baby that is just over a pound and the size of an ear of corn (according to one of the bazillion pregnancy emails I get) has completely and totally taken control and made me her bitch aka Mommy.

My foodie tendencies with an I'll try anything once attitude?  Out the window, in favour of PB and banana or pepperoni pizza. A sound night's sleep?  Nice try Shanny.  Tilly seems to be hosting a rave nightly, with the occasional high kick to the bladder.  And speaking of the unspeakable bladder functions, no longer do I even seem to have control of my own bowels, now a slave to Metamucil and high fiber snacks.  Apparently my bowels think I'm 70.

My usual lovely skin?  Okay, of course I usually get some zits here and there but now I feel like I'm 13 again and the 'before' in a ProActiv commercial and even my arms have strange red bumps all over them. My glorious mane?  Well, I'll admit that the curly-haired wonder has not always had control over the 'fro, but I FINALLY had it figured out only for the rules to change during pregnancy, with my hair somehow being frizzier and oilier than ever. I've gone back in a hot-tub time machine (although I'm not allowed to go in hot tubs anymore either) to that '80's staple, the ponytail scrunchie.  Thank God for the Whitetrash Whitefish ski weekend that forced me to buy some at the dollar store.  Yes, I am wearing a hair accessory from the loonie store.  Sigh.

My ability to see my feet and self-pedicure?  Completely disappeared beneath the belly, only to be observed when bending over and reverting to a child-like state, begging MY mommy to paint my toes for me.  Then realizing that when Ottilia's an adult and preggers, I will still be her bitch and painting her toes too. 

Hmmm... I guess that's what they mean by the circle of life?  Maybe I'll just hire a little Asian nail lady with a vibrating pedicure chair for 9 months...

It's me, not the hormones

Well, Tilly's decided that 2 am seemed like a good time to wake up on a Saturday morning, so here I am, wide awake just pondering Tilly-kins and stuff in general (like pizza - God, I love pizza).  Then I thought of something that has really been sticking in my craw (is that the right saying?  Well it is now.) - the fact that people seem to think pregnant women are all bundles of joy and anything that makes them a little upset MUST be the hormones.

Oh those nasty hormones.  As a girl, when we got our first visit from "Aunt Flo" (boys, I'm talking about our periods - get over it) not only did we have the new-found joy of wearing diaper-like apparatus stuck to our panties, but we had to shop for LOTS of black pants because you just never knew when a pad would slip and there you would be in math with leakage (and another thing boys - when we had / still have leakage, it's BLOOD contrary to the maxi pad commercial belief of blue liquid).

The other joyful thing was that when somebody (invariably you boys) did something insensitive / stupid / downright mean and we got mad and told you so, we didn't get the proper respect that our tirade deserved.  No... we got a newly teenaged boy taunting us with "Somebody's got PMS" - looking back they probably didn't know what those 3 ominous letters stood for, but they did know it was enough for us to get even more frustrated with them and give up on any rational conversation or interaction with them.

Yep, that damn PMS keeps following us and mostly men blaming said hormones for anything they do that we don't like. (Disclaimer - don't get made at Tyler for these - I dated manys a jerk long before I met him.  And I have a brother. And friends with manys a jerk as well)

- You're mad at me for going out all night, getting hammered, and puking ALL OVER your bathroom then asking you to make me breakfast while I'm hungover?  Must be PMS.
- You don't like that I used your credit card to buy this samurai sword with nunchuks that I used to break your lamp?  Must be PMS.
- You're jealous because I've "reconnected" with my super hot and single ex-girlfriend and we've been going for coffee / lunch weekly for the last 3 months?  We're just friends!  Must be PMS.
- You're strangling me because I ate the last Kit Kat? Must be... Okay, that one may be justified.

Now here's the kicker - being pregnant does have the upside of not even caring about tampons for 9 months and the PMS shadow is gone.  To unfortunately be replaced with not only men, but women too, saying, "Oh, she's mad about something (no matter how justified). Must be the hormones."

I feel like saying to these people - HAVE YOU MET ME BEFORE I WAS WITH CHILD?! And 99% of them have known me a long time - you would think long enough to know better, but...

Yes, I know the pregnancy-related waterworks are hormone related.  Sitting at the dinner table with my parents, laughing, with the news on in the background.  Then out of nowhere, a story about a boy giving half his liver to his mom to save her life and suddenly, there I am still laughing but there are tears POURING out of my eyes.  That is the hormones.

Telling people a story about my first week at my new job. I need to learn about using and updating the website.  Call our provider, set up a time, and long story short, he proceeds to leave me sit in his waiting room, being almost half an hour late for the meeting at HIS office made to fit HIS schedule. When he finally shows up with a lame half-assed apology, I inform him very calmly that this is not how I do business, that being late for a meeting with me shows complete disrespect and will not be tolerated and that next time, after a 5 minute wait, I will be leaving, with all future meetings happening at MY office and finally, that I will not be paying for this training session as he's already used up a quarter of it being late.  I then shake his hand and get down to business for an hour and a half, without mentioning it again.

What do I hear?  Stick to your guns! Good for you for not putting up with that! Way to listen to Oprah and show people how you expect and deserve to be treated. NOPE.  Gee, those hormones sure are kicking in - glad I don't have to work for you while you're pregnant.  Did the world seem to think that I became Mary F*ing Poppins the second Tilly was created inside me?!  I wouldn't have put up with this when I wasn't pregnant so why am I expected to now?!

Funny thing is, when people blame the hormones for something very-not hormone related, it's as if it sets said hormones off like illegal fireworks on a beach while houseboating - they go every which way and are very dangerous.  I use every ounce of willpower I have (which is a lot without the usual fortifier of vodka) not to scream, scratch their eyes out, and punch them through a door like a Jason Statham movie while gargling the cry that Zena Warrior Princess used to do before she kicked ass.

Instead I smile sweetly, dig my fingernails into my palms to the point of verging on piercing the skin, and walk away with some lame excuse like needing to go to the washroom.

All I gotta say is if you actually think that whatever I'm doing IS caused by hormones, keep it to yourself or the last thing you'll hear is Zena while being taken down by nunchuks.