I have become a somewhat of a piece of fruit to the gnats of the troll world. Each day it seems there is someone else wanting to tell me how horrible a person I am.
Just this week alone, I’ve had three rather unpleasant trolls invading my space here. The first two were on the post that I read at the keynote. I guess my “stats” about the homeless were lies in their eyes…although funny enough, I don’t remember giving stats. Mostly, I was talking about my uncle. I was informed that since a homeless guy killed someone recently, I basically am a liar. Interestingly enough, a friend of mine was kind enough to tell me that a man killed his wife in their home in the past week. Shit happens. (Heck people, OJ Simpson killed his ex-wife and her husband in BRENTWOOD no less, surrounded by mansions and he got away with it.) People are not all good. Not all homeless people are mentally ill. But see, I never said they were, I said a lot of them are. Which is true. Sorry that it wasn’t technical enough, nor informative enough in regards to the homeless, but this isn’t a newspaper. I am not getting paid to write. These are my stories based on my life.
Somehow this one kind of makes me laugh. Really, no pregnant woman EVER gets sick before month two? I beg to differ. But what do I know? I’ve only been pregnant now, five times. Ladies? Care to share how early you felt sick? Yes there are people out there who don’t, I’ve had a pregnancy like that. Yes there are people who are four months before they know they are pregnant. But me? I know my body pretty dam well. Sorry if that doesn’t seem right to you.
I am an attention seeker? Really? Hmmm. As I look back, I see that I didn’t post for nearly two months. Yes, there are posts on this site, from April and May, but the majority of them were written by my friends, not by me. I said something…and trust me, I almost didn’t say a word…because this is my space for one, but also because I wanted to explain my absence from the blog/twitter world. Maybe having a blog that is open to the public means I am an attention seeker in some way. But that means all of us are in some way. Maybe though, it’s human nature to find a community of like minded people who want to support each other. Ever think of that? That the people who comment here are my friends?
However, and this is my main point in writing this at all. This is my site. My blog. My space. See, my name is written on the top there?
I am tired. Tired of defending myself. Tired of getting emails sent to my phone at 11pm from trolls. Tired of trying to find a way to make it where I don’t accept anonymous comments. Blogger just doesn’t make it that easy. I know I should ignore. You all say that. I get it. Intellectually at least. But I’m not that type of a person. It sits with me, days after I’ve deleted it. Frankly it sucks. If it continues, I will go a different route with comments. I just don’t know what that means yet.
This is now a troll free zone. You are not welcome here. You have been deleted and you will continue to be deleted. However every time someone is an asshat troll here, I am keeping the IP address. If this continues, I will start publishing them. Just for kicks. Because this is my site. My space. My sanctuary.
You write a post about silly nonsense, the first real post in a month and get told that you are a sheep and should kill yourself. By a person with no name, but none the less, some person who felt that was the right thing to say.
As bloggers, we are supposed to not care about this. We should get used to it. You have enough hits to your site, you are bound to get some trolls. We are supposed to harden our heart and not let the stupid comments bother us. As a seasoned writer in a public forum, I am supposed to just let this roll off my back. It doesn’t matter, it’s just some asshat troll. Delete and ignore. We’ve even come up with the blogging terminology to describe these people; the people who attack in comments, the people with no names.
But it does hurt and it does sting. Even after all these years of doing this, it bothers me. Intellectually it doesn’t bother me. But the heart and the brain don’t’ always feel the same way. You just don’t say that to someone. That is something that I can’t just brush off. The, you should kill yourself comment. The rest of it can be ignored, but that one stings. I’m not sure why. Maybe because I had a friend who did kill himself. In some ways it bothers me more when someone attacks a friend of mine, than when they attack me. I am always willing to defend a friend and luckily I didn’t have to say anything yesterday, as all of you were kind enough to defend me.
After the multiple comments and then the attacks on all of my friends, it almost seemed funny in some way. This person who so wanted to be known as the troll of the day. It seemed less personal after that, which was nice. But that one comment sits under my skin and eats at me. Because I wonder why someone would say such hateful things to a stranger. I wonder what I said to provoke him. Did my talking about Disneyland or my kids last day of school, provoke such a hateful response? Am I just an easy target?
It’s not me. I’ve been told that two dozen times, by people I adore. I know they are right, yet I still feel responsible.
I think in some way, they must be jealous. Jealous of our families, jealous of our friendships, jealous that they have no name. That must be really sad for them, to have no name. I doubt they’d walk up to a stranger on the street and spew such hatred, as they are apt to do online. I wonder what makes someone feel that this is okay? That the words they type are any different than the words they say aloud. Words have power, whether you type or say them. Maybe they don’t care, maybe I am such a horrible person and I deserve it. However, I doubt it, because I’ve never in real life, had someone attack me like this. You want to know why? Because I am a nice human being. I am kind to others, even people who don’t deserve it. I say please and thank you. I donate money and time to help the less fortunate. I don’t tailgate, nor flip off strangers who cut me off in traffic. I’ve never taken a thing in this world that did not belong to me. I am a hard worker and a responsible human being. I take good care of my children. I am a good person.
But they don’t see that. They don’t seem to care to see that. They don’t care that telling a depressed person to kill themselves is just plain wrong. He doesn’t care, because it doesn’t affect his life.
It bothers me, this lack of caring. The ability to spew filth and not care what you’ve put into the world. It makes me wonder about the world. And I don’t like that feeling.
This person, who taunted the blog world yesterday, doesn’t care about people. Doesn’t care about people’s feelings or emotions. Most likely it was a ploy for attention. There have been others before and there will be more after. Eventually they move on, because truly, why would you continue to read blogs written by parents, if you hate parents and children? (And hi, don’t you have parents, weren’t you once a child?)
It hurts me as much as it does, not really because of the 23 words this person said, but because I am still fragile. I am the first person to admit, I’ve had a hard ass month, which has come after a hard ass eight months, following a rough couple of years. I have my good moments and my not so good moments. Yesterday was the first time in a month when I hadn’t been depressed and this is what I get. Yesterday, by the way, was the four week mark. I lost the baby four weeks ago, last night.
I have been depressed and trying to be okay (and doing a dam good job of it) for a month. I’m fragile and I can’t handle this without talking about. I can’t ignore it like I should probably do. I can’t just let it go.
Which is why I’m writing this. Not because I want to give this person more attention. I have deleted and will continue to delete all of his comments. I am not going to link to his site, nor will I ever click on it again.
I am writing this, because I have to. I have to say all of this. I have to write that this isn’t okay. That I am not just some random stranger behind a computer screen. I am a person with feelings. I am a wife, mother, daughter, sister, friend and dog owner. I am a good person.
I am taking a stand. I am saying to the world, to all the trolls out there, that this has gone on long enough. Go find a life and stay the hell out of mine. Leave my friends alone. No one cares what you have to say. Shoo.
DONE. I am done justifying what I spend my money on to people. I have had no less that four people (one online and three at the school) say to me, in the last three days no less, you go to Starbucks every day? Why yes, I do. And what the hell does it matter? That just seems like a waste of money, they’ve all said. Think of the things you could buy with that money. It adds up. Have you ever thought about that?
I’m sure it does add up. But I don’t care. And I really want to know why anyone would care? You want to know what I spend a week at Starbucks? $20 freaking dollars. Add that to the $20 my husband spends a week and you’ve got $40 dollars. Holy crap. $40. Breaking the bank there I guess.
Could I make my coffee at home? I’m sure I could. I am certainly capable, in fact I own an espresso machine.
What I want to know is, why the fuck is it anyone else business where I spend my money? I don’t buy expensive purses. I have one Coach purse that I use every single day, but I’ve had it for over four years. I don’t buy expensive shoes. In fact, I don’t really buy shoes for myself. I prefer the same pair of shoes that I’ve had for two years. Whenever I can, I wear flip-flops. I don’t buy expensive clothes. I do buy new clothes for my ever growing children, but hey, they can’t exactly walk around nekkid. Also, I live right near a great outlet mall.
Logan and I live within our means. We always have. We are smart about our money. We started out buying a condo, then we sold it and bought a house. We have savings, that we add money too every month. All three of our kids have a college fund. We have a house, two paid off cars (which we bought used) and absolutly no debt. If I can’t pay for something, or I know I won’t be able to pay it off at the end of the month, I don’t buy it. Plain and simple. Yes, we’ve been lucky. But I’ve been working my ass off since I was fourteen years old and I’ve always been good with money. Am I rich, hell no. I will most likely never be. But I can afford my freaking Venti Non-Fat Mocha with whip cream from Starbucks. Every day, forever, if I want too.
This irritates me. People judging me, telling me how I should live my life, irritates the fuck out of me. I don’t judge others for what they spend. I happen to know that one of the people who said what she said to me, drives a freaking top of the line huge ass SUV when she only has two kids. Another goes out to night clubs every weekend and drinks long island iced teas like they are water. That can’t be cheap. Either way, I don’t care, so why the heck do they?
My extended family has begun to dread Fridays. With good reason, as every death in the family has happened on a Friday. In September it was my Grandfather, in December my Grandmother, two weeks ago, my Uncles Father-in-Law, last week, my Aunts Father-in-Law. Each one on a Friday.
Today my Uncle Mark passed away. My brother called me a few hours ago and told me. My dad is on his way to LA from San Fran and wasn’t able to call everyone. My other uncle found him this afternoon. Most likely it was a heart attack. Three family members in two weeks. It may be an all-time record. But hey, it was on a Thursday, which although is not any better, we were starting to think Fridays were cursed.. Then again, there is still time.
I am, by nature, an optimist. Once I was even called an insufferable optimist. I have always been the, it’s gonna be okay type of person. These days though, I’m having trouble not being a huge freaking pessimist. I had this feeling that it wasn’t done, this pattern of people dying and I was right. I find myself wondering who is next. I was not prepared for who it would be. My fifty-four year old uncle; not someone I thought to say good-bye too.
Tonight I’ve talked to friends and family and each time I’ve told them all how much I love them. Life is short people. It’s so short and there are no guarantees. I could live to see a hundred and God dammit, I want too. I want to watch my babies grow up and have babies of their own. I want to meet my great-grand babies. I want to dance with my husband at weddings for many years to come. But there are no guarantees in this life. This, my friends has become painfully clear too me this past six months. I am very painfully aware.
Hug your babies close, dance with your spouse, tell everyone how much you love them. We have to live like we will live to see 95 years old, because it’s the right way to live, but we need to love like we won’t. I am going to go all sappy and sentimental now and tell you all that I love you. I do, truly. You guys mean more too me than you know. I am so glad that you are all in my life.
To my uncle Marky, I will always love you and remember you. I hope you rest in peace.
Just so you all know: today is not Friday. In case you woke up like I did and thought it was, I am now bursting your bubble. Just in case you were planning your tomorrow, as if tomorrow was Saturday, in your head. My bubble was burst, by a lovely lady in Starbucks today. I said happy Friday to someone, she turned around to correct me. I cried. Seriously I did. She was so sweet about it, but I cried anyway. Dam PMS.
I really wanted it to be Friday, but it’s not. Just in case you were wondering.
I just got back from dropping one of my very favorite people off at the airport. I’ve had such a great weekend and I’m feeling kinda blah now. This, my friends, is what comes from having too much fun; from staying up way to late, getting up way to early (thanks son), drinking too much wine and talking so much that you are pretty sure you could just not speak for three days.
I have a lot of stories too tell. Not so much from this weekend, because that was mostly catching up. Those stories, you all have heard. No, more like stories from my childhood. I’m working on one right now, but I swore to my kids that we’d go ice skating this morning. They go back to school Wednesday, which is not a day too soon.
Until I get the chance to post again, I have a question for you all…do you laugh at people in your head who are so retarded in a coffee shop? You know the ones, the lady who says she wants a short coffee, when it’s called a tall or small? The same woman who will repeat it six times, just so the guy hears it? (Like my four year old does, when I tell her no.) NO, I SAID THE SHORT COFFEE. Like he’s deaf or something? Which of course he’s not, he’s just wanting to make sure he gets it right. Plus, he was holding up the dam cup.
Or the man who orders a medium soy macchiato with a shot of vanilla, no make that an extra pump of hazelnut, or maybe mocha. Maybe all three, that sounds great. Extra foam, but no whip cream and um, can you please make that a decaf? Really, what the heck are you drinking? Do you even know? If not, please leave, cause the thought of that is making me kinda sick.
The decaf coffee. This alone makes me giggle at people. If you are pregnant and drinking it, well you are a braver person than me. But decaf in general makes absolutly no sense too me. Why in the world would you bother?
Maybe it’s just me. But it takes a lot out of me to not laugh at loud at these types of peoples.
When I met Logan, we were fourteen; in the first week of our Freshman year in High School. His brother Sam was eleven years old. Audrey, his younger sister was eight. For some reason, Sammy was the biggest annoyance in the world to us (nothing personal to him, because he’s awesome now, but 11 years old boys are not that fun), but Audrey kind of became our little mascot. She hung out with us and our friends. We’d take her places, I taught her to surf; we thought she was cool. Probably helped that she was completely easy going and fun.
She was thirteen when she came to Logan and I and asked us if she could take us out to dinner. Take, meaning, we take her out and we pay for it, of course. We thought it was because we’d just gotten married and she wanted to be nice, but really she wanted to talk. She came out to us that night. She told us straight up, she was not interested in guys, she had a girlfriend. She talked and talked and explained her feelings to us, never letting us get a word in edge wise. She was scared to tell her big brother. I’m not sure what he said to her, because honestly it’s been years. But whatever he said, she burst into tears. She was so thrilled that he’d support her 100%. Of course he would, we all did. Hell, he was just thrilled he didn’t have to worry about her getting pregnant at fourteen or something. Didn’t make him not want to hunt down and strangle the little girl who later broke his baby sisters heart for the first time, but that is just a boy thing. Protect the women’s; I think it’s in the male genes. The few people in our extended family who had issues with this, have long since gotten over it. While at thirteen, they though she was going through a phase (you know, the ever popular, I like girls phase? Only second in popularity to the, I want to be a rock star phase), by the time she met Lexi at eighteen, they had moved over that issue.
Audry and Lexi met their first semester in college. They weren’t roommates, but each of them had a best friend in the other ones room. I won’t forget the night she came over and told us about Lex. Bailey was only a tiny newborny, not much older than Harrison is right now. Audy was completely love struck. We teased her about it, because all she talked about was Lexi. Lexi does this, Lexi is gonna do that; Lexi and I are going to a concert next week. She said to us, you just wait, this one is going to last, I can just feel it. She’d had quite a few girlfriends. Turned out, being a lesbian in LA as a teen: not such a tough thing. Yes, there were issues from time to time. But LA isn’t some small town in the south. There was never any hate mail, nobody threatening her or really anything like that; just mostly normal High School stuff.
Not too long after that, we had some family event and Audy brought Lexi with her. We all adored her from second one. My MIL called it, she said, they are like you and Logan, they are meant for each other. She was right of course. You only have to see them together once, to know it is true. There is no one who would see them and doubt their love and adoration for each other. Their level of commitment is higher than most marriages these days.
Last year the bill passed in the state of California that they could legally be married. The state was now recognizing the union of gay and lesbian couples as it should have been years ago. We all rejoiced. Lexi proposed to Audrey and they bought each other rings. They are young, only 22 and both of their mothers asked them to wait until they finished school. They graduated last spring and started planning their wedding. They said they wanted a summer wedding and started planning it for August of next year. 9/9/09 is their planned wedding date.
“We lost”, said the sobbing voice on the phone this morning. At 6:30am she called us. Which is, in case you didn’t know, 5:30am California time. She stayed up; they both stayed up all night, hoping, praying it would be different. When it didn’t change, she waited until she knew Logan at least would be up and she called us. She’d already called and sobbed to her parents. We lost. Those two words broke my heart. The next four broke it even more: we’re getting married anyway.
I am beyond thrilled that Obama won, you really have no idea. I didn’t realize that I’d been holding my breath for weeks. I slept so well last night. Because honestly, I thought California would win this battle. I slept like a baby, as well as my baby.
But my lovely sis didn’t. She spent the night pacing and screaming at her computer and at the injustices of the world. She and her partner spent the night crying in each others arms, wondering what they would do now. About 3am, Lexi said, we’ll get married anyway. I love you and you love me and we’re doing this. When it becomes legal again, because you know, one day it will, we’ll get married again. Until then, we’ll be married anyway. To us, the people who matter. Our family and friends will come and celebrate us on our day. The world…well fuck em if they don’t believe.
She’s right, we’ll come and support them. We adore them and they deserve to have a day just for them. That day, my friends will be 9/9/09. The day, I get another sis-in-law for good. The day, they are hitched and Lexi will never get rid of us crazies again.
Today is a happy day for the US. I am happy, I truly am. But there’s a bitterness there too. An angry piece of me, that has no outlet. I just want to shake the world right now and say, these two belong together, how can you not see that? How can you not understand that this doesn’t change your fucking marriage? How can you judge someone for who they love, just because it is different for you? Because you don’t understand it, they should be penalized? I am angry for my baby sister. I am sad for her, but I am angry for her too. Audy and Lexi are just like Logan and I; just like all of you, who are married to your spouses. They support each other, they take care of each other and most important, they adore each other. The one difference, is their marriage won’t be legal in the eyes of the country.
Today is bittersweet for me and my family. I had to explain to Morgan and Bailey why I was crying this morning. Aren’t we happy mama? Aren’t we glad Mr. Obama won? Yes, my babies, we are. We are thrilled beyond belief about that. But we are sad for your aunties, because California passed a bill that means they can’t have the piece of paper that your daddy and I have. They can get married, but it won’t be legal. Well that makes no sense, Morgan said. I know, my love, I know.
Man, these trolls really do know how to kick someone when they are down. It’s like they look for an opening and just start flinging poo. Last night during the debate I made some comments on Twitter. Maybe not the nicest tweets in the world, but really, have you seen the stuff that gets said on there during debates? It doesn’t really matter what I said, only what happened because of it. Honestly, that doesn’t really matter in the grand scheme of life. But hey this is my blog, so here it matters. At least to me.
It’s not so much what was said, but the way it was said and the timing of which it was sent. Those of you who use Twitter, will understand this a little better, but I’ll try and explain anyway. This person has been following me for a while. I’ve never followed her, because honestly I’m not going to try and follow people, just because they live in Colorado, which is I believe how she found me in the first place. Since I don’t follow her, I wouldn’t have necessarily seen her tweet right away, so she DM’d me. A DM, for those of you who don’t know, is a Direct Message. Since I sometimes use my phone to get tweets, even though it was not turned on at the moment, I still get DMs sent as texts to my phone.
So the asshat poo flinging troll DM’d me at midnight last night. On a freaking Wednesday. And I’m pissed, because I hadn’t turned off my ringer. So it woke me and Logan up. Because you know, I was sleeping at Midnight, a concept I know. But the worst is, SHE WOKE UP THE BABY! And you know what you never do to a three week old newborny? Wake them up. You NEVER wake them up at night. You don’t DM somebody at midnight. Not anyone, it’s fucking rude. But especially not a person with a NEWBORN. Want to hate me? Fine. Want to unfollow me? Go right ahead, you know where the button is. Don’t let the door hit you on the ass on the way out. Want to send me hate mail, be my fucking guest. All of these things can be dealt with in the day time hours. But don’t wake up my sleeping baby and husband. Logan gets up at 5:30am. He goes to bed by 9pm. You woke him up, right when he was getting his best sleep. Then because the baby was awake, we were all awake for another two hours. If there was a bitch slapping device that reached through computers, my husband would have used it on you repeatedly last night.
Then there is what she said:
nanciannaj “Ya, not enuf wrds 2 tell u all the resns why, cuss like a ho, politically ignorant, let me guess…from ca.? Dun following.“
So I’m a politically ignorant ho? Nice one. My aren’t you clever?
The definition of ‘ho’, for your clarification is: Used to express surprise or joy, to attract attention to something sighted, or to urge onward; the slang definition is: A prostitute. Somehow I believe it’s the latter, that you intended. Here’s the thing though, you’ve obviously never met a real ho. Because those ladies can cuss. They make sailors sound like tiny school children. And prostitutes are still people. People with lives and family and political beliefs. And not to draw attention to your obvious mis-understanding of the English language, but I’m not a ho. See, I’m a married woman. Not that it matters, but I’ve only ever been with one man, the man I married and had three children with. Yes, I cuss. Not nearly as much as I used to. I also use it in context. Maybe I cuss more after two glasses of wine. Funny thing though, I didn’t cuss at all last night. I’ve gone back and looked, and nope, no cussing.
Politically ignorant? Well I guess in your pea sized brain, anyone with a political opinion other than your own is ignorant. That’s a sad way to live and rather boring if I do say so myself. I’m done talking about politics. I’ve voted and I understand the issues and I’m done. But I have relatives, friends and blogging friends who are conservative republicans. All of whom, I adore. Our beliefs don’t have to be the exact same for us to be friends. I am an open minded individual, which obviously you are not.
From California? Well yes, this must have been a deal breaker for you. Did you know that all Californians are the devil? Who let the secret out of the bag? We are taking over and gonna rule the world. Would you like it if I said, all people from Colorado Springs are horrible human beings? No, I doubt you would. But here’s a little fact for you, I’d NEVER say that. I’m not that kind of a person. I’m not the kind of person you are.
So go back to your bubble of a life, where all people are the same. Same, same, same; like my friends son says. Then again, he’s two years old.
Please take your poo flinging monkey ways elsewhere, because they are not welcome here.
You just don’t do it. You just don’t. You don’t fuck with a hormonal woman whose just given birth. It’s just wrong. A nurse should know better. Can I just say, AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH.
Ok, I’m better now. Let me explain.
On Saturday morning we were supposed to leave the hospital. The nurse came in to take the baby and give him one last check over. She didn’t come back and she didn’t come back, an entire hour went by. I pushed the button and asked the nurse when they were bringing Harrison back and they said, we’ll check and let you know. Forty minutes goes by. Somewhere in there, Logan shows up to get us. We wait and I wonder what’s taking so long. After a while, I send Logan to go and see what’s up. They send a nurse back in with him and start asking all of these questions about our family’s blood. Is there any hemophiliacs in our family, any blood disorders of any kind, have I been on blood thinners and didn’t tell them? I answered their questions and then promptly lost my shit. I just couldn’t deal with it. With everything we’ve been through in the past year, the thought of something being seriously wrong with this perfect newborn was just too much. So I sobbed and sobbed and yelled at the nurse and yelled at my husband. Then I demanded to talk to the doctor. Come to find out, they hadn’t called a doctor to look at him. They were basing it all on the fact that he was bleeding still because of the circumcision.
I told them I wanted my son in my room immediately and a doctor called now and if they didn’t do it, I’d sue their asses off. Not exactly sure what I could have sued them for, but it was the only thing I could think of in the moment. Within two minutes, Harrison was in my arms and a doctor had shown up. My doctor in fact, who was there, having just delivered another baby. She takes one look at me and asks the nurses to leave the room.
I take back everything I ever said about this Doctor and her not wanting to induce. She is amazing. She sat on the bed and hugged me for a few minutes, whispering tiny nice things to me and Harrison. Then she examined him. He was bleeding a tiny bit from the circumcision, but not bad at all. She said, sometimes in there beginning if there isn’t enough Vaseline on him, it will rub on the diaper and bleed. Also, she said, sometimes the vitamin K shot takes a bit longer to work and possibly he didn’t get all of it, because he was really squirmy when they given it to him. So she gave him another small shot of it. Which stopped bleeding in less than a minute.
They freaked me out for nothing. Which sucks, but I’m so glad there was nothing wrong with him. I couldn’t handle anything being wrong with him.
In other news, my son is perfect. I dread saying it out loud, because then it might change, but he is perfect. I am so in love with him, that I can’t even explain it. We all adore him. He sleeps and eats and when he’s awake, he’s very aware. He is a cuddler, but if you put him down (which doesn’t happen a ton) he is perfectly content. He doesn’t seem to mind his noisy sisters. When he is awake and in the room with them, he follows them with his eyes. He eats like a champ and when he wakes up at night to eat, he goes right back to sleep. He’s definitely a keeper.
So now, please excuse me, because I have to go and stare at and kiss my son.
One week or one day, depending on what mood my doctor is in at the moment. Either way, it sucks. She has no idea which and that makes me just as angry as being overdue at all. If I weren’t so dang close, I’d switch doctors. Don’t get me wrong, I like the woman. But you can’t tell a nine million month pregnant woman that you might have been wrong and her real due date might be the 20th of September, instead of the 15th of September. It’s just wrong. Might is not a word pregnant woman should need to hear. Either way, I’m overdue. Way overdue in my head. Even if the 20th is my real due date, which I seriously doubt, I’m still now overdue. She won’t discuss induction until Friday and then she still isn’t fond of it. Well you know what, I’m not fond of Lettuce, but I still eat it.
I have had this reoccurring dream the past few nights. The baby is born and then he gets up and walks around and talks, like a toddler. The farther along I get, the more I fear this happening.
I wonder if all the newborn clothes I bought, will even get worn. I wonder if there is something wrong with him, that makes him not freaking know how to be born. I wonder what is wrong with me that I’m a big wussy this time around, when the last two times were a cinch.
The contractions are killer. I’ve had them off and on for weeks now, which just makes me want to cry. Only on the 11th did I have enough at once that I thought, ok it’s time. Then they went away.
My back hurts all the time, I can’t move without hurting, I can’t sleep without hurting. I get leg crams and foot cramps and last night I even had a toe cramp. I’ve got heartburn, sinus pain, acid stomach and nauseousness….which never really went away. I’m not even hungry anymore, he’s just taken up too much room. The walking, which the doctor recommended, I’ve been doing tons of that and it just isn’t working. I’ve tried everything that has been recommended to me by everyone (save for the castor oil, am not sure I’m willing to go there) and nothing works. Hell, I’ve even tried sex….multiple times we’ve tried (notice the word tried. Sex at this point, not so fun for either of us.) and it’s done nothing. Nothing except make me more uncomfortable.
So here I sit, still pregnant. Aren’t you glad you stopped by?
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